8.29.13 Is that a Mirage?

For the first time in nearly four weeks, the surf wasn't absolute crap.  There was an easily noticeable change in size from the previous fifteen or so surf checks. 

After you go through so many surf checks and leave with your desire intact, you begin to lose hope.  Your tolerance level, the lowest quality of through which you'll put in the effort to get to the beach and paddle out, drops.  A two-foot drop during which you would've yawned over the winter is now exciting.

Today there were sets in the four-foot range and they seemed massive in size.  I thought, "Do I possess the skills to make these hairy drops?".  "Do I have what it takes to go from 60 degrees back to 45, then back to 60 again?".  These were questions that would not have wandered through my head a month or two ago.

I paddled out with an ear-to-ear grin.  The conditions weren't great, thanks to a rare WNW(where'd that come from?) wind, which had increased since my initial surf check.

I caught two waves which are worth mentioning.  Both were lefts.

My first one involved a glorious two-pump shuffle until I connected with the inside.  I had to prolong my bottom turn to make it over the hump that separated the two peaks; the one I caught, and the one I was going to demolish.

My timing was off and I snapped too late.  I'd like to think I fanned a fin or two out the back, but there was no one there to confirm or deny this.

My next wave I was lucky enough to pump another couple of times, then go for a long floater, which I landed well.

The wind was making the waves feather and bump prematurely, so after about an hour or so, I was over it. 

The swell was increasing and I couldn't wait to see what was in store...!

8.25.13 Lust turns into Bust at Michigan

There was supposed to be an oh-so-slight kick in consistency today.

It didn't happen.  The waves were 1-2'.  There was very little push.  I got one pump on about five waves on which I stood.

This is the frontrunner for worst session of the month.

The flat spell has been going on for three weeks now, but there is an end in sight, judging by the swell models.  Stay tuned...

8.23.13 Strictly Slump Busting at Minnesota

The dreaded 1'+/1-2'/Marginal (or Bad) readings on the forecasts had bloomed beautifully into sexy 2'-3'/Rideable as of yesterday.  Yesterday's surf check revealed nothing about which to get excited, so I went home dry.

Today was barely better.  It had been nearly two weeks since my last session and I had to get out there.  If you surf often, you'll know the feeling I'm about to describe.  You're getting your fill of waves (not necessarily good ones) for days in a row and then the ocean cruelly stops producing sloping walls of water, leaving you (not so) high and (mos def) dry.

I've tapped into a methadone-y fix: skimboarding.  The skimboarding in Oceanside can be excellent.  The sand slopes down towards the water, allowing the rider to pick up speed as he runs, drops, and slides.  The shorebreak is almost surfable, sometimes 3', usually closing out.  The water is so shallow there though, that a successful ride can lead to an unsuccessful attempt at keeping your board in one piece.

I paddled out at Minnesota, just north of Junior Seau's old house and place of death, after spotting what appeared to be rideable waves.

My first wave was a right on which I faded after about six seconds (would have taken three on my last board).

I caught a left and kept my weight forward.  Eventually, I made the connection as the wave made its with the sand below.  There wasn't anything to hit, so I hopped over the shoulder.

The meatiest wave was a relatively juicy one, and I was on it!  I put my weight forward, going so far as to choke up on the board by shuffling my feet up towards the nose.  I got a burst of speed as I descended the wave. I pumped up, then had to force the board down.  I repeated that again annnnnddddd the wave was over.

The water was colder than it should be for this time of year, thanks to the upwelling caused by the remnants of the tiny WNW windswell absolutely no one enjoyed.

There is talk of a decent swell (3+' WHOA) that should arrive first week of September should the storm spinning off New Zealand continue to develop.  Stay tuned...

8.10.13 Even Better on New Board, South Wisconsin

My head is held high on the vast majority of my in-wetsuit surf checks.  Visions of waves twice the size of what forecasts called for tend to dance through my head.

My posture tends to suffer, and my pace tends to slacken, as I pass the railroad tracks and get my first view of the beautiful (to some) stillness of the so-called mighty Pacific.  This is the largest body of water known to mankind, mind you.  Supposedly, this is the manliest of all water droplet congregations.  There are more than a billion of them out there; from the lowly hose leak in your backyard, to the puddle left after a car wash, to the mack daddy of them all: The Pacific Ocean.

It's interesting to me how the ocean responsible for the most deaths, destruction, and hurt feelings has such an oxymoronic name.  It is source of, and host to, the biggest waves on the planet year after year.

The Pacific: peace, pacified...  Today it was certainly living up to its name, or at least on the coast of north North America.

As you probably guessed from my above diatribe, the waves weren't very big.  I walked south hoping to luck into a random sandbar where maybe, just maybe, a wave already slowed by the continental shelf from its open ocean cruising speed might chance upon an unexpected sandbar and jack up to 1.2x its expected height.  That would give an extra four inches to work with.

I passed by a guy and his presumed daughter.  The daughter watched intently as I knelt down and applied my leash, then continued on her carefree revelry as I marched towards the beach.

I paddled out and sat, then watched as an older guy on an egg paddled close to me and perched.  The entire beach was ours, the nearest bobbing head 200+ yards away.

The waves were tiny, but at least the sea surface was smooth.  I caught a left and faded off the back.

I then caught another left, pumped once, smacked and came down without issue.

I got to talking to the guy who was sitting near me. He was from the Sacramento area and was in town for a week at one of the beachfront buildings south of Wisconsin.  He was excited to be surfing but was hoping for better waves.  I told him tomorrow should be ~2% better.  He said he couldn't surf during Sabbath.  I didn't know if he was joking, but I later found out he was Mormon.

He was an empty-nester and showed signs of wanting to move down to SoCal upon retiring from selling payment processing machines.  I told him you couldn't beat Oceanside for value and wave consistency (it's funny typing this after the twelfth unsurfable day in a row).

He and I split a peak on which I got semi-covered up going backside.  It was a glorified head dip in all reality.

He then bailed as he and his wife were going to go to Sea World.  I bid him adieu and paddled north, where a couple of new heads had perched.  I caught a decent left and hit it well, then decided to bail.

8.9.13 A Tick Better on the Firewire Vanguard

Still amped about the flotability-without-sacrificing-agility scenario I'd secured for myself, I went down to Wisconsin again with the new board.

The surf was the same as yesterday, though the high tide was now an hour later, so it was a little less swampy and more consistent.

My first wave was a pretty weak right.  I glided right over the flat spot and went up for a little hit, then another.  I kicked out in awe of the invisible motor on this thing.

There were definitely still some fade-off-the-back waves on which I hoped I would be able to get one burst of speed and have it last me until the inside/shorebreak closeout connection.  Only one of these materialized, however.

I caught a left and hooked up to the top of the wave, then back down.  It's worth noting that the exaggerated flotation of the board makes coming up the wave easy, but sinking down a little harder.  There is a noticeable lag on my pumps in the direction change, but it's overall a plus, since it forces me to draw longer lines and be less spastic.

The inside connection was made and I hooked around a spilling section and smacked the lip. I got an all-to-familiar feeling like I was going to splay onto my back but I ended up on my feet, on my board, with plenty of speed.  What a feeling!

8.7.13 Rank Surf on a New Board

Normally I am skeptical of new shapes/gimmicks/surf tech.  When I first spotted this take on a shortboard six months ago, I was in awe.  This thing is tiny, not wide, not thick, yet voluminous.  The measurements (5'4"x18"x2.25") don't tell the whole story, as the depth of the board continues for longer than with a conventional thruster.

If you flip the board over, there is an exaggerated channel that starts approximately halfway down the deck pad and continues to the center of the tail.  This gives water an easy exit from the pressure of the board.  The faster water can move underneath the board, the less drag.

My skepticism continued.  Firewire is enjoying a massive bump in visibility and market share thanks to some of the risks they take on.

This is without question the smallest board I've ever stood up on (if you don't count standing up on boogie boards when I was twelve).

I had checked out numerous online reviews of it, including seemingly impartial ones, like Reddit's r/surfing and they all said it was worth the ~$700 to buy.

When I was on my way to buy it (I'd checked it our first), I had a similar feeling to when my dad would take me to Toys R Us once a year on my trips up from El Salvador.  Over the years, the feeling of childlike stoke diminishes and it takes quite the jolt of stimulus to get it through the filter of jadedness and cynicism life almost inevitably piles on.

I met Chris at his house in Encinitas.  I'd asked him why he was selling and he said it was because the board made him too tired.  Ostensibly, this could mean he's catching a lot of waves.  He then told me his lower back would get sore from going prone cobra for so long while paddling.  He reassured me it paddled fine and I would catch plenty of waves.

I had some concern regarding the lack of nose rake/rocker and its effect on my pearling statistics.  He said he still made 80% of his hairier drops.

I paid him the 22 $20's it took to get him to release his grip.

On to the surfing portion...

The surf didn't have much to offer, but I was going to paddle out no matta (first English, then Spanish, now PIDGIN).

The forecasts were spot-on in letting me know the waves would be weak and barely rideable.

There were three waves of note.

The first was my first wave, in that it allowed me to get a feel for the glide this board had.  I would have made it maybe 2/3 of the way on my DHD before fading off the back.  It's sad to include this as a wave of note, but that's a clue as to how bad the surf was.

My second wave was a left that allowed me to pump up, down, then go for a hit on which I instantly brought the nose back around without issue.  AHHHH.  It felt good to make one of these.

My last wave of note was a left that was a relative doozy.  I was very late.  I dropped down and instantly pearled hard.  You know how they say you learn more from your failures than successes?  Well, I learned not to take off on super late waves on this board.  Another lesson I had is that I shouldn't paddle super hard for waves unless I will likely miss the wave.  This board allows for easy entry into most to counteract that.

