Last night, Missed-it-Mike texted me and asked if I wanted to surf the following day.. He missed TWO phone calls from me and then texted me again to say maybe Friday. What a tease...
After having not surfed for a week and a half, due to a combination of lack of swell and a lingering injury, I was ready for some action. I knew the tide was going to be extremely high (close to 7').
Given the high tide, the reefs would be drowning, so I didn't even consider some of my favorite west-facing reefs. I bee-lined to 20th Street in Del Mar and parked the car in my usual spot.
While walking for the surf check, a guy got out of his car and put his feet on the ground. He was a double-amputee. I assumed he was military and a quick glance at his dash confirmed he was DoD-permitted. He was also wearing an Operation Rebound shirt.
We both arrived at the check spot next to the lifeguard tower at the same time. A set reared and my eyes bulged. He looked at me, I looked at him and I said, "I don't need to check it any more, I'm out there!". He laughed.
I threw on my suit and booties and walked up the sand. He'd left his metal legs leaning against the concrete sea wall. As I walked to the water, I saw him with his fish, dragging himself. He was on the wet sand, so I didn't offer to help.
We both paddled out and he took a couple of small but thick shorebreak waves to the head. I looked back to him to make sure he was cool and I heard him say, "That'll wake you up!". I hooted and smiled and made it out past the breakers.
I sat for a solid twenty minutes without seeing a rideable wave go by. I paddled in a ways. Nothing. A little more. Ni mierda...
Finally, a relative macker poured in and I caught it. It looked a lot steeper than it actually was and I set it up for it with that in mind. Unfortunately, my misread lead to me doing my all-too-common-on-high-tide-days front-foot flamingo. I was able to recover but there was just nothing there.
A HALF HOUR LATER (!) another wave came through that I was in excellent position for. It was a peak and its shoulder was lining up. I caught it and it had some steepness to it. I pumped as heftily as I could and kept an eye on the oncoming section. I cut down hard then back up, smacked it and threw TONS of spray (the offshore wind certainly helps). Halfway through the turn , I realized I was not going to recover as I'd failed to keep most of my weight over my board. I kicked my board out behind the wave (to lessen the chance of it coming down on me) and took my drubbing.
In my mind, I'd decided to bail. I sat on the inside for about ten minutes. I spotted a guy with closely shaved hair and a big scar from what could have been stitches. He looked at me and I said hello. He said something I couldn't hear, all I could make out was "board". I asked him to repeat himself and had the same result. So I did what I always do in this situation: I smiled broadly and said, "NICE!"
A wave came shortly thereafter. I had a hard time getting speed going and rather than my usual choke-up on the board strategy, I invoked the Huntington Hop. It worked well and I was able to get some speed going just in time to decisively life my board and smack the approaching wash. I did a fist-pump as a goof, claiming a maneuver that is rarely seriously claimed and fell backwards onto my face (yes, on purpose. No, I don't know why).
As I walked to the showers, I saw the double-amputee again and spoke to him. He couldn't have been older than twenty-two. He was super stoked to be out there and it will serve as a reminder to not let any excuses get in the way.
"If the best surfer in the water is the one having the most fun, Eddie P would be a promising amateur who eventually burns out and is forced to perform 'favors' for surf wax" -Anonymous
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Showing posts with label Offshore Wind. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Offshore Wind. Show all posts
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
12.5.2011 Oceanside Harbor with Forrest: A No-Go Denied!
I met Forrest at his place at 6:10 and we suited up. The air was numbingly cold.
On the way north from Forrest's Tamarack-area pad, we checked assorted Carlsbad beach breaks and we saw NOTHING. I've seen Lake Tahoe this big (and with more juice). The brunt of the swell was coming from the SSW so we figured Oceanside would be better.
It was, but not by much. We paused at Wisconsin Street and thought about doing the ultimate in no-go's: taking off a dry wetsuit. We decided to check Harbor and call it a day if we weren't convinced. I silently made mental plans as to what to do with the extra time I'd have from not surfing.
While going over the new-ish bridge southeast of Oceanside Harbor, we saw something that excited us. This is all relative, mind you. If we'd just had a week of mind-blowing surf, we wouldn't have slept in based on the forecast. Since we were groveling, any ripple became titillating.
We pulled in to the parking lot and decided to go for it based on just the two-wave set we saw from the road. After much ribbing from both Forrest and Missed-It Mike, I elected to leave my gloves in the car. This was in an effort to see if I really was being a pansy.
Big mistake.
We got to the water and waded in. I made my best effort to not get my hands wet as the stiff offshore would make them shrink with frigidity. I succeeded until I made the difficult to decision to mount the board and begin paddling. Normally this time of year, the water will be comforting as it's warmer than the air. But with the strength and direction of the wind, today would be different.
We both made it out with dry hair and I caught two right away. I made sure I'd caught both before standing up, putting in an extra couple of strokes each time. All I accomplished is going straight for maybe ten yards before each one petered out (Man, it must suck to have the name Peter. First the phallic interpretation and then the verb).
