6.26.14 Miscommunication Cripples Slump Buster at South Wisconsin

My wife's work is super busy during the summer.  When she is on a conference call, I can't surf.  When she has to go on a trip, I'm going with her.  The vast majority of the destinations are places where it's very difficult or very uninviting to surf.  This month we went to Oakland, but took a little pre-work mini trip to SF.  The closest I got to surfing was mind-surfing the set-up at Fort Point, just beneath the Golden Gate. There were no waves, but I visualized the NW swell wrapping around and refracting into a barrel.

When we finally came home, the waves and Raquel's schedule alternated in making sure I stayed dry.  I got a couple of great skimboarding sessions in, as that's something you can have fun with on any peak of a high tide, but no paddle time.

That finally came to an end on this morning.

I decided to stick to the nether, south of Wisconsin, waves due to the not-so-great quality-to-crowd ratio elsewhere.

I paddled out and I didn't have a chance to perch before I caught my first wave.  I pumped and pumped, and it was a little flat at first, but then bared its teeth.  I saw a ramp and I launched enough to release my fins but had too much weight on my heels to land it.  Still, not a bad way to restart my surf career...

I caught another wave that seemed to have a shoulder, but as I ascended with the intent of eviscerating the lip took its sweet time and the adjacent wall lacked oomph.  I turned with very little speed and sent a rooster tail with the thinness of an eleven-year-old Indian boy's moustache.

The last wave I remember catching was a steep, racy one that flattened out.  Just before it flattened out, I prematurely decided to lay into a roundhouse cutback.  The section was too steep for it and I turned it into a carve which felt awkward.

I mixed up the times and couldn't remember if I had to be back home by 730 or 9, but rather than risk Raquel's wrath (and her colleagues being showered with baby noises), I cut my session short.   It turned out the 730 call was for the next day.  Bummer.

6.5.14 Only Dude Trunking it at Mavs

I was greeted with a couple of dozen bobbing heads whose bodies were enveloped in black neoprene.

I was on my seldom surfed 5'11" CI thruster.  I made a point to go a little away from most of the crowd.

The crowd was made up of some familiar faces.  From sessions past I spotted smily mustachioed Filipino dude and Peroxide Pat, whose bright hair reflects glare rivaling that of the sun.

I managed to snag my share of waves.

I got a left on which I made it around the initial section, but when I bottom-turned I had a brain fart and quickly ran out of wave. I was about twenty percent of the way through the turn when I was up and over.

I caught a couple of other lefts which either closed out on me or I immediately kicked out on, not in the mood for a no-way-out crab grab barrel.

The absolute highlight came on an A-Frame nugget.  I was a little too deep on the left, so I went right.  I had a glorious view of the wave opening up to me.  I rose and absolutely smashed the lip.  I got hung up on it for so long I thought I was going to fade off the back, but I made it back down, out of runway.

After about a half-hour (the surf report said the water temp was 62, which seems about three degrees too low), I got cold and bailed.

6.4.14 Short Trunk-It Sesh at Miramar

I was on limited time, and I was aching to surf.  I was on my way to check Harbor due to the low tide when I suffered what could kindly be described as technical difficulties.  I went from the street to the sidewalk so I wouldn't be in the way of the car turning right behind me.  I didn't jump the curb or do anything crazy, I took the curb cut up and out of the corner of my eye I caught my surfboard literally nosediving.  My adrenalin kicked in and I opted against reaching for it, as my mind made a snap decision that could lead to me crashing (it would have been the best course of action in hindsight).

I steered the bike so it was right on the edge of the sidewalk and applied the brake.  I watched helplessly, or so it felt, as the nose of my board skidded in the grass and dirt to my right.

I surveyed the damage and the board was scratched but not dinged.

I stuffed the horizontal bar as best I could and continued on my way, with one hand on my board.  I nervously went down Seagaze towards the "boardwalk", not an easy task while holding the bike steady with one hand while engaging the coaster brakes.  I stopped when I saw some waves and fiddled with that damn loose bar.  After a solid minute, I had it in there well and tight. 

I rode all the way to Harbor and that looked worse than I'd seen when I was pulled over.  What caught my eye was the lefts off Mira Mar street.  On my way back from Harbor, I pulled in and anchored my bike to an ancient taxpayer-subsidized bbq grill.

I paddled out to a completely empty lineup. I was reminded on this paddle-out, my first sans wetsuit one in almost nine months, how much easier it is to paddle without a wetsuit.  Normally when I paddle out, my arms start burning towards the end of my journey past the waves.  I felt so free.  I wonder if this is how women feel when they go braless...

My first and best wave happened less than thirty seconds after perching.  I dropped down the initial steep section and rounded the corner.  I snapped it well, then descended.  I pumped once or twice to make the connection and once I did, I was rewarded with a soft section of the right meeting me.  I tapped it so as not to overdo it but my fins lost purchase in the foam.

I caught a couple of others, both closeouts, then bailed.  I had an early appointment to get to.

5.31.14 PM Mavs with Missed-It-Mike!!!!!!111!!1!

Mike had some free time and decided to come up and surf with me near my house.  He picked me up and we paddled out at Mavs.

The blackball was in effect, so there was an area with no surfers whatsoever.  I told Mike we should paddle where we're JUST inside of that.  I figured the current would sweep us right into an enticing peak.

Not long after we'd perched, I caught my first wave.  It was a left I raced and lost.

I was in position for a solid overhead right.  I caught it, then hooked around the section and vertically CRUSHED it in the steepest part of the wave, throwing tons of spray.  The wave fizzled after that and I was alright with that.

Fifteen or so minutes went by and frustration got the best of me.  I took off on a wave on which it was pretty obvious I wouldn't see daylight.  I went for it and after much finessing made it to the unbroken part of the wave.  Unfortunately, this was a sider, which was much smaller.

I had to let a couple of overhead bombs go because I was just too late on them.

I caught another couple of overhead lefts on which I was convinced I was going to pearl, but I somehow made it.

I convinced Mike to switch boards with me and he did.  He had never tried this type of board before.  I took his Tokoro, which didn't feel all that big to me even though it was nine inches longer (that's what she said?).

Mike is the type of guy who is afraid of missing out, so I was a real bro when I told him we could switch back if he wanted.  I think it was his puppy dog eyes that let me know he was ready to switch.