8.4.13 A Session Cut Short at Tyson

If the swell was continuing to fill in overnight, it would make sense to paddle out, even with the weekend timing and the contest in town.

I headed down, walking this time along Mission (not Wisconsin as I usually do) with the intention of checking Pier first.

Pier was ho-hum, but I saw promise southward.  Unfortunately, the meager head count I'd been spoiled with was no longer.  Set waves were in the chest-shoulder range, but they were being contested.

I continued farther south, about a hundred paces of the bulk of heads, and paddled out.

My first two waves were lefts that shut down almost immediately,  one more quickly than the other.

I heard some weird noises and looked to the north. It was an older guy hooting/vibing his buddy pretty obnoxiously.  I harkened back to the days when I did the same to my surf bros, telling them to go on almost everything then vociferously showing my disgust when they missed it by shouting, "WWHHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!".

I doubt my surf bros miss that side of me.

I caught a right, snapped, then faded off the back of the weak shoulder.

A bigger left came and I dropped in.  It closed out and I kicked out.

 The biggest wave of my day was a left and I dropped in.  I went up to snap, but was too late.  I jumped off my board as the lip was coming down.

Upon surfacing, I realized my board was toast.  Salvage value-wise, I was interested in both pieces.  The tail had fins I wanted to keep, while the nose had the GoPro.

I paddled awkwardly on about half a board, collected the other piece, and headed home.

A 60-year-old man was hotdogging on his skateboard and said, "What is it, Pipeline out there?". He walked with me to Wisconsin and told me about his glory days as one of the original downhill skateboarding racers.  He had a Frankenstein stitch on his right shoulder and I asked if that was from skating and he gave me the gory details of that bail.

8.3.13 South of South Pier, then South Pier with Bethany Hamilton, Carissa Moore et al

While walking the streets of Oceanside with my surfboard this week, I was asked by not one but TWO seemingly homeless gentlemen if I was going to surf the upcoming contest.  While it's flattering that I look like a ripper to people who are homeless or have given up trying not to look like a homeless person, it's not so flattering when you consider the contest in question is a 6-Star WQS SuperGirl Pro, complete with a Paul Mitchell banner hanging from the pier.

There were three scenarios as to why they were asking me that:

A) They were messing with me.
B) They were unaware the contest was innies-only
C) My bitch tits had increased in size since last night's mirror pose-down before my nightly shower.  Thus they genuinely thought I was a woman and were making conversation so as to seduce me (not my type guys, sorry).

I reached the bottom of the ramp and saw stillness.  It was, poetically speaking, beautiful.  As usual, my loins' desires trumped my intellect's need to appreciate beauty, wherever that may be, and I was bummed by the lack of surf.

A third seemingly homeless man approached me and asked me if I was surfing the contest.  He looked like Santa Claus might after a three-month bender.  I told him no, and he said I should go down towards the pier, the waves are better.  I thanked him for the info and walked north.

The closer I got to the pier, the better it was looking, but still not great.

There were lots of heads out at the pier.  From far away I saw someone in an orange rashie drop down a drainer confidently, square up and absolutely SMASH it.  Oof, I'll stay over here where it's a little less aggro.

I paddled out, and though there were some waves around me,  I was drowning in a relative sea of bodies.  Granted, there were about five people within a ten-yard radius, but I've been spoiled by my solace.

I kept glancing towards the pier, where some fun ones were being ridden by some of the best female surfers in the world.  I watched Carissa Moore (orange rashie) take the top off another one.  Eventually, I quit fighting the current and floated down where the waves were head high and sometimes peeling.

Another female ripper dropped in and did a fins-out snap, recovering, then floating over a closeout section.  Pretty sick!

Carissa caught another one, and I was on the one right after.  Ever the nose for it, the wave I caught closed out, though I did a stylish drop. I'm sure Carissa was impressed.

After paddling for, and pulling back from, several waves, I caught another one, which faded into oblivion.

During my wait for waves, I had an epiphany.  I did a quick count and counted fifteen women and four other guys, without question the highest (best?) ratio I'd ever experienced.  It was as though I'd paddled out, got sucked into a vortex, and came out at a break just off the mythical island of Lesbos (though there were four other dudes).

Towards the end of my session, I saw Bethany Hamilton, famous for her tenacity as well as being the victim of a shark attack nearly ten years ago in which she lost her arm.  She was talking to another girl and seemed very nice, improving my opinion of her.  She's a huge Jesus freak, so she had automatically lost points.

My first surfing website was called "Soul_Surfer's Soul Surfing Site!!!".  Bethany Hamilton google-bombed me when she titled her autobiography and movie "Soul Surfer".  Shortly after these came out, I received notice of an entry on my guestbook.  A thirteen-year-old girl wrote, "You are such an inspiration.  Thanks to you I no longer think of one-armed people as gross".  I laughed so hard when I read this.

8.2.13 Proper, Yet Improper, Wisconsin Street

My wife was still out of town, and since I'm rudderless in her absence, I decided to kill some time until her arrival with a surf session.

Today I had no liquid fantasies as to what would await me upon my eyes meeting the crystalline (okay, maybe muted green) ocean.  My expectations were extremely low, and as such, anything seemed like a gift.  It's akin to what an East Coast surfer must experience on a daily basis outside of hurricane season.

I nailed it! The waves were maybe 3' on the sets and VERY inconsistent.  I had so many pump-to-fades.  The set waves that did come through were suffering from the section-off-every-ten-yards effect (except it was almost always five yard intervals today) Oside has been sloughing through for weeks now.

WHERE IS THAT CLEANUP SWELL AND/OR STORM THAT WILL CREATE SANDBARS?  I don't know the answer. My plans is to go to Sunday service at one of the seven churches within walking distance and ask God Himself.  Before that, though, I have to figure out which religion is the correct one.

8.1.13 South Wisconsin Street on my Ticking Time Bomb

Today was supposed to be good.  The forecasts called for combo swell goodness, though the SW was supposed to be backing down.  The NW swell was going to be kicking in.

I had my hopes up on the walk up, with visions of spinning cylinders dancing through my head.

The waves, unfortunately,  didn't look good. There was almost nothing between Wisconsin and Tyson, I decided to head south.  It HAD to be better, right?

Eventually, after a good 400 steps, I saw what looked like a worthy peak.  I pressed on another 50 or so paces thinking I would get shuttled to this peak with the current.

It worked out.  I got a couple of forgettable waves, but then my third wave was pretty nice.  I dropped in, pumped once, then did a quick snap at the top, getting a slight view of the spray coming off my rail.  I dropped back down and the wave closed out. I had some speed so I went for a foam climb but my fins washed out and I just sat there until gravity sorted me out. I fell awkwardly into the frothy soup.

The rest of my waves were closeouts.

July Wrap-Up

Wisconsin and Wisconsin-adjacent: 8
Oside Blvd
D Street

As promised, not much variation since I moved up to Oceanside.  Unfortunately, the waves haven't been great. In fact, except for the July 20th sesh, they've been pretty bad.

Bail of the month: The underwater pounding I got in which my surfboard was mortally wounded.

Lust of the month: I'm hoping to score a 5'7"-5'9" Firewire for under $300.  Stay tuned...

7.31.13 Empty Oside on the Big Boy Board

I wanted to give the DHD a chance to dry out before I attacked the dings, so I dusted off a board I've surfed only twice before: a thicker, wider board shaped by my neighbor in Cardiff.

The change in floatation was immediately noticeable, but my duckdiving depth didn't suffer too much.

My first wave was one on which I had trouble getting going.  I think the relative lack of nose rocker was to blame.  When I finally did descend onto the flats, I was off-balance.  My last view of the wave from this side dampened my disappointment as I watched it fold into a big closeout.

I had one more wave similar to the above, then I caught my last memorable wave.  I pumped a couple of times and did an ok hit WHICH I MADE!!!111!!

There were a few cannonballs peppered in, where I got stuck in the lip like yesterday and had to eject away from my board.

7.30.13 Tricky, Fast, and Low Percentage Corner Hunting at Wisconsin Street

The waves looked good size-wise, but the form was poor. The wind wasn't on it, the tide wasn't off; I blame the bathymetry and the swell angle.  The waves were shoulder to slightly overhead, but closing out. 

On my first wave, I paddled my ass off.  It felt as though I'd overpaddled at first, but while getting drilled underwater, I realized I'd underpaddled.  I caught the wave and stalled out, not making it over the hump at the top of the wave.  I stood up and watched as my board went over the falls. I launched myself backwards in an attempt to get away from my board.

I was successful in getting over the hump on my next wave.  I got down the face, and half bottom-turned around the initial spilling section.  As I got around the corner, I saw that the wave was closing out.  I did what I had to do and dove into the whitewash.

My next wave was the exact same as the last if you remove the opportunity to do a half-turn towards the face.  It closed out immediately.

A rare right!  Sort of.  I paddled into it and got hung up on the lip.  I had a decision to make.  I could stay the course and risk a fin, nose, tail or rail to the face or I could kick my board out and lessen my chances of trauma.

I got the drubbing I deserved and when I went to gather my surfboard and feel her curves with my hands, I felt something was wrong.  I paddled out, and when I was sure there was no cleanup set, I flipped my board over and confirmed my suspicions.  A triple crease (a personal record) met my gaze, its ugly fingers reaching around to the front of the board.  When they met the curvature of the rail, they dinged out.  There was also a ding that had reached the stringer, the spine of the surfboard. My board was taking in water with every minute.

A good-sized crease will usually turn into a buckle, which will render a board useless.  The crease divides the board into pieces, and the two opposing pieces feel detached from one another.  It lends the board and inflatable raft feel, ruining one's connection to the board.  Its structural integrity is compromised.  Any attempt at fixing it will cause the board to weigh more.

It is essentially a death sentence.