I caught a right into the risen sun and was able to pump to keep pace with the wave, but not much else. Both times I faded off the wave in such a way so as to no get my face wet as it was still a virgin from the evaporative freezing effect of the offshores.
A nice set came, but I was out of position for it.
I sat for about twenty minutes and I started shivering a little. My hands were really cold and I consciously kept them underwater to shelter them from the wind.
A left came and I caught it late. I pumped twice, aware of its speed-killing fatness and attempted to lay into a cutback. I opened my shoulders back to the wash while twisting my gaze to meet it and aborted halfway through. What was meant to be a roundhouse cutty turned into a classic EddieP hack. Not bad, considering.
Within five minutes, another left came and I was in a great spot. I took off, pumped and met the oncoming section with a hit. Unfortunately, I blew it. I'm still not sure which bad habit of mine made me go underwater.
I hinted to Forrest that we should think about going in. He agreed and we walked into the gaping maw of the warmth-robbing offshores. As each second passed, my hands became number and more pained. When we got to Forrest's car, Forrest said he couldn't tie his board down as his hands were too cold. We huddled in the car (without touching, you pervs) to escape the wind for a few minutes. Forrest got out and we went back to his place with the faith-restoring space heater and hot shower.
On the way north from Forrest's Tamarack-area pad, we checked assorted Carlsbad beach breaks and we saw NOTHING. I've seen Lake Tahoe this big (and with more juice). The brunt of the swell was coming from the SSW so we figured Oceanside would be better.
It was, but not by much. We paused at Wisconsin Street and thought about doing the ultimate in no-go's: taking off a dry wetsuit. We decided to check Harbor and call it a day if we weren't convinced. I silently made mental plans as to what to do with the extra time I'd have from not surfing.
While going over the new-ish bridge southeast of Oceanside Harbor, we saw something that excited us. This is all relative, mind you. If we'd just had a week of mind-blowing surf, we wouldn't have slept in based on the forecast. Since we were groveling, any ripple became titillating.
We pulled in to the parking lot and decided to go for it based on just the two-wave set we saw from the road. After much ribbing from both Forrest and Missed-It Mike, I elected to leave my gloves in the car. This was in an effort to see if I really was being a pansy.
Big mistake.
We got to the water and waded in. I made my best effort to not get my hands wet as the stiff offshore would make them shrink with frigidity. I succeeded until I made the difficult to decision to mount the board and begin paddling. Normally this time of year, the water will be comforting as it's warmer than the air. But with the strength and direction of the wind, today would be different.
We both made it out with dry hair and I caught two right away. I made sure I'd caught both before standing up, putting in an extra couple of strokes each time. All I accomplished is going straight for maybe ten yards before each one petered out (Man, it must suck to have the name Peter. First the phallic interpretation and then the verb).
I caught a right into the risen sun and was able to pump to keep pace with the wave, but not much else. Both times I faded off the wave in such a way so as to no get my face wet as it was still a virgin from the evaporative freezing effect of the offshores.
A nice set came, but I was out of position for it.
I sat for about twenty minutes and I started shivering a little. My hands were really cold and I consciously kept them underwater to shelter them from the wind.
A left came and I caught it late. I pumped twice, aware of its speed-killing fatness and attempted to lay into a cutback. I opened my shoulders back to the wash while twisting my gaze to meet it and aborted halfway through. What was meant to be a roundhouse cutty turned into a classic EddieP hack. Not bad, considering.
Within five minutes, another left came and I was in a great spot. I took off, pumped and met the oncoming section with a hit. Unfortunately, I blew it. I'm still not sure which bad habit of mine made me go underwater.
I hinted to Forrest that we should think about going in. He agreed and we walked into the gaping maw of the warmth-robbing offshores. As each second passed, my hands became number and more pained. When we got to Forrest's car, Forrest said he couldn't tie his board down as his hands were too cold. We huddled in the car (without touching, you pervs) to escape the wind for a few minutes. Forrest got out and we went back to his place with the faith-restoring space heater and hot shower.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
11.30.2011 Oceanside: Back to Beautiful Tyson Street with Forrest, Strong Offshore
This morning I woke up just after three thanks to my decision to hit the sack just shy of 8:30 last night. I am a pansy when it comes to jet-lag and I'm still on Eastern time. It's not too bad, though, because it makes it so easy to wake up for dawn patrols.
I met Forrest at his pad in C-bad, transferred my gear into his Subaru and we shot up to Oside on the 101. We turned left on Cassidy, then right on the frontage road. Buc Beach looked surfable and my stoke-level rose quickly. Even lowly Oside Blvd showed signs of life!
We passed the lookout at the stop sign at Wisconsin Street and I was ready to suit up. We briefly debated checking Harbor but I was frothing too hard already. I transformed into Neoprene Man (4/3 suit, booties and 4mm gloves) and we got out there.