It never got to the point where the crowd was a factor, but there were some sick bombs in the blackball.  Seeing as to how we'd been outside the designated surfing area for about all of our session, I went for it. Five or so minutes later I was rewarded with a bomb.

Mike was telling me a story about his brothers and the mayor of Oceanside when I spotted something massive on the horizon.  My vision was confirmed when a guy was sprint-paddling for it, trying to pass me.  Given my superior positioning and average awareness, I was able to situate myself in priority.  I was a little bit late, but I bottom turned hard and did the best frontside hack I've done in over a year.  I got hung up slightly then rejoiced as I descended again.  I kicked out elated.

Mike had a time constraint as he's helping plan his son's third birthday party tomorrow and we had to go.  We were in the water for close to ninety minutes.

5.30.14 Another Quick Session at Low Tide S. Mavs

I hit the road on my bike at 5:33 and was in the water by 5:46.  The bike allowed me the luxury of more surf time, but also a great way to survey the surf.  Raquel needed me back at home by 655 (post wetsuit wash). Pressed for time,  I decided on S. Mavs after seeing a big set break.

I locked up the bike and paddled out.  I had a bitch of a time catching my first wave and got a bit stressed given my time constraint.  Eventually I caught a left that wasn't catch-upable.   It was just too damn fast.

I caught another left and tucked my knees in as I hit it.  Unfortunately I'd approached it too laterally and decided to bail as I was being pitched over.

The swell is on the way down and the pickings will be slim.  I enjoyed this run of ok waves, especially considering we're dealing with bad winds for the most part.

5.29.14 Much Better than Expected N. Mavs

The wind forecasts from the previous night did everything to dissuade me from paddling out today, but I was too determined to surf.  Yesterday's dry hump of a session demanded I relieve my blue balls.

This time I took a nice leisurely stroll, with more than two hours in which to surf.  The wind was palpably coming from the south, which made the corners of my mouth droop as I walked. 

Upon first glance, it looked pretty bad.  The fact that the surface of the ocean was smooth made it an easy call to paddle out.  And so I did.

I paddled out at the southern end of the vacation rental building on the very northern edge of N. Tyson.  By the time I'd perched, I'd skipped past the entire building and its adjacent park and was lined up almost exactly with Seagaze.

My first memorable wave was a left which I caught late.  I almost pearled, made the drop, bottom turned, and did a mellow snap.  I got hung up in the wave a little but was able to descend.  The wave still had its steepness on the inside but had halved in size.  I did a nice slash at the top of the wave and sent spray flying.  Good one.

As I drifted closer to the pier, I sniped a right.  After suffering through a bumpy bottom turn (the winds had kicked up), I had the reverse situation from a couple of days ago.  This time I snapped too hard for the wave and would have lost it if I hadn't slammed my weight to the ball of my front foot.  The section was nice and vertical but it had no oomph.  I faded off the back.

I got too close to Pier again and decided to bail in search of better and less crowded waves.

I walked all the way down to, and paddled out in front of, Tyson proper.

I spent most of my second try at the session battling the current and crowd, though I did have a luck at a BURLY overhead left that I was just too inside for.

I had a couple of waves peppered evenly throughout the session on which I could not drop in and had one dangerously close call with a trip over the falls.

5.28.14 No, THIS is the Shortest Session in EddieSurfs.com History!

My wife had a seven o'clock conference call today.  I woke up, as usual, at around three something in the morning.  My plan was to get up around five, walk down to surf by the pier light, and take advantage of this swell while it lasted.

Unfortunately/Fortunately I fell asleep.  Yes I was able to catch up on a sliver of my many hours' of sleep deficit, but I shot out of bed to see it was 5:41, jumped in my wetsuit and RAN to the water.

I had about a half-hour to surf and I couldn't take any valuable time to lollygag and see what the sets wrought.  I paddled out at South Mavs thinking, correctly, that I'd get swept towards Pier.

The sets were closing out for the most part thanks to the crappy timing of the low tide. 

I ended up catching one wave. I bobbled the takeoff ever so slightly, causing me to put some weight on my heels.  That was enough to kill my shot at what looked like a workable lip line.  I dove off my board once I realized I'd blown it so as to minimize the ground I'd lose to the current.

A set came and with it, transportation RIGHT to the edge of the pier pilings.  By this point I'd decided I was going to go in.  I braced myself and caught a macker of a closeout on my belly.

As I walked on the sand, I vacillated between paddling out for a chance at a quick one, but within twenty seconds I'd decided not to.  A set of closeouts made that decision easy.

According to my watch, I'd spent twenty-three minutes in the water. Woof.

5.27.14 Lonely and Loving It at N. Mavs to S. Pier

The waves showed very little when my eyes first met the sea this morning.  There was absolutely no one out as I saw chest high set detonate a little too quickly.  The low tide had happened almost 2.5 hours ago but it was evident the surf hadn't recovered.

I spent the days between today and my last session with another nagging, annoying, sinus infection.  It kept me out of the gym and out of the water, but at least I didn't have to worry about passing it on to Raquel or Lucia.

With the news of Isra's death still weighing heavily on my mind, I dedicated this session to him.  I got to ride my first really juicy rights at Sunzal thanks to him, a direct result of my pestering him for way too long on preceding nights.  I have great memories of piling into the back of his black pick-up truck (one with metal bars all around functioning as a cattle car, but for people) with his kids before sun-up and standing up the whole five or so kilometers to the break.  My elation and breathing in of the already warming humid air was intermittently interrupted by various tropical bugs meeting their fate on my face.

I wish I could say my grief turned me into a surfing savant for the extent of my session, but it didn't.

I paddled out amidst one of those bizarre it's-too-quiet lulls where you think you've paddled out too far because the only waves are forty or so yards inside of you.  I perched and a set hit.  I paddled out a little farther.

My first wave was a left on which I got one quick superpump and not much more.

My first right was next, and I'm going to call it the wave of the day.  I bottom-turned and carved it well, though I did let up a little as I didn't think this section would have as much push as it did.  Had I gone at it full bore I would have eviscerated it.

A smaller left came and I did an off-the-top on it, sooner than I would have liked (no wall).