I caught a left and pumped, then stutter-pumped.  I snapped at the lip line, but was a bit late.  It turned into a floater on which I was too far behind the wave.  I bailed and went over the falls.

My next wave was another more open one.  It was racy, but I managed to keep pace with it.  I got to the lip as it closed out a bit late and got blasted off my board.

My last wave was not so open and a sign to head back and see if I could nurse my board to make it last more than one more session.

7.25.13 Lower Tide Inconsistent Wisconsin

My first wave was head-high and hollow.  True to its form as of late, the wave pinched into a barrel, rather than throwing out like most people prefer.  I got in ok, but I set up too far from the wall.  The underside of the lip hit me in the small of my back.  My stance in the barrel at that moment could be described as low intensity twerking.  Unsurprisingly based on the five-second plotline, it was a no-make.

My next wave was a pump-fest.  I traversed, and when the time came to smack, I was zigging down when I should have been zagging up.  I let out an exasperated groan, arms in the air.

Next up was what could be called barely a wave.  I caught the wave, pumped once, then immediately faded out the back.

My fourth wave was a really fast wave.  I dropped in and almost immediately got barreled, but it passed me by as I was in it.  It felt as though I was staying still while it blasted past me.

A hybrid of my first two waves is what I experienced next.  I pumped like crazy and instead of a smackable section at the end, I pulled through the end-of-the-wave closeout barrel.

I caught a nice wave for my sixth of the day, garnering me lots of speed on the drop.  It was a waste though, as the crashing lip aerated the water around my inside rail and fins, reducing my ability to continue my quest for more speed.  I leaned a little too far onto my backside rail and that did me in.

I barely made the drop on my next wave, but I may as well have gone over the falls, as it would have saved me some paddling for my next attempt at a wave.  It unceremoniously closed out, with no regard to my feelings or my effort.

I got a little drubbed after jumping off.  When I came up, I could stand up.  I realized I was close to shore and decided to bail.

7.23.13 Low Tide and Hollow-ish Oceanside Boulevard

On this particular day, I made my usual trek down to Wisconsin Street.  The swell was coming in at an angle, so I walked south to give myself some runway with the current.  There were a couple of heads in the water on a decent peak a ways down, so I kept walking.  I continued until I didn't see waves breaking, with the intent of being swept into some open faces.

The waves were a little sectiony, but the low tide really helped the waves feel out the sandbars.  This also made the wave-catching window shorter, and my chance of catching each wave smaller.

My first dunk in the ocean revealed a temperature dropped of easily eight degrees.  For the first time since last fall, I longed for my booties.

I caught my first wave right away.  I dropped in quickly and stuck my arm in the wave, hoping to get covered up.  I eyed the lip line and realized it was going to be too small.  At the last minute, I swooped up into the wave and out the back.

Less than two minutes later, I caught my next wave.  It was the opposite of my first wave.  It fizzled out almost upon my pop-up and I faded out the back.

The next wave on which I had the pleasure of riding opened up a wee bit.  I stuck my arm in for the stall and just barely missed getting clipped in the head by the lip.  It was all for naught though as I was thoroughly thwomped in about four feet of water.

I caught a juicy left, which had the ashes of its fallen predecessor strewn across its face in the form of froth.  It opened up beautifully, or so I thought as I pulled into the almond-shaped barrel.  Eyeing my line revealed a brutal closeout in my immediate future.  I did what any coward would do, kicked my board out and sank down into the froth, away from the tumult.

My next wave was a big one.  It was also a closeout.  I jumped of my board and got pounded.

My next wave didn't close out, but the lip did smack me in the head as I attempted to get into the barrel.

I packed it in as I passed my exit on the longshore express, Wisconsin Street.

7.21.13 Missed-It-Mike Appears for a Wisconsin Sesh

M-I-M showed up at 545 to experience the trek that has become my morning commute.  He did remarkably well with his bare feet as he barely complained.

About a tenth of the way to the beach, we felt the stoke-soothing push of a south wind.  This would kill the texture and greatly lessen our chances for a fun time.

We pushed on and decided to surf when we saw it, not wanting to brave the condescending glare of motorists eyeing our dry hair on the way back of what would have been an aborted mission.

Almost all of the waves closed out right away.  I was in position for one that looked like it had a line.  Being the gracious host, I decided to bequeath it to my guest; a decision that would come back to haunt me.  He took it and hooked a sick-looking backside turn in a critical section.  He uncharacteristically emoted.

The long and short of it is I caught zero waves where I did anything but drop in and kick my board out. Mike did get another one where he did a nice lateral snap on a right.  Our teeth began to chatter after about an hour and a quarter, so we bailed, taking Mission back up to my pad.

7.20.13 Swell Bumps up to Beachbreak Max

It being a Saturday, I got out there earlier than usual, hoping to beat the crowd.  Weekends in Oside don't really get crowded until mid-morning, and even then, it's a mellow crowd.  The weekend early morning crowd gets  slight jolt compared to its weekday brethren, so in order to lessen the waves I miss due to others' dibs, I had to do it early.

I was pleasantly surprised by what greeted me in the extreme-angled light.  Solid waves coming through and no one out!

I caught my first four waves within ten minutes of one another.  This is one of the great byproducts of a rising swell coupled with no crowds, consistent rides.

The sandbars are still a bit funky, so the form suffered, though the size was there for the most part.

The first wave was one I had to paddle quite a bit for.  The thought of a steep drop crossed my mind, having paddled for shallower water.  Once the wave and I met, I had to keep paddling, as the wave hadn't quite developed to the point of allowing me entry (man that came out dirty; that's what she said).  I pumped once, made it past a flat section, came back up and the wave shelved out on me.  I adjusted in time so as not to pitched onto my back, but with my lack of speed I awkwardly dropped down and got tousling my balance. 

The conclusion to this wave happened quickly and the surprise was apparent on my face.

My second wave swallowed me whole after I dropped in.  I made it to the whitewash and stopped, then disappeared into the water.

My third wave was a contender for the wave of the wave.  I dropped in and was thrilled it had a line.  I rose up and decisively snapped, throwing a bunch of spray.  Ultimately, it was a no-make.

My next wave was initially pump-heavy.  It then got really fat and slow.  I slashed/cutback lazily and made it past the deep spot, then was again surprised by the speed with which this wave turned inside out.  I made up to the lip, but even that was fat, and I sank down into the wave.  Oof.

Ten minutes of passionate waveriding begat ten minutes of waiting.  Then, the vehicle for the next step of my journey arrived.  I took a lateral approach on this one.  I was trying not to overshoot the section with slop, so I traversed more than pumped.  BOOM! The lip came at me and I did the best I could with my trajectory.  I was still going up when the lip and my board made contact and I endo'ed over the lip sans board.

The next set was a little bigger than sets of minutes past.  I paddled for it, then realized I was a bit inside of my preferred take-off zone on a wave like this.  I stopped paddling, then really laid into it once I was on the wave.  I was concerned with pearling, especially considering it would happen in the shallow part of the bottom.  

Here's my take of what went down:

As soon as I felt the fins engage, I stomped on the gas, putting most of my weight on my front foot.  What I didn't expect was for the lip of the wave to foam out the water.  This caused my fins to immediately release, making me instinctively put my weight back on my left leg.  I did it too quickly, though, and in essence launched myself backward.  I had a great view of the falling lip going down the line, forming a small barrel.  I don't think I would have been able to fit in it though.

This next wave was possibly my highest scoring wave of the day, according to surfing contest judges.  I pumped up, did a small snap, pumped again, then laid into a drawn-out slash.  The wave rewarded me by fattening up and not allowing me the opportunity to get back into it.  More foam may have saved the wave, but I don't think there was much left.

Continuing the steep-flat-steep pattern, my next wave involved a small bobble on takeoff, a pump, an even flatter pump and a closer-than-usual-to-making-it layback snap.

 My next wave was a smaller facsimile of the previous wave, but my trajectory was more lateral and I threw more spray.

A wave steepened to the point of raising my board and me.  I popped up and made the drop.  But it was a drop to nowhere as it quickly sectioned off/closed out.

And my last wave featured me going up for a hit just as the wave flattened out.

The day held so much promise, but it really wasn't as good as it had looked.  The upside was I caught every wave I'd wanted, giving none up to someone who had me outpositioned.  This is a rare feat on a SoCal summer weekend.

7.19.13 Hoping for the Swell Kick at Wisconsin Street

The waves were a little bigger this day, and I was pushing it on this rising swell on the baby board. 

Unfortunately, the waves were still somewhat inconsistent and shifty.  I had plenty of get up, then jump off waves I couldn't catch up to.

Finally, about an hour into the session, I spotted a steep peak headed towards me.  I didn't have to paddle laterally, I was in a great spot.  In fact, I would classify my paddling as slovenly, up until the last couple of paddles before I stood up. 

I descended down a beautiful steep chest-high section, pumped, super-pumped, then pumped halfway down the face and then BOOSTED off the oncoming section.  I felt the board detach slightly from my feet, despite the wind's efforts to keep my board and me together.

It was the most air I'd caught since a sunset session in El Salvador last year, but with a similar result, unfortunately.

7.18.13 Wisconsin Street, Because it HAS to be Better than Yesterday!

I began my outing by counting the 1517 steps it took for me to get from the front gate of the new pad to the sand.  The ocean was battered by the mostly onshore wind.  The slight kick in swell was being torn up, but not to the point where it wasn't rideable.

My DHD is still at my in-laws at this point, so I'm riding my 5'10" epoxy Merrick.

I spent the first half hour of my session going for waves and either missing them or catching them and having them close out on me.

The wind was keeping out any potential bro-brahs out of the water, and my lackluster results probably caused them to step on the gas and towards their responsibilities for the day even harder.