In our fervor, we realized we'd paddled out TOO far and right into the rip. Forrest was on his new log and wasn't amped on his board choice. The wind was strong from the northeast, blowing directly into the waves: a classic offshore day. Forrest's board had so much foam on it that it made it difficult to paddle into waves that steepened so quickly on a board with little rocker. The reminders about the board would continue throughout the session so keep that in mind...
After paddling in for some time and fighting the current, a nugget left came through. I caught it late (offshore) and dropped in cleanly. While setting my line after the initial take-off pump, I miscalculated where the lip would land and it decked me in the ribs just below my arm pit. I went flying down headfirst into the water and the ride was over.
Keep in mind that on south-facing beaches, the daybreak sun will wash out all rights as it hits its riders with full sun-to-the-face.
About ten minutes after my first wave I caught quite the right. The sun disoriented me and I leaned into a reflexive backside cutback to get it out of my eyes. I succeeded and, extending my body by unweighting my board, was able to smack it around to complete a solid backside roundhouse cutback. This is probably my best execution of that maneuver. YEOUH! (Onomatopoeic hoot transcription)
About a half-hour later, I caught another right and did some quick backside turns on it, though I blew my second one by going too far out on the shoulder and trying a turn too fast for the slope of the section.
I faded off the back just as Forrest was paddling out next to me, relishing his first successful ride of the morning on that beast of his. He kept commenting on the board being too big and impossible to ride given the conditions. As I paddled next to him we both looked west and saw a logger take off on a nice steep right, carving up and down it surprisingly well. Without much thought, I said, "See? He seems to be doing ok". I wasn't sure Forrest heard me so I repeated myself and he replied with a stern "F- you, Eddie."
I laughed my ass off for close to a minute.
I then caught a left where I was pumping too aggressively for the slope of the wave and ALMOST lost it. My weight was almost all on my front foot and I felt myself about to fall on my face. My back foot instinctively lifted off my board. I recovered awkwardly, pumped once, and smacked the approaching section. ...And I didn't make it...!
Another left came that was similar, but I fell back on my bad habit of attacking a wave too vertically when it itself is already too steep for that. The foam was rolling over and I cut my snap short. It probably looked pretty cool from the beach but I was nowhere close to making it.
About a half-hour later, I caught my last wave of the session. It didn't have much open-face, and I meekly went up onto the lip for one of my famous fall-down floaters. The lip detonated under me and I dropped down and onto my back.
I met Forrest at his pad in C-bad, transferred my gear into his Subaru and we shot up to Oside on the 101. We turned left on Cassidy, then right on the frontage road. Buc Beach looked surfable and my stoke-level rose quickly. Even lowly Oside Blvd showed signs of life!
We passed the lookout at the stop sign at Wisconsin Street and I was ready to suit up. We briefly debated checking Harbor but I was frothing too hard already. I transformed into Neoprene Man (4/3 suit, booties and 4mm gloves) and we got out there.
In our fervor, we realized we'd paddled out TOO far and right into the rip. Forrest was on his new log and wasn't amped on his board choice. The wind was strong from the northeast, blowing directly into the waves: a classic offshore day. Forrest's board had so much foam on it that it made it difficult to paddle into waves that steepened so quickly on a board with little rocker. The reminders about the board would continue throughout the session so keep that in mind...
After paddling in for some time and fighting the current, a nugget left came through. I caught it late (offshore) and dropped in cleanly. While setting my line after the initial take-off pump, I miscalculated where the lip would land and it decked me in the ribs just below my arm pit. I went flying down headfirst into the water and the ride was over.
Keep in mind that on south-facing beaches, the daybreak sun will wash out all rights as it hits its riders with full sun-to-the-face.
About ten minutes after my first wave I caught quite the right. The sun disoriented me and I leaned into a reflexive backside cutback to get it out of my eyes. I succeeded and, extending my body by unweighting my board, was able to smack it around to complete a solid backside roundhouse cutback. This is probably my best execution of that maneuver. YEOUH! (Onomatopoeic hoot transcription)
About a half-hour later, I caught another right and did some quick backside turns on it, though I blew my second one by going too far out on the shoulder and trying a turn too fast for the slope of the section.
I faded off the back just as Forrest was paddling out next to me, relishing his first successful ride of the morning on that beast of his. He kept commenting on the board being too big and impossible to ride given the conditions. As I paddled next to him we both looked west and saw a logger take off on a nice steep right, carving up and down it surprisingly well. Without much thought, I said, "See? He seems to be doing ok". I wasn't sure Forrest heard me so I repeated myself and he replied with a stern "F- you, Eddie."
I laughed my ass off for close to a minute.
I then caught a left where I was pumping too aggressively for the slope of the wave and ALMOST lost it. My weight was almost all on my front foot and I felt myself about to fall on my face. My back foot instinctively lifted off my board. I recovered awkwardly, pumped once, and smacked the approaching section. ...And I didn't make it...!
Another left came that was similar, but I fell back on my bad habit of attacking a wave too vertically when it itself is already too steep for that. The foam was rolling over and I cut my snap short. It probably looked pretty cool from the beach but I was nowhere close to making it.