A guy had paddled out closer to Pier and wasn't catching a thing.

I got swept towards him, but he had bailed to try his luck elsewhere.  I caught another racy left on which I superpumped, hoping to cover as much ground as possible so I'd have a faint shot at making the section.  It was of no use as the whole thing detonated.

That last wave happened to be the first of the biggest set of the morning.  I was determined to paddle through, but I was being swept south and was reaching critical proximity to the pier.  As I paddled out, the current and the angle of the waves I was duckdiving pushed me closer and closer.  I flirted with paddling through the pier but considering how much I was being tossed about, I decided to go in and march south.

I paddled back out at S. Mavs.  I caught one wave on which I did a small floater, but lost it as my fins were confused by the aerated foam.

I had another chance at a decent left.  I descended and pined for the end section.  By the time I reached it, I had no speed.  I threw my hands up in frustration.

The whole session was free of me having to pull back from others who had right-of-way.  In this way, the time spent out there was glorious.

RIP Israel 'El Charro' Rivas

At one point when my mom was sixteen, she'd had enough of living the lonely and fake oligarch life and took off for El Sunzal, a then tiny beach community in El Salvador.  In her stories to me, she seemed to imply that she lived off her wits and cunning, and while she did make some money giving tours to tourists (sometimes all the way to Guatemala), most of her income came from her brother and my namesake, Eduardo.

It was during this time she made friends with Isra.  He was a lifeguard at several beaches in El Salvador, namely El Majahual and fed several mouths with his meager earnings as such.  He and my mom lost touch after she left El Sunzal for Maui, then San Diego (where I dropped), then Guatemala.

She married Jaime, her second husband (twenty-one years her senior), in 1983.  Jaime's family was a very wealthy family which had made its fortune in coffee over the last hundred years, then diversified into banking, a car dealership (they held the monopoly on Subarus in El Salvador), et al.  In 1986, she convinced Jaime to rent a house on the beach in San Blas, adjacent to El Majahual.

As is common there, people would wander off the sand to entice weekenders with their various wares.  People would come by offering horseback rides, turtle eggs, parakeets, bread, nuts and so on.

One day a very tan man with sunbleached hair came by with a big black inner tube.  He was selling oysters and conchitas.  My mom recognized him instantly as Israel, whom she hadn't seen in more than a decade.  After a warm greeting and exchange, he came to me and asked me if I knew how to swim yet.  I said I didn't, and my mom hired him to teach me how to swim.

We'd see Isra every other week when he came by to unload some of his seafood.  He'd then jump into the pool with me to teach me to swim.

In 1989 things weren't going well and we stopped going to the beach.  My mom went to rehab in Boca Raton for her on-again/off-again addiction to coke.  She then divorced Jaime and I don't believe I saw Isra again until seven years later.

In December of 1996, I was back in El Salvador for the first time after having moved to the States.  Jaime invited me to spend Sunday at the beach house (he continued to rent it until 2003, God knows how many times over he could've paid for that thing with that rental money).  It just so happened Isra was now the caretaker of the beach house and lived onsite.

I didn't see him again until the next summer, when I came down for two months and spent as much time as I could at San Blas.  I had become extremely good friends with Eliud, Carlos, and Chamba. We all loved the beach and bonded instantly.

When I contracted Dengue fever in 2000, Isra and his wife took me to the doctor and paid for my medicine out of pocket.  My attempts to repay them were rebuffed multiple times, though I was able to pay for a new windshield for his pick-up truck when his previous one had been smashed four years later.

As previously mentioned, Jaime gave up the beach house in 2003.  Israel and his wife, Dinora, moved the family about as close to Punta Roca as you can be. They lived in a house owned by Dinora's family, who worked in Maryland as managers in banks.  I saw Isra and his boys many times on every trip to El Salvador.

The last time I saw him was July of 2012.  Carlos had married the sister of the mayor of the city of La Libertad and Isra was driving a garbage truck.  I found this out when I was taking my board out my rental car at Punta Roca and Isra slammed on the air horn of the garbage truck, then laughed his ass off as my face registered sheer terror. "¡Chele Pfeifer!", he said (chele is a term of endearment given to particularly pale people in El Salvador).

He moonlighted as a Charro aka mariachi singer and he LOVED it.

I was on Facebook today and saw a rectangular graphic commonly used in newspapers bearing his name:

The guy who had posted it was Pando's (nickname given to Eliud) second or third cousin who was also a caretaker in San Blas.  Then I saw that the city of Puerto de La Libertad had paid for it.  I WhatsApp'ed Pando, who now lives and works in Luxembourg, and he confirmed the sad truth.  His dad's heart had stopped.

I'll end this post with a video I took of Isra rocking out on karaoke during his son's wedding.  It starts at the one minute mark:

5.23.14 Inconsistent Mavs; One Memorable Wave

With the holiday weekend approaching, the dreaded Spring winds packed their wind suitcases and got in their wind cars and bailed.  A fresh swell was scheduled to hit my home shore and it was not officially a day off for most, meaning my chances for a good session were solid.

I had made up my mind to walk south to Wisconsin Street as was tradition last summer, but my mind was occupied when my subconscious steered me north, towards Pier.  I made it maybe five steps before I realized which way I was walking and decided to leave it up to Jesus, for He knows better than I.

I was looking into the plate glass windows of the closed businesses as I walked along the 101 when I heard someone call out to me.  It was a black woman in a dress.  The exchange went like this:

Lady: "HeeeeEEEEEEEEeeeeey!"
EddieP: "Hey!"
L: "You going to have some fun?"
EP: "Absolutely!"
L: "Thank you for saying good morning to me. It makes my day!"

I then realized this was someone I'd greeted near the bus stop on a couple of separate occasions.  I've made a habit of saying hello to fellow pedestrians as I've always thought it weird when people walk by each other and pretend the other doesn't exist.

EP: "You're welcome!"

I continue walking and pass her.

L: "My name is ChiChi."
EP: "ChiChi? Mine's Eddie."
L: "God bless you, Eddie."
EP: "Right back atcha!"

I continued walking, hopeful that ChiChi's blessing would last through my session.

I arrived and balked at the head count at Pier.  There was no way I was going to do battle with all of those guys.