A little peak came up and was pushed from behind by another one.  I whirled around, caught it and popped up.  I swung around the section on this 3' beast, did a small but efficient snap, then pumped twice before laying into a rail-burying, speed-burning cutback.  It's my signature move, several notaries have approved it as being specific to only me.  The most telltale sign it's me is how I burn all of my speed so I have zero hope of recovering, unless the wave kicks back in with a steep section in the critical half-second of flotation I have.

I called it a day after feeling the wind gust up.

7.17.13 Oceanside Chronicles, Chapter One

This was my first-ever session walking to my favorite stretch of beach in the county.  I like the waves here because it can get really good on a combo swell or on a solid sandbar, and the head count in the water NEVER reflects it.  It's as though there is an invisible line at the north end of Carlsbad that few surfers dare cross.

I made a point to count my steps to see how long it would be from our property to the sand (and I was up to 850) but lost track when I had to beat feet across the 101.

Undaunted I trudged on.  My first view of the water revealed lake-like conditions.  Only upon getting towards the sea cliff did I see just how little the surf was.

The new pad is almost exactly .7 miles from the sand.  I was not going to walk almost a mile-and-a-half and not surf.  But not surf I pretty much did...

Every wave I caught was a weak mushball.  I got close on one where I almost caught up to a sectioning 1.8 ft bomb of a speed section, but it was not to be.

I exited the water and made my way back to the pad, content in building up my once-callous calluses.

7.2.13 D St Sesh w/ Ali

The waves were supposed to be pretty small today, but we were pleasantly surprised by what greeted us.  They looked to be chest-high on the sets. Out thar!

I caught a left almost immediately, and got a couple of pumps in before it shut down on me.  I kicked my board out and sank into the water.

My next wave had a critical take-off and I responding by tucking into a switch crab grab.  The footy captured a lot of water moving around.  Since it's been so long since I experienced the ride, I will assume it was a quick fall.

After a long lull, I finally got a look at my next wave, which was yet another left.  I had a slight look at a corner, but it turned out to be a mirage.  The wave exploded all at once when I was halfway down the wave.

Eight minutes later I caught a wave that was neither a left nor a right, as I just went straight.  Another closeout...

The swell appeared to be dwindling, as my next wave, although not a closeout, mushed out almost immediately.

Ali had to go in to get to work.  I had no reason to stay, thanks to the poor showing by the surf and went back up the cliff with her.

June Wrap-Up

Wisconsin Street 2
D Street 2
Turtles
Ponto
Avalanches
Tyson

Wisconsin and D Street end up in a dead heat this month.

This marks the last month of variety in surf spots.  Once we move to Oceanside, I will be surfing almost exclusively there.

6.20.13 Back to D Street w/ Ali PM SESSION

Ali texted me earlier in the day that she wanted to surf D Street.  I didn't hear back from her after responding, so I left her a text saying I'd be out at D at seven.  She rolled up about ten minutes after I'd perched.

I caught a right and cut down the face, as the lip had crashed over prematurely.  I was able to get some speed, then bottom-turn.  Unfortunately, I attempted an off-the-top too laterally, and I faded off the back.

I caught a left and spent the majority of my ride struggling to stay on.  Then, the last bit was on the inside, where the wave turned inside out.  It ledged out, and I was able to keep going onto the flats.  I bottom-turned up for couple of pumps, then gave in as the wave exploded.

I caught a right and had to hustle on it immediately.  Just as I was setting my rail for the bottom turn, I got snapped in the back by the lip.  I lurched forward and recovered, then jumped off my board.

My next wave was a left.  I had to step lightly to stay on it, but I'm pretty happy with the end result, even if it is a no-make.  I bailed on it after realizing my speed was fading and my angle of choice was wrong.  There was very little chance of me making it and probably an equal chance of rolling an ankle or wrenching my knee.



Back to the rights I went.  I paddled hard for one and spent more time focusing my body weight towards the front of the board then standing on it.  By the time I'd popped up, the wave was all but over.

And right back to the lefts!  Although does it really count if I faded almost immediately after popping up?

I let my enthusiasm get the best of me on my next wave and flamingo'd upon first ascent.

I settled down a bit on my next shot at a left and got an opportunity to do a slash with speed for my efforts.  I kicked out immediately thereafter.

6.18.13 Solo Mish to Seemingly Crappy Tyson Street

I made the trek up after having been dry for nearly a week.  The tide was right, the conditions were good, but in typical Pacific tease fashion, there wasn't much of anything out there.

I went against my instincts and paddled out anyway.

I paddled out quickly, thanks to the lack of wave action pushing against me.

My first wave had an ok drop, but the deep spot in the sand chubbed it up and slowed my progress to the point of sinking down into the water.

My second wave, if you can call it that, involved a delayed pop-up.  This was a way to let the wave develop and steepen so as to give myself the best chance to make the wave.  I dropped down and the shoulder I'd anticipated failed to materialize.

My third wave amounted to my third fade in a row.  I was beginning to second-guess second-guessing myself.

My fourth wave, and my fourth left, allowed for a couple of ginger pumps.  An incorrect weighting would lead to being left behind and have zero chance of connecting with the inside section.  I took the conservative route, but the wave reformed, leaving me behind.

I caught yet another left, which IMMEDIATELY faded on me.

Apparently my paddle-paddle-pop-fade style had caught the eyes of a couple of loggers.  They decided to join me.  Luckily, their decision to paddle twenty yards to my north allowed me a glimmer of hope.  Perhaps this session could still be salvaged.

I caught a right and decisively bottom-turned, whacked it well, then kicked out.  Nice!

I saw something my eyes had a hard time believing, a decent left!  I feverishly paddled for it and thanked my personal savior when I felt the familiar push of having caught a wave.  I swooped up and down, then back up and couldn't make up my mind.  I half-turned/half-flamingo'd and somehow managed to save it.  I couldn't believe it.  I gathered my wits and was able to turn the end into what felt like a layback snap, but turned out looking a lot less sick.  The result was true to memory though...



I caught a right and did the best I could on it.  I bottom-turned well and hit it in the right spot.  I rose back up with a little more speed than with which I entered the turn, but there was not much shoulder to bank off of.  I attempted a cutback and got about three-quarters of the way around before I turned hard into the wave, having realized there was no recovering.

My wave count was huge, but there were even more waves I'd paddled for but didn't catch.  I felt a burn in my arms I usually feel on bigger days.  I bailed after the consistency waned.

6.12.13 Solo Mish to Avalanches

The Wisconsin to Pier check revealed nothing promising, so I checked Harbor and found what I was looking for.  The Rad was parked and my wetsuit was filled.

I walked out to the sand and was greeted by an elderly couple, possibly homeless on a picnic bench.  The man said, "Gon' get a couple out there?", to which I replied affirmatively, "That's the plan!".

I walked almost all the way to the north Jetty, the breakwater for the Harbor entrance, and paddled out.

I immediately caught a healthy amount of waves.

My first left started with a stomp and a quick check to make sure I wasn't burning anybody.  I then dueled with the whitewash, attempting to secure some greenwater on which to generate speed for my journey towards what would likely be my latest aquatic disappointment.  This time it was the ocean who disappointed me, by leaving me with nothing to push off of once I had proven victorious over the wash.  I faded off the back.

My second wave was another left, with another lip duel for supremacy.  This lip had apparently vowed to exact revenge on its recently befallen older brother.  It hit me with a one-two combination of lip smacks, but the wax on my board held strong on my foot callouses.  I eventually found daylight and in a promising move for future smacks, put more weight than usual on my front foot.  So much so, in fact, that my back foot slid off the tail pad and there was no recovery.


The next wave was another South Swell Special: a left.  This one was chubby from the get-go.  I shifted my weight towards my front foot, but the wave didn't open up for me.  It steepened abruptly and I kicked out over the close-out.

These three waves were all caught within my first twelve minutes.  I had high hopes for this session.  But it turned out the session was cut short thanks to a combination of an increase in crowd and almost no waves.  It was as though the storm that had generated this swell had taken a prolonged smoke break.  After about forty minutes of waiting, paddling, jockeying, and sighing, I decided to call it a sesh.

On my long walk back to my car, I spotted a black plastic bag on the beach.  I picked it up, I found a Wal-Mart bag and picked that up too.  I filled the Wal-Mart bag with garbage, made up mostly of water bottles.  I began to think that if the City of Oceanside would enforce their anti-littering rules (I believe it's a $1000 fine) they could easily double whatever they make off parking violations.

Maybe I'll run on this platform when I run for citycouncildude...

6.10.13 Impromptu D St Sesh w/ Ali PM Session

Ali contacted me about surfing with her this afternoon.  My wetsuit was still very wet from the morning sesh so I was heavily leaning towards trunking it.

I met her there.  It looked really bad.  We walked down the beach towards Trees towards what appeared to be a mysto peak.  As we got closer, we became aware of its deceit.  Ali suggested jogging back and we did so, but she quit on me.  We ended up paddling out just south of the D St stairs.

My first wave was the wave of the day.  I caught it as it ran into a smaller wave in front.  The slope was perfect for launching me into it with speed.  I rose up, then back down.  I did another pump, found a mini-section and snapped, sending a thin rooster tail of spray up in the air.  I then bonked the whitewash, descended and kicked out.

Jumping back on my board, I realized I'd ridden this wave almost to the sand.  It was the only wave I saw do that during the entire session.

A second wave arrived and it didn't have the push.  I got up on it slowly and gained a little speed.  The fatness of the wave overpowered my surf talent, so I faded.

Ali was commenting on how she wanted to try a bigger board than her 5'11", as she was having trouble catching waves.  I offered to switch boards with her and she accepted.  I then paddled on the most feminine board I'd ever ridden.  Pink streaks near the rails and flowers on the underside would make any passers-by assume I led an alternative lifestyle.  I was secure in my sexuality, having recently taken an internet test revealing I was only 49% gay.