About a half-hour later, I caught my last wave of the session. It didn't have much open-face, and I meekly went up onto the lip for one of my famous fall-down floaters. The lip detonated under me and I dropped down and onto my back.
Friday, November 25, 2011
11.22.2011 Surf is UP, Scott leads us to the secret spot
After two days of minimal surf, we went trekking. Scott had surfed a place less than ten times since his move to Panama (approximately eight years ago). He knew when it was good and we made the plans to head there early in the morning. The next morning had clear skies and perfect winds, so we headed there from his place on the panga. After a lengthy journey, we reached the dock. We disembarked, grabbed our stuff and walked about a half-hour to the waves.
The journey there had been a rough one and I had my doubts about the conditions. Keep in mind I'm not used to surfing the Caribbean, where the isthmus and/or island set-ups create a multiple coast reality. What's terrible for one coast (solid onshore) is on the opposite side of the spectrum for the other coast (solid offshore).
Once we got within earshot of the waves, I started to get excited. My pace quickened.
The first view revealed makeable-only-by-pros windswell barrels. I was content to surf there and play my luck there (it had been a long journey and I was itching, in a good way). I asked Scott if he usually surfs or he walks down the beach to try it there. He affirmed the latter option and we walked. The waves started getting better and better the more we walked. I slapped on some sunscreen and, with Scott's blessing, affixed the leash to his 6'2" Merrick Tangent (I realized later it was a board Kelly Slater rides). It was just a tad wider and thicker than I would have liked, but definitely in my breadbasket in terms of familiarity with dimensions. Scott said to me. "You break it, you buy it, and this place breaks A LOT of boards". After a little ribbing by me, he added, "It's a new Tangent, you know what those cost". I don't know what these cost, but judging by the Merrick + Kelly Slater insignia, I figured easily $650+. Yikes.
As I continued to walk down the beach, I realized we were the only ones on the beach. The jungle was extremely lush and looked like it could have been from prehistoric times.
The first wave I remember was a quick drop I made backside, but raced off without me.
If you've read the previous blog posts, you know I have a habit of getting into my "crab-grab" in anticipation of backhand barrels. On crab grabs, my front knee hits the deck in lieu of my front foot with my back leg elevated to put even more leverage on to the board's flat spot, leaving me in a position to blast through the barrel (or at least that's the theory).
Which leads me to my second wave...
Daf had gotten a wave just before me and I was all alone. Scott and Jaime (boat guide, ripper from Fountain Valley, of all places) were down the line, hooting me into the approaching set wave. I ceased stroking towards it, whipped around and dug in deep towards the beach. The wave was a dooz, the biggest wave of the trip thus far. This right lifted my board and I dropped down with a slight angle. I grabbed my rail to dust off my seldom-used pigdog stance comically early. I remember smiling on the wave, thinking, "I know this looks like ish, but woteva". As the wave began to catch up to my over-preparedness, I took my leading/stalling arm out and moved my weight forward as much as possible just as the wave curled over me. I was in there for about two seconds before I overcorrected into the wave.
The wave swept me up, separated me from my board and absolutely SLAMMED my head into the sand. Had we not been surfing at a beachbreak, I definitely would have suffered head trauma. I've taken some nasty spills and have hit all kinds of bottoms surfing (the vast majority of these in El Salvador). I have had the wind knocked out of me underwater on sandbars. Barnacled rocks have drawn blood from my feet, arms, shoulders and back. But this is the hardest I have ever hit my head underwater. The power of the wave, combined with the extreme shallowness of the water plus a little centripetal force whiplashing the back of my head that much faster into the sand made for QUITE the slam.
I surfaced without issue and quickly assessed myself for signs of a concussion while paddling and duckdiving to avoid the last wave of the set. I wasn't seeing stars, my neck wasn't sore, my head wasn't sore and I didn't feel lightheaded.
About fifteen minutes after paddling for, and pulling back from, several waves, I found a left that wasn't too racy. I dropped in and got barreled about a second after my soles hit the deck. Alas, I pulled up too high on a barrel with no room for mistakes and I got clipped and sent over the falls. This time there were no scares though!
I then caught a lined-up right and I dropped in, pumped quickly and did a quick slash. I was in a hurry as these waves weren't the type to allow you to sit at the top of the wave, recovering from a maneuver. I was able to gain some speed from it and did another quick one. Both times I heard the sprays' satisfying splash. I kicked out next to Scott and he was amped.
The waves then got more inconsistent. All of us had a hard time finding waves. I found a quick right on which I did a quick crab-grab and was in there for quite some time, but I got shut down while in it.
The next wave was a big left that I was really late on. I was jonesing for another wave and decided to go. The offshore pushed against me and I went over with the lip. Thankfully, I was able to land on my board on my feet, wax-side up. The board's tail washed out. Daf told me he thought I started bottom turning before my fins engaged and so my body turned, while the board stayed behind. Bummer.
I caught another, smaller left on which I tried to do a steep bottom turn and seemed to check myself as the section wasn't as steep. I did a weak top turn, then the wave disintegrated into mush.