My first wave was a left that looked racy, then looked downright unmakeable by the time I was up on it.  I pumped up slightly upon stomping, then slammed my weight forward to cover as much water as possible.

Five or so forgettable waves later, I caught a left and swooped down on it.  It's the first wave in too many sessions on which I had some real options, though it did slow down about three-quarters of the way through.  I smashed the lip and slid the tail out hard, the board became parallel with the sand.  I ALMOST pulled it.  Had the wave had a bit more juice to it I think I would have been able to get back up.

I eventually took a close-out in.

5.21.14 Junky S. Pier

We had classic Spring winds on it today, but I was excited that this would keep the crowds from swarming in.

I was the first to paddle out, not a soul in the water.  I had sought solace in my solitude and BAM!  I had it.

It lasted all of eight minutes.

The waves were about as bad as expected.  I caught several lefts which either had no juice or would close out. 

I caught a right which scooped me up late.  I made the drop and my loins tingled as I bottom turned.  This one had a line.  I drew my line a little wider than I should have, and though I eviscerated the wave, I sank into water with no speed.  Had I gone more vertical I may have descended again and completed the maneuver.

I went in after an hour.  I counted fifteen heads in my vicinity as I left.

5.16.14 Quite Possibly the Shortest Session in EddieSurfs.com History

I couldn't paddle out as early as I would have liked, thanks to scheduling conflicts.  Thanks to the offshores, which had been wreaking so much terror on our inland braddahs, I didn't have to worry about the waves getting blown out.

Unfortunately, the tide was a bit too high for the amount of swell in the water...

I opted for North Pier to escape the god-awful crowds south (the waves there were much better, though).  I paddled out right next to the pier, twelve or so feet before the pylons extend outward another layer.  I told myself I would paddle straight out towards the pylon, confident the current byproduct of the steeply angled S swell would move me away.

My calculations were correct, though I could've tapped my elbow on the pylon if I'd rotated my shoulder.

I sat on the outside, constantly missing waves. 

I went in and the waves there left little to be desired.

I glanced around at the crowd, much smaller than the last session but unsettling nonetheless, and decided I would bail after my first wave.

My first and last wave was a juiceless left on which I did zero maneuvers for 0.0 points.

5.15.14 Crowd Threading at Packed Pier

I paddled out at Mavs thinking I'd avoid the Pier logjam, but deep down I knew the current would put me with them eventually.

I didn't catch much of anything.  I did a speedless floater on a left that I stomped, but it would have been a better use of energy to have not caught that wave.  I ended up going because I was sick of not catching any waves. 

Close to thirty minutes later, I caught a better left but it too slammed shut on me after a very promising opening section.

I bailed about ten minutes earlier than I had to because I wasn't having much fun.

5.14.14 One Fin Fun, then None, at Pier

The scenario looked incredible.  Tide was right, winds were perfect, midweek (fewer crowds), and City of Oceanside had decided to pump pristine sand right onto the beach for the upcoming tourist season.

All we were missing was swell, only the most important part of the equation.  Without swell no one surfs.

With this in mind I decided to get cute and do something I've thought about doing since the inception of this blog: take out all but one fin and work on tail releases.

Granted, it would be an uphill battle given the lack of classic tapering rail on my board.  In its place is a WIDE tail with canyons for a channel. Not only that, but the middle fin, the last fin standing, was a TINY trailer fin that was stuck and I couldn't remove.

I continued on my mental path, headstrong.  This would be a way to inject some fun in the tiny conditions that awaited me.

My first glance revealed a soothing sight.  The waves were tiny, barely surfable.  This would be a good day to surf with one fin.

After paddling out and trying to get going on waves, I realized just how crucial the correct fin setup was.  After wiggling the tail to pump on several lefts, I couldn't get going.

I did manage a weak floater/bonk on one left though.

On a right, I was able to make it past the foam thanks to my initial speed.  As the wave predictably petered
out, I decided to jam on the tail and BAM, I slid out instantaneously and came up laughing.


I began to long for my fins.

A macker three-footer appeared and I was too inside of it.  I two-paddled for it and caught it really late, then gingerly made my way around the initial section.  I was slow on the bottom turn and leaned WAY back and took the top off the wave with exactly zero chance of making it.


I reached my time limit for the day and as soon as I got home, I screwed my fins back in.

5.12.14 Groveling at High Tide Pier

I accompanied my wife and daughter to St. Louis, home of the continent's least crowded surf.  The surf highlight of my trip was wandering into the pool area and spotting five sponge surfboards.  I imagined these made up a sizable percentage of the riding choices Missouri had to offer.

I checked the tide and knew the waves were going to be fat. I didn't care, I had to get out there.

The waves were as fat as I had predicted. I didn't care, I had to get out there.

I spent the vast majority of the session paddling furiously for what appeared to be fertile waves, ripe for the ripping.

The highlight of my morning was a left I let develop for a while before I popped up.  The wave allowed me one pump before jacking up and shutting down almost simultaneously.  My plans for a lip smack were scuttled in favor of a Frankenstein 360 attempt, which I will be a sport and say it was a 90.

My schedule today would've allowed me to surf for two hours longer than I did.  I didn't care, I had to get out of there.

5.2.14 Small But Punchy N. Mavs

The tide was very low on this day.  I would normally have made the trek to Harbor, but my bike was still out of commission from the unfortunate incident in which I maxed out its speed while trying to climb the steep ramp onto the pier.  The chain fell off the gear and I can't get it back on, mostly due to the tight confines that surround it.  I will take it to a bike shop this weekend once the heat dies down and I'm sure they'll fix it in two minutes and charge me $30 or so...

The waves were small, but I did spy a set coming through at N. Mavs.  There were a couple of guys out closer to Pier and I was happy at the prospect of surfing by myself.

The session ended up being better than I expected.  Unfortunately after my second wave, one of the bros from Pier decided to contest my stranglehold on the lefts after seeing me smash one to smithereens while I suffered a similar fate.

The lefts slowly went away as he paddled inside of me for them, though he did get a good one.  I turned my attention to the rights.  I was able to do a pretty good off-the-top on one, then I was a little premature on a snap on the next one. 

I went in after about an hour for daddy duty.

4.30.14 A Lot Smaller at North Tyson, then North Pinnies

I didn't bother checking reports this morning.