I caught a right on the 5'11" and got speed only when I went up for a hit.  I liked the drive this had up the face, but not much else about the board.

Ali and I caught one in.  She went right and I went left.  I was right in the pocket of this semi-fatty (wow, I haven't uttered that statement since my single days!), but couldn't descend to generate speed.  It felt like I was hanging ten, moving forward, yet staying still position-wise on the wave.

We were both getting chilly, so we bailed.

6.10.13 Payback on the Pacific at Ponto?

After the previous day's "session", I was aching for revenge.

I'd checked Oceanside again, like an abused lover unable to break away from its tormentor's grip, but this time it wasn't surfable.

I decided to take the coast in the off chance another spot was working.  The swell direction screamed Oside, but the tide and size weren't cutting it.  It was unlikely any other spot would be worth surfing.  The farther you go south, the more the coast bends to the west, and away from the south.  This means the swell refracts toward shore, sapping its strength, shrinking its size and slackening its pace.

North Carlsbad had nothing to show.  It wasn't until I got to Ponto that I saw something curious.  Waves! And they were decent.  I pulled over and watched it for five minutes.  Another set rolled through.  I got out of The Rad and opened up the back, still not believing my eyes.  Eventually, I convinced myself to paddle out.

I set up on the outside of three older bro-brahs who knew one another.  Because I hate it when someone paddles out straight into priority, I gave them first crack at the first set wave, yelling GO! as I paddled over it and hoped another one was behind it.

There was, and I went on it, but it was too racy.

I caught another one and this one was also racy.  The barrel hit me in the lower stomach.  I was able to make it to the fatter part of the wave. It was difficult generating speed on it.  I paid my dues and got through it, avoiding what seemed like an inevitable fade off the back.  There was no power section off which to bank, so I did a weak top turn, descended and soul arched into the wave.

My next wave was fat from the get-go.  It also ended fat.  I tried to pump through it once again, but this time I faded.

I caught a left which had some foam to it already.  The foam hit me and blinded me.  By the time I had my vision back, I realized the wave had shut down completely.

My next wave seemed like a quick one, but I was in position for an open corner.  I stalled slightly with my arm and the wave enveloped me.  I was in there maybe a second before it pinched me and walloped me.



Less than ten minutes later, I got another barrel.  This time it was on a smaller, even racier wave.  As I was catching it, I eyed its line and made the call to get into a switch crab grab stance.  It was the right call.  I went into the barrel and was in there just over a second when my nose pearled in the barrel, a symptom of too much weight too far forward.



The barrel feast ended with my next wave.  It opened up and I got a couple of pumps in.  I was then met with the section of doom which ended my time on this wave by creating a dead end.

I was beat from all of the paddling, so I packed it in.

6.9.13 Wisconsin Street Whispers my Name into the Wind; I Answer

I almost didn't make the trek up north today.

When I read the forecast last night, I saw the wind would be blowing lightly onshore all night, then gradually increasing its torment on this swell in proportion to the amount of light provided by the rising sun.

I checked the cams and decided I would be burning a gallon of gas for trying to surf, all while being blessed by the sweet jams of the GuyPod.

There were some racy barrels out there.  I paddled out, hoping for just a second or two inside these spinning cylinders.

I paddled out south of the Wisconsin ramp.  The water felt unusually cold and I soon found out why.  In my haste, I'd neglected to zip up my wetsuit, using only the velcro strap at the nape of my neck to keep it shut.  My wetsuit arms filled with water, adding more resistance to a pretty grueling paddle-out.  After a brief respite from the onslaught, I zipped up my wetsuit, redid my nape neoprene strap, and was about to rid my arms of the heavy water sapping their longevity when another set came.  I made it under those, then peeled the tapered sleeves of my wetsuit arms back and let the water out.

I looked back towards shore and realized I'd drifted quite a ways north, on the very northern edge of the vacant lot right by Junior Seau's old house.

It was frustrating out there.  Waves would break and zip away into uncatchable lines, or they'd just close out.

I'd see waves barrel, seemingly makeable ones too, but once I paddled against the current to their foam trails and awaited their siblings, there would be nothing.  And a torturous look back at where I'd been sitting not three minutes ago revealed a makeable one. Madness.

Thankfully, the forty-minute monotony of paddling was intermittently broken up by a duckdive or two.

A bomb reared its head.  I thought about ditching my board as I was right in the center of its target zone, but I kept it.  I felt the explosion on my feet and it was a dooz.  It felt as though the wave's power propelled me through it.  I surfaced and paddled my ass off when I saw its bigger brother.  I, emboldened by humiliating its smaller counterpart, again went for a duckdive.  This time, I got caught in the mayhem.  I held a death grip on my board, determined not to let go and did a full somersault, board and all, underwater.  After surfacing on my board and checking for another beast, I felt for pressure dings and I'd added eight new ones to the underside of my board, one for each non-thumb finger.

I'd drifted past the two twinhomes for sale when I caught my first wave. I was way too late on it, but I went just because I was tired of not catching anything.  I rose up with it, got caught in the lip, and aborted about halfway down.

Immediately after gathering my board and my wits, I caught another wave on which I was also very late and had the same thing happened. 

It's a bummer when the most exciting thing about a session is a duckdive... I bailed.

6.7.13 Missed-It-Mike Rallies, Appears for a Session at Turtles

After ninety-nine days of not surfing with him, M-I-M bucked his nature and his moniker by meeting me at Grandview.  After suffering years of ribbing due to his minor tardiness, I was pleased to see he'd taken my constructive criticism to heart and taken the initiative of showing up early.

Mike's a smart guy.  He knows I have plenty of surf bro options from which to choose.  He has made some life changes for the better including appearing to have fixed his aforementioned chronic lateness issue as well as not bitching about his feet hurting nearly as much.  Should his progress and discipline continue, I have little doubt he will make the podium at the Surf Bro Olympics.  If only he could convince his wife to let him go to Indo...

Grandview was no good.  I made Mike make the call and he said Pipes.  I instantly rolled my eyes, picturing the massive crowds you can see from atop the 101.  I mentioned this and Mike responded there were several peaks from which to choose.

The parking gods allowed us parking only at the very south end of the Pipes strip, pretty close to Cardiff Kook.

We checked it and were pleased with what we saw. Out thar!

The paddle-out was nasty.  We made it through the shorebreak and middle waves without issue, but we got pounded the rest of the way.  When I finally perched, I breathed a sigh of relief.  It was kind of crowded out, possibly fifteen heads total.

The waves were pretty good.  Nice and bowly on the sets, if you could snag one of these waves and navigate a steep drop you would be rewarded with a workable wall with lots of power.

I caught a left that was on the smaller side and pumped away at it, but still could not catch up.  My last glimpse of it before I aborted was what appeared to be a fattening section, so I wasn't too bummed.

I heard someone call my name and it turned out Aaron was out there too.  I didn't get a chance to talk to him the whole sesh though, as he was on the hunt for rights.

About ten minutes later, I had a look at a bigger wave.  The drop was nice and steep, but it sectioned off almost immediately, I bottom turned up, hoping to make it around the foam, then drop down in time to make it around the sure-to-be-cascading-by-then second section.  I clipped the foam ever so slightly, which robbed me of my speed and my fins' hold in the water.  I was bummed about this one, as the next part of the wave looked steep, workable, and lined up.

It was at about this point at time I had to say goodbye to Mike.  He had just caught a wave and was voicing his disappointment in the amount of wax on his board.  He was scratching at it furiously with his nails, trying to rough it up to achieve some semblance of traction.  A macker set came, and I sprint-paddled while Mike was a little delayed by his distraction.

I barely made it under the wave, while Mike got smacked by it.  I didn't see him again for about a half-hour, though I did catch glimpses of him looking like he was paddling but not moving WAY on the inside.  His posture indicated he was bummed.

My last wave was a right.  I compressed well into a roundhouse cutty and smacked it, but couldn't bring it around...

Mike gave me the "one more" finger and we went in at our next opportunity.

6.6.13 Solo Mish to Hollow/Crumbly Wisconsin Street

The south winds were doing their thing again.  I hesitantly ventured up to Oceanside hoping for maybe a few makeable, not too crumbly waves.  There was a new swell in the water and I had a feeling the crowds would be small.

I parked at Wisconsin and surveyed the wavescape.  It didn't look great.  I decided to suit up after seeing an ok set break.  It was hollow out there and I was hoping for some ramps or barrels.

I paddled out, nary a soul in sight, and this song crept into my head.  I dedicated it to my surfboard:



I caught a left on which I was a bit behind the section almost immediately.  I was able to catch up to it, then generate a bit more speed before it laid a big fat section to me, on which I drained my speed.  Bummer.

I paddled back out, still in awe of my solitude.  Not five minutes later, with every other peak completely empty as far as my eyes could see, another dude paddles out and posts up within fifteen feet of me. Then this song crept into my head:



I paddled and missed a couple of somewhat desirable waves.  My new buddy caught one and was paddling back out when a big hollow one came.  I was really late and thought about pulling back, but the only other guy out was right in the photog zone, and I couldn't help myself.

I threw myself over the ledge in a switch crab-grab and was rewarded with a gorgeous view of the spinning cylinder through which I was threading.  I kept my eyes open and on the most vertical part of the wave, trying to read it so as to adjust my position to increase my likelihood of sheer ecstacy: making it out.

I'm not sure why I didn't.  I think I was too far in the less sloping part of the wave and my speed ran out.  I got thoroughly pummeled, but was amped at my two seconds of glory (note to self: submit "Two Seconds of Glory" to my publisher as contender for title of my kiss-and-tell memoirs).

I paddled back out, but nothing much came and I had work to do so I went back to The Rad and GuyPod.