On the way back, part of our party stopped at the schoolhouse to do a presentation on water filters he was donating to the town. I'm including a picture of the presentation below as well as some of the little kids.
I made a friend that day. I asked him what his name was (in Spanish) and he said, "Mariel". I asked him to guess what my name was and he said, "Gringo" (True Story).
For the record, I didn't initiate the hand-holding. That was the OLD Eddie...! I'm better now.
The journey there had been a rough one and I had my doubts about the conditions. Keep in mind I'm not used to surfing the Caribbean, where the isthmus and/or island set-ups create a multiple coast reality. What's terrible for one coast (solid onshore) is on the opposite side of the spectrum for the other coast (solid offshore).
Once we got within earshot of the waves, I started to get excited. My pace quickened.
The first view revealed makeable-only-by-pros windswell barrels. I was content to surf there and play my luck there (it had been a long journey and I was itching, in a good way). I asked Scott if he usually surfs or he walks down the beach to try it there. He affirmed the latter option and we walked. The waves started getting better and better the more we walked. I slapped on some sunscreen and, with Scott's blessing, affixed the leash to his 6'2" Merrick Tangent (I realized later it was a board Kelly Slater rides). It was just a tad wider and thicker than I would have liked, but definitely in my breadbasket in terms of familiarity with dimensions. Scott said to me. "You break it, you buy it, and this place breaks A LOT of boards". After a little ribbing by me, he added, "It's a new Tangent, you know what those cost". I don't know what these cost, but judging by the Merrick + Kelly Slater insignia, I figured easily $650+. Yikes.
As I continued to walk down the beach, I realized we were the only ones on the beach. The jungle was extremely lush and looked like it could have been from prehistoric times.
The first wave I remember was a quick drop I made backside, but raced off without me.
If you've read the previous blog posts, you know I have a habit of getting into my "crab-grab" in anticipation of backhand barrels. On crab grabs, my front knee hits the deck in lieu of my front foot with my back leg elevated to put even more leverage on to the board's flat spot, leaving me in a position to blast through the barrel (or at least that's the theory).
Which leads me to my second wave...
Daf had gotten a wave just before me and I was all alone. Scott and Jaime (boat guide, ripper from Fountain Valley, of all places) were down the line, hooting me into the approaching set wave. I ceased stroking towards it, whipped around and dug in deep towards the beach. The wave was a dooz, the biggest wave of the trip thus far. This right lifted my board and I dropped down with a slight angle. I grabbed my rail to dust off my seldom-used pigdog stance comically early. I remember smiling on the wave, thinking, "I know this looks like ish, but woteva". As the wave began to catch up to my over-preparedness, I took my leading/stalling arm out and moved my weight forward as much as possible just as the wave curled over me. I was in there for about two seconds before I overcorrected into the wave.
The wave swept me up, separated me from my board and absolutely SLAMMED my head into the sand. Had we not been surfing at a beachbreak, I definitely would have suffered head trauma. I've taken some nasty spills and have hit all kinds of bottoms surfing (the vast majority of these in El Salvador). I have had the wind knocked out of me underwater on sandbars. Barnacled rocks have drawn blood from my feet, arms, shoulders and back. But this is the hardest I have ever hit my head underwater. The power of the wave, combined with the extreme shallowness of the water plus a little centripetal force whiplashing the back of my head that much faster into the sand made for QUITE the slam.
I surfaced without issue and quickly assessed myself for signs of a concussion while paddling and duckdiving to avoid the last wave of the set. I wasn't seeing stars, my neck wasn't sore, my head wasn't sore and I didn't feel lightheaded.
About fifteen minutes after paddling for, and pulling back from, several waves, I found a left that wasn't too racy. I dropped in and got barreled about a second after my soles hit the deck. Alas, I pulled up too high on a barrel with no room for mistakes and I got clipped and sent over the falls. This time there were no scares though!
I then caught a lined-up right and I dropped in, pumped quickly and did a quick slash. I was in a hurry as these waves weren't the type to allow you to sit at the top of the wave, recovering from a maneuver. I was able to gain some speed from it and did another quick one. Both times I heard the sprays' satisfying splash. I kicked out next to Scott and he was amped.
The waves then got more inconsistent. All of us had a hard time finding waves. I found a quick right on which I did a quick crab-grab and was in there for quite some time, but I got shut down while in it.
The next wave was a big left that I was really late on. I was jonesing for another wave and decided to go. The offshore pushed against me and I went over with the lip. Thankfully, I was able to land on my board on my feet, wax-side up. The board's tail washed out. Daf told me he thought I started bottom turning before my fins engaged and so my body turned, while the board stayed behind. Bummer.
I caught another, smaller left on which I tried to do a steep bottom turn and seemed to check myself as the section wasn't as steep. I did a weak top turn, then the wave disintegrated into mush.
On the way back, part of our party stopped at the schoolhouse to do a presentation on water filters he was donating to the town. I'm including a picture of the presentation below as well as some of the little kids.