I watched Lucia from 6-645 then paddled out once my wife was off the phone.  Due to new tenants moving in and the work involved to fix the handiwork of the previous tenants, a long session would not be in the cards for me.

The wave were barreling here and there, though the seemingly makeable ones were vexing all comers.  Varying barrel speed will do that to casual riders. Hell, I have trouble with one-speed tubes.

I paddled out and caught my first wave about ten minutes in.  It was a chest-high left and it bowled up almost immediately.  I snap-stalled very gingerly and got covered up for maybe a second-and-a-half.  It wasn't a clean barrel, definitely a chandelier.  I saw my time in there coming to an end so I stood up out of it and got a loving slap to the side of the head.  I suppose you could call it a make, but I had zero stoke surge from it.  It's definitely time for a change...

I got swept down a little too far while managing to miss the juiciest, least closed out, waves.  I went in and walked south for close to fifteen minutes. 

I didn't fare much better there and called it a session after about an hour total.

4.29.14 My Two Hour Journey: Underwhelming S. Pier, then Much Better N. Pier w/ a Taylor Knox cameo

Well, there was no denying it.  Oceanside was firing this morning.  The first real S swell of the season had arrived, and with it, a too-long train of unfamiliar faces from points south.

It took me twenty-five minutes to get my first wave.  I was burned by a guy wearing a Rip Curl fullsuit and a Matusse hood (I am NOT issuing a fatwa).  I had the honor of watching him pump a few times, then kick out, all without looking back.  I booed as loud as I could.

As he paddled back out, I said, "You stuffed me on that one, bro".  He was really sweet and apologetic, replying, "Yeah, well I kicked out".  A less mature EddieP would have dogged him the rest of the session, taking off on every wave he took off on, ruining it then kicking out; maybe even throwing in an unsolicited "Yeah, well I kicked out" after every time.

I caught no waves of note where I was at Mavs.  The current was pushing me south into the pier and I fought it for over an hour.  Since there was no sense in doing that, judging by my results thus far, I started eyeing the other side of the pier.

One cool thing I saw is a guy get probably the sickest barrel I've ever seen in Oceanside on a right.  He must have been a pro, because when he kicked out from his barrel, on the very next wave was the one and only Taylor Knox.  I had a front row seat to watch him get pitted, then go crazy off the lip, but he got too horizontal and ate it. The first guy who got barreled then sat with Taylor and they talked story.

The pier was getting closer and closer.  I watched the water swirl back and forth: to the beach, then out to sea.  It was going to be difficult timing.  A wave was coming and I decided to just go for it.  I had to paddle out and north as the wave came and then I sprint-paddled north.  My legs came close to hitting a pier piling, but I flopped them up towards my ass and came out unscathed.

I caught about five waves in forty-five minutes.  Meaty ones too.  There was one wave I got that if I had set up properly and not gotten so crazy with the speed I probably could have stayed in the barrel for a couple of seconds.

I did a couple of solid hits on two others, making just one.

One of my last waves was on a right.  I swooped down the generous face on my 5'4" and did what I proclaim to be the most vertical backside hit of my surfing career.  Best of all, I pulled it.  I had so much speed but of course the wave fizzled after that.

I went in with the sneaking suspicion that I would be yelled at for being gone close to three hours including walking time.  I am happy to report that my ears were spared.

4.27.14 Overhead Wind-Fetterd Shiftiness at S. Pier PM SESSION

I had Sunday morning blocked out for family time, but I was allowed to surf during Lucia's nap time.

The waves were supposed to be big and they were.  My biggest concern was getting out there before the tide got too low and made everything close out with a vengeance.

I debated taking my big boy board but opted to take my 5'4" Vanguard just for giggles.  I knew the waves wouldn't be amazing due to the onshore wind.

It was pretty crowded out.

I caught my first wave, which was a pretty big right.  I raced down it and smacked it ok, then faded during my cutty.  I think the mistake I made was drifting too far out onto the shoulder.

About twenty minutes later of ducking under bombs, I caught another wave.  This one was about a foot smaller than the first, still overhead.  I watched as I headed right into a dislodged kelp mangrove and I slowed down very abruptly.  This shifted my weight forward and I flamingo'd on my right leg for at least two seconds until I gained my speed back.  The g-force was too much for me to handle on the outer edge of my right foot and I tumbled painfully into the trough.

I caught a forgettable left and as I was paddling out this guy started paddling for a wave.  I did my best to avoid him, but he ended up heading right for me as he picked up speed, still prone.  I duckdived.  When I surfaced he was hurriedly paddling away from me.  He was about ten feet away from him when I apologized, even though it was a situation of wrong place/wrong time.  He didn't turn around and went and perched next to his buddy.  Who within three seconds of hearing his buddy say whatever he said turned to look right at me.  He gave me a very unwelcoming look, it reminded me of a look someone would give if they disapproved and were ashamed of what I did.  I stared right through him for at least five seconds.  He turned away for two beats, then gave it another shot.  I continued to stare.  He took about eight seconds off then tried one last time, then immediately looked away.

I hate it when this happens.  Once in a while, you'll be in someone's way as they're paddling for a wave.  This is avoidable at most reefbreaks and pointbreaks, but rarely is it not a possibility at beachbreaks.  No one is immune to wrong place/wrong time syndrome and how butthurt you get is up to you.  I don't get upset when this happens if the person does everything they can to get out of my way, namely duckdiving.  But for Little Mr. Butthurt to go tell on me to his long-haired friend is a pussy move.  And for LHF to try to intimidate me with his piss-poor attempt at staring me down is downright pathetic.  It's not your fight, LHF, stay out of it.  You can still be Mr. Butthurt's daddy when you get home, even if you failed in defending his honor.

I caught a right off the pier, where no one was surfing because it was a lot smaller than just down the beach.  It was a weak right. I did a very horizontal slash on it, then tried to recover and regain speed.  Semi-successful, I looked forward to the end of the wave.  I prematurely went for a hit and my board got stuck in the lip and I pitched over.

The tide had dropped to the point where the vast majority of waves were closing out hard.

I decided to go in to see if Raquel needed help.