May Wrap-Up

Wisconsin 5
N.Jetty
Turtles
Grandview

Wisconsin is the runaway winner.  In fact, Wisconsin and its cousin to the north made up 3/4 of my sessions for the month.  Could this be why we're trying to move up there?

Wave of the Month: The first wave of Memorial Day, though the wave I ended on was different from the wave on which I started.

Bail of the Month: That unfortunate bobble on the wave of the day the Sunday before Memorial Day.

5.28.13 Backwards Sesh at North Wisconsin

I skipped my usual check of Buc Beach and Loopholes.  I made a beeline for Wisconsin Street and found my parking spot at 5:59.  It was EMPTY, a stark contrast from the previous day, but the conditions reflected why.  You could tell an unfavorable wind had been smacking it for a few hours.  I saw some corners out there and the lack of crowds pumped me up to the point of paddling out.

I walked south on the beach towards Wisconsin Street, aiming to be shuttled back up north just a bit towards a wedging peak I'd spied from the ride.  While walking towards the most receded waterline I'd ever seen in Oside, I noticed the very nearshore current seemed to be moving south, the opposite of its usual direction.  I ignored this, thinking my eyes must be deceiving me or maybe it's only in that one spot.  Maybe that was part of the recessive NW windswell that was on its last legs.

While wading out, I felt a strong tug once again to the south.  The only thing I could think it could be is the gnarly rip current about twenty yards to my south.  My initial plan was to line up north of it and get sucked even farther away from it by the predominant S->N swell, but it looked like I was going to be pulled into it.  Oh well, I rationalized, that just means the paddle-out will be easier.

And it was.  My first wave was a left, which I hoped would slow my southward descent.  It almost immediately sectioned off.

Keep in mind this is an EXTREMELY low tide, so shoulders would turn into throwers quickly...

My next wave had a really fast line.  I somehow was able to keep pace with it, but there was no reward as the wave hit a fat spot and ruined any chance for a reward.

I took off late on a right and never caught up to the speed racer lip.

Catching that right propelled me WAY south.  I was shocked after the apres-paddle-out perch to see I was three buildings south of Wisconsin Street.  The rip must have slingshotted me past it, reminding me of the Apollo 13 mission, though with arguably less at stake.

I caught one in, then walked about half-mile up the beach towards the pier, but still south of Tyson Street, then paddled back out.  This accounts for the fifteen-minute gap between GoPro timestamps.

Seaward glances on my way north were met with the sight of a few heads in the water.  It was about six-thirty or so, so this was to be expected.  This was nothing compared to yesterday, though!

I caught a right, and looking at the footy, was pleased with the sudden rush of acceleration the quick and hard bottom turn produced.  If only I could do it on an oomphier wave though...!

A left came and I hustled down and then back up.  The section had steepened far faster than expected, but I skirted disaster and got a little more speed. I weathered a flat spot, then took what speed remained and did a failed credit card air, named for the amount of air I got was about the height (width?) of a credit card.



I caught another left, but this one almost immediately closed out.

I then caught a right which started off slowly, I was patient and the thing bowled up, I went up, smacked it, and lived to tell the tale.



Another right.  This one also started off slowly, and it stayed slow.  I hit it, but there was nothing for me to bounce off of and I faded. My kicking the board shoreward sent it airborne and the camera recorded an interesting BOIOIONG sound from the leash being stretched out.

A couple more forgettable waves passed and I was over it after an almost two-hour sesh.

5.27.13 Memorial Day Madness at Wisconsin Street

I shot up to Oside again and knew I'd be surfing.  There was swell in the water and the wind was calm.  I parked The Rad, suited up, and began my journey.  I paddled out south of Wisconsin Street.  The tide was pretty low, but it was just starting to creep back up, leading to what I hoped would be a jolt of much-needed consistency.

I paddled out and sat with an older guy, who much like his older predecessor before him, told me to go on a macker.  He had position on me and must have decided he was too late, because it was one of those waves you don't give away....

I popped up and swooped down.  This wave had a sliver effect; the wave I was on had a miniscule steep section, but it in a way continued farther down the line, slightly behind the wave I was on.  I pumped up to the top of my original section, then pounded hard on my front foot.  I had a quick recollection of the previous day's bobble on the wave of the day, but that quickly went away when I spotted my target.  It was a little strange prolonging my bottom turn to essentially hit a section of the wave that was behind my origin wave.  I had tons of speed but went too vertical on it.  All I had to show for it was a sick view of an s-ton of spray and a feeling of muted stoke.

I paddled back towards where I caught the wave and let the old guy have priority on me.  No waves came for a while and when a decent one did, he didn't paddle for it, so I went inside of him.  More nothing came, but I did catch a right that was smaller, but a screamer.  The footy shows me pumping with the curl crashing just shy of my inside rail.  Unfortunately the future section got the memo the past section sent and it began to pitch.  I was in an awkward spot, as I could see this thing begin to pitch ahead of me, but not hard enough to create a vacuum for me to weave through.  The end result was me almost grabbing my rail for an almost pig-dog with the wave smacking me in the back of the head.

I paddled back south, bumming out about the ever-increasing pack.  Eventually I caught a left.  The initial drop section was fine, but then it fattened up.  I did a laid-back (not a layback) turn on it and watched as the wave instantly imploded underneath me.  I bailed so as not to pearl and faceplant onto shallow sand.

I paddled even farther south, still battling the current and the pack.  I sat for about five minutes before this macker came and I sprint-paddled farther south and a bit deeper for it.  I heard a guy about ten yards away lick his chops going, "OOOOHHHH".  I whirled, paddled hard, and dropped in.  I pumped up and, going for what must have been style points on this quickly-steepening section, didn't immediately pump down.  My intention was to then swoop down to have tons of speed but not have progressed on the wave nearly as much, in a way, extending my time in the juice.  As I stomped down on my front foot, I noticed my board not moving and quickly realized I was caught up in the lip.  This resulted in what I hope was a supremely satisfying smackdown for the wave.  I surfaced, pulled my leash to get my board towards me and paddled back out, bummed.

After watching the Wisconsin pack grow from a pack of two to a pack of twelve, I stopped fighting the current and tried my luck farther north.  I eventually had a look at a right and got an ok smack on it  before it too closed out.  After surfacing, I saw a sick left fold over into a ledge and spit.  That raised my froth level back up and the fact that no one was on it gave me hope.

I'd made a pact with myself to dig a little deeper on my backside bottom turns.  This results in increased drive up the face for more explosive turns.  I caught a right and quickly fulfilled my end of the deal: the footy shows a more technically sound bottom turn but the fat section I was presented left me feeling like a sucker.

A left came and I caught it, hoping I could race the section to the greenwater.  I lost.  I pulled through the back.

The crowd became so unbearable that I got the hell out of there.  It was good to get a look at a couple though, so I left somewhat satisfied.

5.26.13 A Break from the Devil Winds Leads to my Ascension to Oside

The devil winds that constantly plague us during Spring had been having their way with this swell.  I was watching the wind reports/forecasts hoping for a break and it appeared this morning would be it.

I checked D Street and the low tide was shutting just about any wave down.  The wind was ENE so Oceanside's siren song grew louder in my head. "Eddie", it crooned.  "Come see me".  I obliged.

I knew Buc Beach wouldn't be a good indicator, as the tide was so low.  The sight of two-foot slop didn't shift my foot toward the break.  I trudged north with plans of taking out my frustrations on various wave faces.

Wisconsin and Tyson didn't look good, but Pier had some peaks with just a few dudes out.  Because the tide was so low, I figured I should check Harbor, but that wasn't great.  I circled back and parked in the free lot by Dairy Queen and suited up.

I remembered how many cigarette butts I'd seen my last couple of sessions up here so I made a point to count them.  In a two block stretch, guess how many I spotted?



Bummed about the future of our species, I shifted my eyes up, toward the waves.  There were peaks a ways south and no. one. out. ON A SUNDAY!

I paddled out, awestruck at my good fortune.  The nearest person to me was 150+ yards away.  I thought I was going to be able to dry-hair it but had to succumb and submerge thanks to a small one-wave set.

I paddled for a right that was going to barrel hard and very likely close out, but I aborted.  I was just too late on it.

Just two minutes later, I bagged my first one.  Avid reader(s?) of this blog will remember my past spiels about lefts generally being better on south swells (on shorelines with any western exposure) and this was indeed a left.  I caught it and slogged my way through the foam, punched up the face with a strong bottom turn and hit the wave in a pretty sweet spot. I threw a lot of spray but it was all for naught as I ended up on my ass, the victim of too steep a turn for too weak section, or at least that's what I'm telling myself...

My next wave arrived ten minutes later.  It was a fast one so I had to boogie.  I dropped down pumped once, then floated over the section.  I was up on this thing for a beat and a half when I felt my speed dwindle and saw trouble brew as the wave imploded and disappeared within itself.  I kicked my board out and bailed.

I caught a weaker left and it closed out.  I kicked my board out and let the wash wash over me.

The waves were really hard to read.  I had sun to the east with no cloud cover, but sun over the horizon and all to the west.  The added contrast made it difficult to judge the waves.  When a macker is coming, it is almost always accompanied by a change in color from the surrounding water surface.  Because the water's surface was already dark, it seemed like every little bump was a crusher.  After a few paddles-out I acclimated, though, and stayed closer to the inside.

It was at this point that people started filtering in, though I'm happy to report that I didn't have to pull back from any waves this session because someone was already on it.

I took on another left, but it too closed out on me.  The low tide makes the waves steeper and much more likely to close out at beach breaks.  I'd much rather have it this way then too fat though...!

I was pretty late on another left, but had a shot because of its foamy top.  The wash hit me and I staggered up, but the area to my left also had foamed out leaving no runway from which to gain speed.  I kicked out.