I made a friend that day. I asked him what his name was (in Spanish) and he said, "Mariel". I asked him to guess what my name was and he said, "Gringo" (True Story).
For the record, I didn't initiate the hand-holding. That was the OLD Eddie...! I'm better now.
Friday, October 7, 2011
10.7.2011 FIRING Oceanside Tyier, Offshore Combo Swell Goodness
During the storm that hit SoCal this week, I was checking the reports. I knew there were waves, but the water was so dirty from the first big rain we've had in a long time, I just didn't want to risk it. It's so tempting to surf at this time because of the big powerful waves and the lack of crowds (most of them don't want to get sick either).
I was checking the wind forecast on my phone in between hands at a poker game last night and what it said was amazing. Picture being a kid and it's Christmas Eve (Chanukah Eve if you're so inclined). It's hours away from presents and you just discovered what you are getting! For me, the gift was a gorgeous report of an ENE wind @ approximately 4 mph. Combine this with reports of 5-7' surf, the likely possibility of freshly sculpted sandbars from the storm and I had the equivalent of a surf boner. Ooh baby.
I got home and passed out shortly after midnight. I woke up at 545 and got my stuff. I exited on La Costa to make sure the wind hadn't done a 180 and torn the surface to shreds. Ponto looked smooth but small, same with SouPa, same with Cherry. I finally left PCH with a left turn at Cassidy, then turned right on the littoral. Buc Beach looked promising, but I couldn't shake the visions I'd had the dozen or so times I'd previously driven up to Oside only to be turned away by the weak, reforming waves that smashed as shorebreak. I kept on...
A glimmer of hope and the first amount of real stoke I'd felt in a week (if you don't count last night's mental masturbation about the wind + swell conditions) filled me as I drove past the way-too-narrow lookout at Oside Blvd. I proclaimed, "I will surf today!"
I passed my much-missed August lover, Wisconsin Street, which showed what I'd been used to seeing almost all of last month: rolling, weak reforms that explode too hazardously on the inside to be worth the risk. As I cruised past Tyson and looked towards the lit-up pier, I saw hope and immediately hooked a right towards the parking lot.
I put on my 4/3 quickly, possibly breaking a parking lot record, and literally ran down to the stairs. The air was a chilly 52 degrees, the sky was completely clear, the wind STRAIGHT offshore and I had a good feeling about today. I headed towards Tyson Street but lost hope and turned around as the new sandbar (thanks storm!) in front of the northern Vacation Rental building made a wave rear its head. I sprinted there and jumped on top of my board as two waves combined in the shorebreak.
I sprint-paddled and made it through the pre-shorebreak. The water was a lot warmer than the air and it felt so good to duckdive under the cold wind.
A little side note on offshore wind: It gets a lot of hype and for good reason. The wind will literally hold up the wave and keep it from breaking. When the wave finally does, it tends to throw over that much harder, usually widening the tube. However, it also has a downside, which is you almost always have to drop in late. That's not bad in and of itself, but it limits your options if you try to catch an inside nugget and you're a bit deeper than you'd like.
I continued paddling and sat. I paddled for a wave and a sponger took off so I let him have it. Then I sat some more. I had Smokey Robinson's "Tracks of my Tears" in my head, so I spent my time trying to remember the words to that song and singing what I did know.
About fifteen minutes passed before I got my first real look at one. A 5' or so right reared up and I paddled hard, focusing not only on torque in the last third of my hands' underwater movement (where paddling power comes from, so stop windmilling!) but more so on keeping as much of my weight as possible towards the front of my board.
As I leapt to my feet I immediately was reminded of Punta Roca, the freight train right in El Salvador. I was really late on this one but I came down smooth. I felt the speed and juice as I descended. I was a bit far out on the flats so I was able to really hook my turn up the face vertically. I snapped and on my descent said to no one in particular, "So sick". I did a roundhouse cutback (MUCH easier on the backhand) but lost the wave as it lost its contact with the sandbar.
My next wave was a quick left. I caught it and pumped. I saw a big section that was a bit premature. I SHOULD'VE started my roundhouse cutty there but instead I did a cutdown.
A roundhouse cutback would've led me to the foam/curl and put me in the most powerful and speediest part of the wave (in essence making the same section of the wave one you surf FOUR times if you're fast enough).
The cutdown creates a huge amount of speed, which makes sense, since you're starting at the top of the wave and aiming your nose to the beach. This can set you up for an amazing vertical re-entry (aka reo) with the right section and bottom turn. For some reason I don't remember what happened at the top of this wave; the wave may have fizzled.
I paddled back out and was sitting outside of a guy who was catching more than his share of waves. Within ten minutes, a MACKER came through. We both were paddling for it, but I had position.
The following thoughts took place in a span of about five seconds:
1) I am super late and deep on this one. I should tell him to go.
2) F him, he's been catching everything.
(I feel the villain making eye contact with me, burning for me to tell him to go. Villain pulls back)
3) Man, this drop is going to be heavy, should I pull back?