4.23.14 Not As Good As It Looked at North Tyson

My first glimpse had me nearly rubbing my eyes in disbelief.  Corduroy lines coming down, breaking shiftily, but well.  I was stopped by an older guy who asked me if he should take pics from the sand or from the pier.  Given that there weren't any peaks visible breaking into the pier, I told him the sand.  He told me about starting out in his photography hobby and how he focuses on the boards instead of the surfers.  He said he was going to go to the pier.

I told him the break going into the pier wasn't really working, at least on the south side.  Plus, elevation tends to pinch the wave and kill a lot of the curves/beauty of each wave.  He changed his mind and set up near the playground.

I went south a ways where I saw the least amount of heads and consistent waves.

Just as soon as I'd perched, I caught my first wave.  It was a left that was a little fat.  I got a slow hit on it that threw an ok amount of spray, then a slightly better one.  I kicked out and was electrified with the potential of this session.

I got a right and did a pretty nice smack, but the wave fattened up a bit given the rising tide and I couldn't do much more than lamely roundhouse cutty into the foam.  I had so little speed left that I went for as hard a smack as I could.  The whole experience left me emasculated.

A lot of paddling and shifting later, and I was left with no other memorable waves.

4.21.14 Unexpected Onshore Leads to Crisis of Faith

I intended on surfing the same spot as yesterday.  I figured with the increased swell and higher tide I would fare better.  When I got to the beach there was onshore wind, albeit slight, and it shredded my confidence in my surf call much more than the surface of the ocean.  After much lollygagging, I decided to paddle out right at Pinnies, after seeing a really nice left break there.  An older guy on a bigger board made the drop and navigated it nicely until it shut down on him.

My thinking was that the extra eight or so minutes of riding down would lead to worse conditions as once onshore winds get started, they almost always strengthen, especially at this time of day.

I paddled out and sat for about twenty minutes before I caught anything.  During this time, I realized the older guy was my buddy Antony, who makes the drive from Fallbrook five or six times a month to surf.  I gave him a what's up and he said my name with a thumbs up.

As I'm wont to do, I obsessed over my choice.  The wind had inexplicably died down.  The waves would come, but they were inconsistent. My mind at that time ruminated like so: "I probably should have surfed at Getis.  Man, I bet that's going off.  And here I am sitting in this.  I bet the crowd is mellower, the contest is over and it's Monday."

Then, a set wave approached.  My hopes for it were low, but they rose with it.  Once I was popping up, I knew I was in for a good one.  The wave had perfect speed and great shape.  I descended down and curled up, gunning for the lip.  I did a snap/slash, a bit slower than I would've liked.  I rose up and did another one, better, but in a less critical spot on the wave.  As I got to the spot of what would've been my third maneuver on the wave, I didn't know what to do and awkwardly kicked out while facing the pier.

I felt energized in having my decision to surf where I did reinforced. 

I paddled back out, still relatively alone with no one to combat for waves.

I caught another left and I took the chance on a pump on the steep part of the wave, then another quick one on a section a little less steep.  I made it down about two-thirds of the wave and made the mistake of turning up too vertically when I should have tried for an air with all of that speed.  My board got away from me and shot up into the sky.  I did not.

It was time to go.  And so I did. Splash.

4.20.14 Hunting for Easter Nugs: FRESH Sandbar leads to Extreme Hollowness at Serengetis

The waves on offer were less than incredible as I cruised from South Mavs to Pier and then continued north.  Given the low tide, I planned on riding my bike on the beach, but the Army Corps of Engineers had cordoned off the area.  There was major sand dredging going on, and a creek had formed to take this sand to the ocean, creating quite possibly the freshest sandbar I've ever surfed in the States.

I oohed and ahhed over the hollow, pretty much unmakeable, barrels on the inside.  When I saw a set break a little farther out, I was convinced this is where I would surf.

The paddle-out took less than a minute, and I was sitting in the middle of about eight dudes.  I was absolutely giddy and steadied myself: "Play it cool and you'll have your best Cali barrel today".

As good as the waves had looked, no one was catching anything great.  I saw several dudes eat it hard on these steep drops, no doubt coming out gargling sand.

A guy about twenty yards south of me caught the wave of the day, but like a fool he raced the wave and ended up passing up what would have gone on his highlight reel.  I call him a fool because he caught the wave and I didn't.  I would have loved the opportunity to blow that wave.

I had a few steep drops but nothing materialized for me in the barrel department, save for a left.  I caught it late and it had a rip going across it, plus foam from the previous wave.  I descended it and pumped and it just closed down, slamming me in the chest and chucking me in the churning liquid sand soup.  I put my arm out and deflected what would have been my head hitting the sand softly.

As I exited the water, I noticed the NSSA contest scaffolding was up at Harbor, which explained why the crowds were so focused on this spot.

4.18.14 First One Out at S. Pier

I was on limited time today because of the baby's six-month appointment.  I shredded up the asphalt on the beach cruiser.  Wisconsin? No Time! Tyson? No Time! Harbor? HAVE YOU NOT BEEN LISTENING?!?!

My mind had been made up as to where I would surf.  The surf was small and the tide low-ish.  Pier is usually a little bigger than its neighboring spots and the shape is a little steeper, but the head count reflects that, which is why I normally don't surf there.

I paddled out and caught my first four waves in my twelve minutes since hitting the water, including paddle-out time.

My first wave was a chest-high right.  I got really excited about the size and line of it and I wound up extra tight on my bottom turn.  The lip came faster than I expected it, so I was a little off-balance on the snap.  I descended awkwardly, then rose for another hit and that's when the combination of bad body positioning and wave fatness ended my journey.

I paddled back out and immediately caught a left.  It let me in easily, but I bobbled a bit after pumping into the foam too hard.  I recovered, then swung around the next section to decisively bash the lip and come down with speed.  Too bad the wave had closed out after that...

Three heads joined me and I was thrilled they weren't chasing every wave they possibly could

I caught a right and after an initial steep section, it fattened up and allowed me little more than a flat canvas on which to throw "Vanity Spray" ®







I caught other, forgettable waves then went in so as not to irk my wife.