On my way back out, I spotted a rhino of a wave.  When you're in this position, you do a delicate dance.  You want to paddle out so as to not be too late on the wave.  But you also don't want to paddle out too far so as to miss it entirely.  As you watch waves break over the years, you get a knack for it, but not much of a knack was needed for this one.  I was going to catch so long as I didn't puss out on my late position.  I paddled, whirled, then paddled in the opposite direction, gaining speed to match the wave's.

The drop was heavy, but not an air drop.  I pulled up from my descent and bottom-turned in time to watch the next ten yards of it slab over and explode.  I corrected halfway towards the beach and kicked my board out, waiting for a pinning that could possibly send me to the sand. The force of the wave hit me about a half-second after I hit the water.  I felt a brutal push for a second, then it released me.  I surfaced amid the foam and sandy water, gathered my wits, and mounted my board.

I was getting close to the Pier crowd thanks to the pervasive longshore current, so I took a wave in on my belly and ambled down the beach toward less crowded goodness.  Once I made it just north of Tyson Street, I stopped for a moment.  The wind had switched onshore and it was looking gloomy out there.  I decided on paddling out anyway.

As if to mock me for my decision, the ocean sent a right my way, which immediately chubbed up and ruined my chances of gaining speed; a discovery I made just after popping up.

A left came a minute later and I pulled through it just before it closed out.

I was now in a veritable pack.  That realization came and was quickly interrupted by another macker.  I watched as a guy to my south inexplicably paddled to my north, giving me position on this obvious left.  We both paddled and there was no way I was pulling back. He yelled, "GO GO GO!", and I did.

I went down this head-high wave about two-thirds of the way,  no idea what to do.  I got caught in my indecision and completely kooked out on it, half of my body leaning towards a hit, the other towards a quick cutty back into the power source.  I blew what very well would have been the wave of the session, and I did not do it gracefully.

I caught a quick left with barely a hit section and did what the wave implored I do.  I felt a satisfying smack under my board as the lip met the fiberglass, but I couldn't hang on.  I swear, if I could do these well I would rip!

The waves regressed into crappier and crappier quality and I took a right out of desperation.  Mid-bottom-turn, it foamed out on me and I kicked out and over.  I took the next wave in on my belly and called it a day.

5.21.13 Impromptu Grandview Sesh Thanks to Chance Meeting w/ Frank

I'd checked Oside and to call it surfable would've been generous.  Lazy, spilling waves were being turned ugly by the S wind.

Since it'd taken me so long to drive home yesterday, I refused to take the freeway.  I also hoped to come across a more surfable spot. 

Ponto showed a good set as I whizzed past, but there were easily two dozen heads on it.

I was going to check D Street and call it a no-go, but I decided to go to Grandview.  I checked it and was unimpressed by what I saw.  I saw something decent at Avocado's, but it was really inconsistent.  I waffled, then decided to head to D.  On my way to my ride, I heard someone call my name and it was my dad's buddy Frank.  I'd never surfed with him so I decided to paddle out with him for the hell of it.

My first wave was a left, that looked to be pretty fun.  As I popped up, I noticed there was a lot of water moving around on it.  Unfortunately, there was someone paddling out right in my way about ten yards away.  I descended down the face in an attempt to squeeze past him, but the chunkiness of the wave didn't allow for much maneuvering.  I did a fly-away out the back.

It took a solid twenty minutes for me to catch my next wave and it was about head-high.  I was salivating.  I descended and just as I transitioned my weight onto my heels a cross-chop must've hit and sent me tumbling ass-first into the water, frustrated.  NOOOOOOO!

A LONG lull later and I had my shot at redemption on another right.  I bottom turned hard, picked my spot and hit it, but I must've put too much weight into it for its lack of slope.  I hadn't done a turn this hard since Punta Roca, so maybe my muscle memory expected more push-back?  I sailor-dived.

Another long lull later, I was on a left on which I got a lot of speed on.  A guy paddling sideways toward me hooted me on it.  I passed him and went up to collect my reward, a meaty hit section.  Only there wasn't one.  I had bottom-turned sharply with the expectation of a power section and it was WWEEAAKK!! I threw a little spray and just kind of stood there as the swell continued towards its demise without me.

5.20.13 Solo Mish to Wisconsin Street

The swell reports were very promising, but the wind reports not so much. I shot up to Oceanside, hoping for the best. 

The swell was definitely there, as Buc Beach and Loopholes looked better than normal.  There was an unfortunate side chop in the water courtesy of the S wind.

The tide was peaking just as I paddled out.  My paddle-out was mostly uneventful, thanks to my opportune timing.  I made it through one depth charge that detonated just behind me, its vibration resonating off my trailing foot underwater.  I had to hustle as its bigger brother was on its way and narrowly avoided disaster as another depth charge went off JUST above and behind me, this time accelerating me up and out for a thrilling ride to the surface.

I was out the back and had suffered a slightly northern trajectory thanks to the expected new swell longshore current, but not too bad.  I was all alone about to enjoy a new swell after a long time of not surfing head-high waves.


I caught a right and, true to its predecessors' nature from swells past, it closed out quickly.  I had just set my feet and had begun my bottom turn when I realized this.  I awkwardly launched myself over my board and braced for the impact from my surfboard, which thankfully never arrived.

My next wave was the wave of the day, and the best wave I've caught since March.  It was a left which opened up to me.  I pumped hard off the top, then again off the very top, to the point that I threw a grom's-worth of spray off the back.  I then laid into a BIG slash which threw more spray, but I made the mistake of burning all of my speed, leaving me nothing with which to continue on my journey towards the sand.

I caught a right late and air-dropped.  I noticed I have a bad habit of keeping my trailing arm posed awkwardly behind me, towards the face when I have a late backside drop.  It changed my center of gravity and though I landed on the deck, my weight was over my heels and I ate it.

Another overhead wave came, this time a left.  I paddled for it gingerly, as I didn't want to be too late.  Looking back towards the wave, I knew I was going to be extremely late but decided to go anyway.  I was pushing up onto the deck when I sensed the bottom fall out from under my board.  I shoved my board aside and went over the falls.

I slammed down into the trough, feeling the familiar tug of my tombstoning board above me.  Despite the tricks I'd taught myself, including quick affirmations and slow counting, I couldn't stop the panic from creeping in.  This started a mid-July day in 1997, the closest I've come to drowning.  Ever since that day, whenever I'm underwater for eight or so seconds, I begin to panic.

I resurfaced without flapping my arms, which is a small triumph for me.  Nothing like a little fight-or-flight to get some adrenalin going!

I caught a head-high left, descended, took a quick look at my options in the face of a closeout and decided hitting the eject button was the best of them.

I sat for about a half-hour just north of Tyson Street, mired in a place not blessed by breaking waves.  I took a shorebreak wave in and ran a quarter-mile or so back to Wisconsin to paddle back out.

I was frothing over the swell, though the frequency of closeouts was taking some of the foam off the froth. 

I paddled out at the same spot and caught a bald guy taking off on a big open left and biffing, but he was pretty late.  Ooh baby, I need one of those.

The beautiful wave I'd envisioned never arrived.  I spent the majority of my remaining surf time paddling south to combat the current and taking off on crappy waves, while pulling back from the obvious closeouts.

5.16.13 Tiny Turtles w/ Aaron

Aaron told me he was bagging lefts and right (ha!) all day the last couple of sessions and finally gave me enough notice once the swell was on the way down.

I met him on the 101 at 545, we suited up and went.  As is normally the case with an Aaron sesh, the waves were small.

There was no one out as we paddled out, basking in the warmer-than-expected water.

We each caught a couple of waves.  Aaron was able to fit some turns in, but I had a hard time getting going on mine.

Eventually, it got downright crowded.  The vibe was friendly, and I shared smiles and hellos with several strangers, except for one person.  I was first made aware of his existence when he paddled for a set wave, pearled, and over-corrected diagonally, eating it right in the maw of one of the heavier waves of the day (MAYBE 4').

This guy paddled for everything and he didn't care if you had priority.  Case in point:  I was in position for a sick one.  I was pretty late on it, but did well on the takeoff.  To my left, paddling furiously on the shoulder is Mr. "Aggressively Sucking", as Aaron affectionately monikered him.  Luckily for me and my noggin, he couldn't catch up.  I pumped once then laid into a roundhouse cutty.  Unfortunately, the margin of error was so thin that I threw spray and ate it as my nose pointed towards the beach.

That was the extent of the excitement for the day.  It was my first time seeing Aaron in over ten months and my first time surfing with him in cold water since the very first entry to this blog, August 2011.

5.3.13 Searching for my South Swell Savior in Wisconsin Street

I looked through all of Oceanside's breaks again on this day. Avalanches was about a foot smaller and decent, but still had the ravenous pack from the day before. I'd been hurt the previous day and wasn't about to place my heart in its hands, for it to crush.

I doubled back towards Wisconsin Street just in time to witness a head-high two-wave set detonating. I waited five minutes and saw nothing else of that caliber, but there were some clean small ones. These tended to section off pretty quickly, but I figured I could have some fun.

I discovered that just south of the ramp at Wisconsin, there is a small stair set that allows you to bypass the slipper boulders. I watched a shoulder-high or so five-wave set break, and I was excited. I hit the water just as the last wave of the set broke. I made it out with dry hair.

Within two minutes of perching, I caught a quick left that I hit and fell. Little did I know this wave would be the highlight of my session...

I caught a left about ten minutes later and that closed out on me. Another left came, and I was in such a hurry that I put most of my weight on my front foot. My board bogged just a bit, probably traversing some aerated foamy water and once I realized I was going to fly over the nose, propelled myself so as to minimize the chances of getting hit. I turned my body mid-air and smacked the water pretty hard.

It immediately felt as though I'd had the wind knocked out of me, but I was fine after one painful breath.