4) Well, I didn't tell him to go. He pulled back, so if I don't go I am likely to get burned on the next set wave.
5) Here I GOOOOOO!
I got to my feet and stomped on my front foot so as to not get hung up on the lip and decimated. WHOOSH! I went down the face and saw a barrel section coming. I pumped once, set my line and backdoored the wave's second peak. I was rewarded with a precious second or so in a truly green green room (something about the offshores makes the light penetrate more deeply). But alas, I set my line too high and was clipped. I could've and should've made that barrel. Bummer.
I paddled out and saw villain catch the next one. He grabbed his rail in an attempt to pigdog into the barrel. The section didn't throw as much as he anticipated and his fins betrayed him by giving out and he ended up splayed on his back. I paddled past him and told him that was a sick drop. He smiled and asked how my wave was.
I caught another left within five minutes and had something interesting happen to me. My back foot's big toe was hanging over my rail and dipping into the water on my frontside turn, acting as a fourth fin! I quickly reset my back foot, pumped the flatter section and saw the flat-ish right coming towards me.
As it and I got closer to one another, I was telling myself, "Don't smash that section. If you do, you will be caught inside and out of commission for five minutes if there are more behind it." I ignored my own advice, cut down, and sprung from my bottom turn to snap the section. I don't know what I did wrong but I fell and (You're not going to believe this) was caught inside and duckdiving for a good four-five minutes.
I caught a right and was too deep for it. I went any way and was burned my an older man on his egg/thruster hybrid. I couldn't have made the wave so no biggie.
I started thinking about putting in one of my 3+ hour surf sessions I was once famous for (my longest was five hours in the water) but then...
The waves just stopped. I sat with the ever-growing pack. Everyone started paddling for the inside, even though the waves weren't breaking even there. It was just me and a second older gentleman waiting for a bomb.
Twenty minutes later, still no bomb, still no inside nuggets. The pack looked even farther inside until I realized it was me who seemed to be moving away from them. I paddled for a solid forty-five seconds, whipping my head back every eight or so seconds in case my package from New Zealand was being delivered. Nothing. I kept an eye on the pier and I was making progress, but it was reversed pretty quickly.
I paddled some more and saw a wedge pop up to the north of me with two guys splitting it in opposite directions. There was nothing behind it. Forty-five minutes had passed since the last decent wave had broken. I was officially over it.
As I took my leash off on the sand, a huge two-wave set hit and cleaned everybody up. Then, about three minutes later I was showering off and another big set came. I saw a guy catch a sick left that he had a great line on to hit, but he opted to fly off his board and out the back. Apparently, HE listens to his inner monologue.
I kept checking back as I walked towards civilization and away from the waves. Flatness. Thirty seconds later, flatness. One last check from the top of the stairs revealed more flatness.
It was good to have a solid sesh at Oside again!
I was checking the wind forecast on my phone in between hands at a poker game last night and what it said was amazing. Picture being a kid and it's Christmas Eve (Chanukah Eve if you're so inclined). It's hours away from presents and you just discovered what you are getting! For me, the gift was a gorgeous report of an ENE wind @ approximately 4 mph. Combine this with reports of 5-7' surf, the likely possibility of freshly sculpted sandbars from the storm and I had the equivalent of a surf boner. Ooh baby.
I got home and passed out shortly after midnight. I woke up at 545 and got my stuff. I exited on La Costa to make sure the wind hadn't done a 180 and torn the surface to shreds. Ponto looked smooth but small, same with SouPa, same with Cherry. I finally left PCH with a left turn at Cassidy, then turned right on the littoral. Buc Beach looked promising, but I couldn't shake the visions I'd had the dozen or so times I'd previously driven up to Oside only to be turned away by the weak, reforming waves that smashed as shorebreak. I kept on...
A glimmer of hope and the first amount of real stoke I'd felt in a week (if you don't count last night's mental masturbation about the wind + swell conditions) filled me as I drove past the way-too-narrow lookout at Oside Blvd. I proclaimed, "I will surf today!"
I passed my much-missed August lover, Wisconsin Street, which showed what I'd been used to seeing almost all of last month: rolling, weak reforms that explode too hazardously on the inside to be worth the risk. As I cruised past Tyson and looked towards the lit-up pier, I saw hope and immediately hooked a right towards the parking lot.
I put on my 4/3 quickly, possibly breaking a parking lot record, and literally ran down to the stairs. The air was a chilly 52 degrees, the sky was completely clear, the wind STRAIGHT offshore and I had a good feeling about today. I headed towards Tyson Street but lost hope and turned around as the new sandbar (thanks storm!) in front of the northern Vacation Rental building made a wave rear its head. I sprinted there and jumped on top of my board as two waves combined in the shorebreak.
I sprint-paddled and made it through the pre-shorebreak. The water was a lot warmer than the air and it felt so good to duckdive under the cold wind.