4.14.14 ♫ All By Myself ♫ (Mostly) at S. Jetty

I had an idea the pickings would be slim today but man!  Pier looked completely unsurfable which is very rare.  Luckily, I'd made the decision to head over to Harbor.  It too was barely surfable, and if you were lucky enough to catch something you very likely wouldn't get far.  I passed a huge Channel Islands box-ish van/truck with its motor running by the boat wash, checking it.  I pedaled past, and five minutes later when I swung back around, the CI truck/van was still there, motor still running.  It must be nice to have a corporate credit card!

I settled on S. Jetty.  I'd seen something surfable on my first pass. That and the lack of crowd was enough to stem my hemming and hawing.  I locked up the bike and went over the jetty.  By the time I hit the water, both people who had been sitting there had decided it wasn't worth their time and they went in. YES!

I took off on about five waves total.  Four of these were fat, small and sloppy (they reminded me of my single days). By far the highlight of the session was a right I caught on which I found a small speed pocket and smashed the hell out of the lip. 

Three dudes eventually wandered over from just north of the jetty.  They fared about as well as I did.

I went in after about a half-hour.

4.13.14 A No-Go Negated at South Mavs

This will be a short one.

The waves were small, and when the set waves did come every ten minutes or so, they were choked out by the high tide.

The highlight was a wave I caught towards the end of the session.  I had shifted to the inside as trying to catch the "bombs" was a fool's errand.  I managed a pump in the somewhat flats and a successful foam climb; the speed it netted utterly wasted.

4.11.14 Jockeying for Position at North Condors

The surf was small and I figured Pier and Pier adjacent would have very little going on.  I hopped on the beach cruiser and slowed my littoral pace just enough to confirm my suspicions.  I then took the first-time step of going down the ramp at Surfrider to check out Northside in case there was a perfect sandbar/submarine canyon set-up that had somehow formed since the last time I was there and could turn this 1+' swell into overhead barrels.  Natch. Nothing.

I merged back onto the road that would lead me to Harbor and finally settled on paddling out at North Condors.  It was twice the size here as Pier, but the winds being funneled over the 76 would likely make it difficult to catch waves.

But no mattah, I was out there.  My first wave at first glance appeared to resemble a freight train with its lined up architecture and potential for travel.  It chubbed up immediately upon me popping up and I choked up so that my weight was exclusively on the front two-thirds of my 5'4" board.  It was a weird wobbly feeling.  It felt like I was riding a disc.  The speed section I'd hoped for never materialized and I faded out.

Nothing much was coming where I was, so the unexpected water trolley of a current I was on was pleasant.  I fought it when it tried to merge me into a pack of 5 ravenous guys and stayed just south of them.  I missed the first set wave because I was too deep, but I got into the second one...

It started out much like the first, but within two seconds of me standing on it and pleading for entry into its aqueous curves, it let me in.  I did a couple of ginger pumps, not wanting to get too frisky and too far ahead of its plans for me for fear of getting shut down.  I saw the end section and flashed the fins out to no avail.  If the photog on the beach timed his shot well, it would have looked like I was ripping.  A slight slip of his shutter digit would reveal my ugly truth...

The wind shifted straight onshore and it got textured and a bit bumpy out there.  After my left, I was content with being pretty close to the north jetty, or as I call the spot, Avalanches (an homage to when I lived in OB).

A couple of guys apparently couldn't take the conditions shift and bailed.  I paddled back south and after twenty minutes of no waves finally got a short one, on which I did a nice smack off the lip.

No other memorable waves came and I went in.

4.9.14 A No-Go Denied at South Mavs

I walked down to the beach, following my new rule of not checking the cams/reports and experiencing the conditions, however shitty they may be, organically.

I stood somewhat slackjawed at the abundance of absolute nothingness that was displayed before me.  The waves were very small, 1-2'.  Three minutes of me checking it later and I hear a slight honk from one of the cars.  It's a guy in a blue coupe with a surfboard in the reclined passenger seat and he's giving the conditions a very animated thumbs down.  As with most human beings, I let others' assessments guide my own, and briefly considered doing the walk of shame back to my house in a dry wetsuit.

Every so often, a little wave would pop up with a little bit of a shoulder.  I had to really think about this, as waves look bigger and better from elevation. (just ask Laird Hamilton about Nazare).  I saw something that pushed me over the ledge and I bounded down the stairs to the beach and paddled out.

The absolute best part of the session was having it all to myself.   There were no heads out within a hundred yards of me in any direction.  It was glorious.

The waves surprised me by being punchier than they looked.  I was catching a few waves on which I could stay for a while, though I wasn't doing much.

My best wave arrived in the form of a left on which I was able to do a surprisingly solid snap.  I noticed I opened my chest up to the beach as I was doing it and will definitely be focusing on that on future frontside snaps...

4.7.14 Closeouts Galore at Tyson

I was still on a slight buzz from the previous day's sesh and was looking to double down before the swell breathed its last gasp.  Future scholars and surf blog curators may argue this is what blinded me towards the conditions and convinced me to paddle out after seeing only closeouts.

Of the five or six waves I caught, I think I got one pump in.  I stayed out just under an hour and then bailed. I sulked home.

4.6.14 Bigger, Better Pinnies

I had high hopes for today.  A lunchtime stroll on the pier with my dad and stepmom revealed juicy waves that were still appetizing even with onshore wind mucking them up.  I vowed to surf at my next chance.

I got on it a bit late as I had intermittent baby watch duty, but my toes hit the water at about seven.  There were some heads out, but it's a Sunday, so that was expected.  It was less crowded than what I thought the ocean would have in store.

I duckdove and upon surfacing, felt the afterburn of an ice cream headache.  Another wave came, and the cumulative effect of another dousing in the water, followed by my forehead's exposure to air, reached its apex and I bared my teeth in a grimace.

My first wave took me about fifteen minutes to find, but it was a lined-up left.  I dropped down and picked up speed.  I picked my target on the face of the wave, but was too casual and lazily/awkwardly came back down.  Luckily, the wave steepened up and I got another chance, which I promptly blew by sliding the tail out WAY too far off-the-lip and bailing.  It's difficult to make two opposite mistakes on the same wave, but I have the talent!

I had another left on which I got some speed, but kept it casual so as to save some sort of semblance of style.  I had a mini-ramp approaching, so I did a half-pump down then sprang up, slammed my back foot while raising my front foot, and felt the sweet release of my fins as I "launched" into an air.  I didn't rotate my hips enough and fell.