I caught a right on which I thought I had plenty of time. I laid into a drawn-out bottom turn, but a little over halfway through the lip surprised me and hit me under my arm pit knocking me silly.

The longshore current picked up and I bobbed north. It was as though I'd entered the surf-equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle. They were gone. I pondered my existence for the next twenty minutes until I decided I'd had enough. I caught one in on my belly and bailed.

This session was the last of this swell, as the winds turned funky later that evening; something the surf forecasters accurately predicted (though they probably got that info from third-party sources).

5.2.13 N. Jetty South Swell Hunting

I was so ready for this swell.

This winter was pretty bad for surf.  I think I remember one swell that was more than head-high.  While shivering through yet another lackluster session, I began to yearn for the halcyon days of the summer of 2011.  This was the summer that inspired this blog with its peaky conditions I could surf virtually alone for about an hour after first light.

I awoke before dawn and was in The Rad ready to roll by 530. 

Since this was predicted to be a head-high swell, my pineal gland directed me to the north to hopefully allow the swell's power to reach its county maximum.  Of course Lowers would be firing, but what good is excellent surf if you can't surf it?  It's akin to going to a gentleman's club and seeing beautiful women you can't experience (I wouldn't know, though I have read about these establishments in my Archie comics).

My usual check revealed the usual drudgery.  Buc Beach could possibly work on a higher tide or a swell with more west in it.  Loopholes through Wisconsin was pretty weak.  There were signs of life between Wisconsin and Pier, but the dropping tide made me proceed towards Harbor.  S. Jetty was worse than usual, thanks to dredging equipment positioned as though its mission was to destroy waves.  Harbor didn't look amazing, but the head count didn't reflect that; it was packed.  Condors had a little something going, but nothing amazing.  Then, I spotted N. Jetty, a spot I call Avalanches as a shout-out to its southern cousin in OB.  There was a wedge there that was overhead with people splitting peaks.  There was a lot of water moving around as these were thick, but I wasn't too worried about it.  I pulled into the free lot, suited up into my 3/2 thanks to the Santa Anas, and took the long walk to Avalanches.

I paddled out and was aghast to see just how many people were in the water.  I'd somehow missed that detail while cruising by in the car.

I lined up with the big crane they're using to remodel the amenities and sat/paddled/pulled back for about twenty minutes before my first wave came.  It was a throaty left.  I took off and enjoyed the generous rush of speed.  I looked back out of habit and there was a guy on it.  I bottom-turned steeply and kicked out.  I held my arm up to the guy from afar when I saw him again and he paddled to me and told me he wouldn't have made it and not to worry about it.

Big, head-and-a-half waves began emerging to the pack's south and the vast majority of the crowd took off paddling for them.  I looked back and I was still lined up with the crane.  I thought these were fools for all competing for those waves when these were almost as meaty.  I sat there with the guy I'd snaked for about five minutes before glancing to the north and seeing I'd drifted close to the jetty.  The water around me had gotten choppy and I realized I'd been snared in a rip current.

I paddled for easily ten minutes without stopping, catching up to and then passing some of my recently departed packmates. Every wave had a guy on it and it was maddening.

I finally got a look at an ok left that fed into the rip, but it got flattened by it right after take-off.  It was the weirdest feeling watching this hittable shoulder get mushed into nonexistence.

I was stuck in the rip again and had to endure another lap on the liquid treadmill, though this go-around was closer to five minutes.  I caught one more wave and it closed out on me.  I headed in, took my leash off and walked to try my luck farther south.  Unfortunately, there was nothing going on except for just north of S. Jetty and it was so packed I was over it.  In I went.

When I was changing out of my wetsuit, I saw the guy whom I'd snaked, noticeable because of his bright green wetsuit bottom.  He had gnarly too-big-to-be-normal bacne scars all up and down his back.  I realized when presented with this evidence and his large build that he probably had employed the use of anabolic stimulants.  I was relieved not to have caught him during an episode of 'roid rage, as his reaction would not have been nearly as amicable.

April Wrap-Up

Absolutely awful. Two sessions. A real letdown. What a waste of gas. Oof.

4.24.13 Swept Along by the Current in Oceanside

Well, I did it again.

I let the surf forecast pundits, the so-called experts, get me excited for the day's conditions.

Because of the devil south wind and the wave-smothering rising tide, I had to get out there early.

I have a theory about south winds being worse than onshore winds.  Onshore winds' damage to waves can be minimized by the surface-smoothing kelp beds, if  a spot has them.  Swami's is an excellent example of this.

Unless you're surfing a spot with a favorable headland set-up (Scripps is an example) south winds will destroy the sea surface.

We are in Spring, season of south winds.

The scuba flag was pointing in a side onshore direction, so it wasn't all  that bad.  Once I spotted the waves, I was pleased to see only slight shape deterioration.  I parked The Rad in the free lot, suited up and made my way to the beach.

There was not much out there.  Sure, there were some rare head-high sets, but the vast majority of them would close out.  All of them seemed to section within five or six seconds of first foaming.

I walked farther south as I continued to scan the wavescape.  I noticed a sizable contingent of spongers out.  Many more than usual.  Was there an invisible blackball in effect? Had there been a virus that had wiped out stand-uppers, with just me and a few of my brethren left to regenerate our species (not sure how that would work as I saw only dudes)?

I paddled, after a ten-minute walk out, in search of answers.  I got my first wave pretty quickly.  I was hanging out on the inside after pulling back from both waves of a set.  A bump came, and I whirled for it.  I got a pump on it, then realized it was hollowing out a bit on the inside.  The wave did throw out, but not enough to allow me into the part after which I lusted most.  I received a cruel slap to the temple for my efforts.

My next wave arrived ten minutes later, and it was a right.  I dropped in and noticed the wave immediately chubbed.  I did a weak cutty, recovered and had no choice but to fade off the back.

I was getting in a sort of Bermuda Triangle of waves.  None seemed to break and I was heading towards the pier on the current, where there was nothing much better.

I decided to go in and hoof it back south.  On my way to The Strand, the beachfront street, I found an almost empty tin container of Mexican candy someone had left.  I picked it up.  I noticed a cigarette butt, then another, then another.  I started piling them into the candy container until it was full.  I couldn't believe how many cigarette butts there were.  And this is in a country with $1000 fine for littering!  I was pretty disgusted by my species.  I found a trash can, continued to walk and practically shed a tear

I composed myself and paddled back out.
I caught a left on which I had the good fortune of watching it close out.

On my way back out from the last wave, I got a look at a quick left on the inside, where the only juice seemed to be, and pumped once, then levitated up to the falling lip.  I floated for less than two seconds, then airdropped down, consciously attempting to match the angle of my board with the slope of the wave.  I was successful, as evidenced by the burst of speed I enjoyed.  There was nothing to hit, so I kicked out, amped. 

My last wave was another close-out.

4.17.13 Steep South Swell Makes Oside Harbor the Call

The moratorium on having either funky Spring winds or absolute flatness had been lifted, and I was amped.  I shot up to Oceanside and saw some worthy peaks just north of Wisconsin Street.  Apparently others had received the memo about the favorable conditions and combo swell in the water, as it was crowded for 6:30 Oceanside standards.

I trudged north, towards sweet relief from the crowds.  Northside didn't have much, but I did get a sick view of a guy on a bike, wearing his wetsuit and booties, with his surfboard riding shotgun.  He had a small bag slung diagonally across his back, which I presumed to be his dry clothes.  He turned down to the frontage lookout and I proceeded to see what Jetty/Harbor had in store for me.

Jetty is a fickle wave. It needs swell to overcome offshores of this magnitude.  The set waves seemed to be right at the cusp.  I saw three dudes running towards the water, which always raises one's stoke level.  I decided to park and suit up.

After walking onto the windswept sand, I opted to try my luck on the peaks to the north of the jetty; peaks collectively known as Oceanside Harbor.  I have my own names for the waves  a hundred yards past the jetty.  The sandbar that sits just south of the big condominium building visible from the freeway I've dubbed Condors, and is great because the wave just off the jetty swallows up the crowd and I can surf Condors with only one or two heads battling for waves.

The wave that breaks towards the northern jetty (the one that is the southern boundary for the boat entry/exit point) I call Avalanches, and can work really well on a big swell.  This wave is usually not too crowded as it's a ten-plus minute walk from the parking area, but it's hardly ever prime because of the swell requirement.

I anticipated a northern-moving current because of the south swell.  As I was assessing my strategy for the day, a ginger guy in his early 20's skipped past me clutching his 5'6" quad fin.  The thing was tiny!

I walked north a bit more. I paddled out south of Condors.  It took a good five minutes before my first wave arrived.  It was a bigger right and I was extremely late on it, an observation which didn't crystallize for me until I was popping up and the stiff offshores laid into my board.  I air-dropped awkwardly and skipped off the deck, just as my fins were biting into the water.

I caught another late one, but it was a left and tucked into a switch crab grab.  I got some tunnel vision, my first in a while, and got treated to a surprise double-up which made the barrel wider but also way too racy for me to make.  I will leave you in suspense as to what happened...

My third wave was a bit better, a lined-up left on which I was able to jump in before it reached critical mass.  I pumped a few times, then bottom-turned hard, snapped, threw a ton of spray, but ended up splayed upon my back as it closed out over me.

My next one was a quick left which closed out on me fast.  I pulled through the wall.

My fourth left in a row was very fast and I lost the footrace with the curl.  I pulled through the foam only somewhat successfully.

My final wave was another quick one, but I had a jump on it. I pumped just once and was prepping for a hit on a somewhat open section when the lip throw surprised me.  I floated over it, but was too sideways in my trajectory and biffed.

I went in as I could feel my outer pecs getting a rash.  This wetsuit has less than ten sessions left in it...