A little side note on offshore wind: It gets a lot of hype and for good reason. The wind will literally hold up the wave and keep it from breaking. When the wave finally does, it tends to throw over that much harder, usually widening the tube. However, it also has a downside, which is you almost always have to drop in late. That's not bad in and of itself, but it limits your options if you try to catch an inside nugget and you're a bit deeper than you'd like.
I continued paddling and sat. I paddled for a wave and a sponger took off so I let him have it. Then I sat some more. I had Smokey Robinson's "Tracks of my Tears" in my head, so I spent my time trying to remember the words to that song and singing what I did know.
About fifteen minutes passed before I got my first real look at one. A 5' or so right reared up and I paddled hard, focusing not only on torque in the last third of my hands' underwater movement (where paddling power comes from, so stop windmilling!) but more so on keeping as much of my weight as possible towards the front of my board.
As I leapt to my feet I immediately was reminded of Punta Roca, the freight train right in El Salvador. I was really late on this one but I came down smooth. I felt the speed and juice as I descended. I was a bit far out on the flats so I was able to really hook my turn up the face vertically. I snapped and on my descent said to no one in particular, "So sick". I did a roundhouse cutback (MUCH easier on the backhand) but lost the wave as it lost its contact with the sandbar.
My next wave was a quick left. I caught it and pumped. I saw a big section that was a bit premature. I SHOULD'VE started my roundhouse cutty there but instead I did a cutdown.
A roundhouse cutback would've led me to the foam/curl and put me in the most powerful and speediest part of the wave (in essence making the same section of the wave one you surf FOUR times if you're fast enough).
The cutdown creates a huge amount of speed, which makes sense, since you're starting at the top of the wave and aiming your nose to the beach. This can set you up for an amazing vertical re-entry (aka reo) with the right section and bottom turn. For some reason I don't remember what happened at the top of this wave; the wave may have fizzled.
I paddled back out and was sitting outside of a guy who was catching more than his share of waves. Within ten minutes, a MACKER came through. We both were paddling for it, but I had position.
The following thoughts took place in a span of about five seconds:
1) I am super late and deep on this one. I should tell him to go.
2) F him, he's been catching everything.
(I feel the villain making eye contact with me, burning for me to tell him to go. Villain pulls back)
3) Man, this drop is going to be heavy, should I pull back?
4) Well, I didn't tell him to go. He pulled back, so if I don't go I am likely to get burned on the next set wave.
5) Here I GOOOOOO!
I got to my feet and stomped on my front foot so as to not get hung up on the lip and decimated. WHOOSH! I went down the face and saw a barrel section coming. I pumped once, set my line and backdoored the wave's second peak. I was rewarded with a precious second or so in a truly green green room (something about the offshores makes the light penetrate more deeply). But alas, I set my line too high and was clipped. I could've and should've made that barrel. Bummer.
I paddled out and saw villain catch the next one. He grabbed his rail in an attempt to pigdog into the barrel. The section didn't throw as much as he anticipated and his fins betrayed him by giving out and he ended up splayed on his back. I paddled past him and told him that was a sick drop. He smiled and asked how my wave was.
I caught another left within five minutes and had something interesting happen to me. My back foot's big toe was hanging over my rail and dipping into the water on my frontside turn, acting as a fourth fin! I quickly reset my back foot, pumped the flatter section and saw the flat-ish right coming towards me.
As it and I got closer to one another, I was telling myself, "Don't smash that section. If you do, you will be caught inside and out of commission for five minutes if there are more behind it." I ignored my own advice, cut down, and sprung from my bottom turn to snap the section. I don't know what I did wrong but I fell and (You're not going to believe this) was caught inside and duckdiving for a good four-five minutes.
I caught a right and was too deep for it. I went any way and was burned my an older man on his egg/thruster hybrid. I couldn't have made the wave so no biggie.
I started thinking about putting in one of my 3+ hour surf sessions I was once famous for (my longest was five hours in the water) but then...
The waves just stopped. I sat with the ever-growing pack. Everyone started paddling for the inside, even though the waves weren't breaking even there. It was just me and a second older gentleman waiting for a bomb.
Twenty minutes later, still no bomb, still no inside nuggets. The pack looked even farther inside until I realized it was me who seemed to be moving away from them. I paddled for a solid forty-five seconds, whipping my head back every eight or so seconds in case my package from New Zealand was being delivered. Nothing. I kept an eye on the pier and I was making progress, but it was reversed pretty quickly.
I paddled some more and saw a wedge pop up to the north of me with two guys splitting it in opposite directions. There was nothing behind it. Forty-five minutes had passed since the last decent wave had broken. I was officially over it.
As I took my leash off on the sand, a huge two-wave set hit and cleaned everybody up. Then, about three minutes later I was showering off and another big set came. I saw a guy catch a sick left that he had a great line on to hit, but he opted to fly off his board and out the back. Apparently, HE listens to his inner monologue.
I kept checking back as I walked towards civilization and away from the waves. Flatness. Thirty seconds later, flatness. One last check from the top of the stairs revealed more flatness.
It was good to have a solid sesh at Oside again!
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