On a right, I did a top turn with a lot of speed and was taking out my frustration on a too-fat wave by overtorquing.  My front foot slid off the deck of my board and I banged my shin on it.  It didn't hurt too much, but it was definitely a first for me.

I caught a double-up left and went for a bottom turn, quickly realizing the barrel was slow and beautiful.  I was close enough to stick my arm into the barrel, but couldn't post up in it as I was j u s t out of position for it.

After about an hour the tide was too low and the vast majority of waves became closeouts.  I bailed.

4.4.14 Small Low-Tide Tyson

I rode the beach cruiser all the way down to Harbor and back.  There was something there, but it was very inconsistent.  I sat on my bike with the GuyPod and accompanying speaker blasting out of the pack on the handlebars and watched it.  I saw a decent two-wave set, but nothing else for five minutes.  I biked south, then hoisted the bike over the jetty and onto the hardpacked sand.  S. Jetty had barely anything, and N. Pier wasn't much better.

I was very close to making today a no-go, but I eventually talked myself into paddling out at Tyson.  It had been more than two weeks since my last session and I wanted to wash the rust off.

The highlight of the day was the dry-hair paddle-out, brought to me by the small waves and the higher-percentage-than-normal wading vs. paddling ratio.

I caught about five waves total and they were all close-outs.  The "best" was a left on which I got to pump once.  I bailed after about forty-five minutes.

3.19.14 Complete Sea Change from Previous Session

The swell was on the way down, so I was prepared to not have nearly as good a session.  Upon arriving at the shore, I saw clean, somewhat fat waves, with a small army of heads on it.

I paddled out a bit south and let the chips fall where they may.  Within minutes of paddling out I realized I was in the midst of a Surf PE session.  All these guys were manic out there, paddling for just about everything.

I must have been in the right spot because I was catching a lot of waves.  I had only about forty minutes to be out there due to one of Raquel's conference calls and I maximized my wave-to-minute ratio.

All told, I caught about eight or nine waves.  A lot of them fattened up almost immediately, though I do remember doing a sick slash to bail which indubitably felt cooler than it looked.  On a right, I also did a comprehensive wrap-around cutty. 

I left the water satisfied.  Unfortunately, this was the beginning of what I'm calling my longest cold of all time, which kept me out of the water for the rest of the month.

3.18.14 Stormy and Big N. Tyson to S. Winnies

While waiting for the sun to come up and light my path, I took two of the five fins off my board.  The pentafin set-up experiment was over and I much preferred the thruster set-up with the small fin in the middle. It's a lot skatier and allows me to change course much more readily should the mood strike.

I knew something was off as soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk.  The wind felt different, not bad, but different.  I couldn't tell where it was coming from as the direction seemed to change. I looked forward to hitting an east-west street so I could ascertain as to the wind's origin.

At first it felt offshore, but once I got to a north-south street I realized it was a dreaded devil wind, coming from the south.  For the vast majority of surf spots, this means the surf quality will have a low ceiling.  For an instant, I considered bailing and going back to the house, but I had put my wetsuit on and was about a hundred steps on the way, so I pushed on.

Further wind readings indicated that the wind may not be a true south wind, but rather a SSE.  With a bit of luck, this could shift into a true offshore.  I then realized I've never experienced a south wind turning offshore, at least that I could remember.

My first view of the ocean confirmed that the wind was slicing up the sea surface.  If it had been less than shoulder-high I may have been over it, but there was some size out there.  I saw six or seven heads already out at Pier and I smiled as they scampered to try and catch an overhead but lazy set wave, about half of them getting caught by a slow lip, the other half falling back one by one, not being able to catch it.

Rather than deal with that mess, I walked south for a couple of minutes to my very own peak, which seemed to show some juicy rights.  A couple of guys who had walked with me had elected to paddle out between the mess and me, but we soon reluctantly rendezvoused within ten yards of one another.

One of them caught a good one, then a good-sized set came through and we scattered.  Five minutes later, I'd lost track of them.

I caught a left that had a divot on the top.  I stomped on my front foot and barely made it up and over.  My new fin set-up made the board shift just a bit that was too much for my already off-balance positioning.  I tumbled over and slammed into the flats hard.  Luckily my lower body absorbed a lot of the blow, because the part of my upper body that made contact hurt and I had just a smidgen of a can't-catch-my-breath feeling.  It was as though I'd had just a little bit of wind knocked out of me, but I had fallen on my lower back.  Weird.

Redemption arrived in the form of the best wave I've caught in probably six months.  It was a right which was steepening up nicely, but I didn't hold high hopes for the shoulder.  I got held up on the lip, then literally air-dropped down at an angle, perfect for beginning my bottom turn.  It was long and drawn out, and the section I'd targeted for the snap was being rapidly accelerated thanks to it getting some help either from a small wave behind it or a shallow spot in the bottom. 

I laid into it, putting a lot of pressure on my back foot, then descended the steep wall.  I rose back up and laid into a roundhouse cutty, coming around nicely on the first half, then snapping well on the whitewash.  My fins slid out to the point that my tail was facing the sand and I had no hopes of recovering.  I came up jubilant.  That drop followed by that section and turn was a recipe for a stoke awakening.

I caught a left and did an off-the-lip/snap off which I released the fins into a hopeless contortion of sadness.

I caught a couple of other waves, but nothing even a quarter as good.  I had planned on bailing when the current took me to Wisconsin Street, or as I like to call it, taking the Longshore Express and getting off at Wisconsin.  I went in about one hundred fifty yards south of Winnie's then walked home.

3.17.14 Mostly S. Pier Rights

I thought I would be the first to paddle out today, but it turned out that there was someone hidden that scurried out like the rodent he was.  He was wearing booties and gloves and was fighting against a set that had made its way to the shallows, valiantly rowing away in tumultuous seas. 

I didn't beat him out there, but I was close thanks to my fortunate timing, as evidenced by my dry hair paddle-out.  I had paddled out twenty yards to his south, but we both ended up in the same spot thanks to the intense current by the pier.

I caught a right and did an ok turn, then got left behind by the wave.  A couple of forgettable waves later, and the wave of the day came.

This older guy I said hi to had position, but he let it go and booties-and-gloves guy got it.  He rode it all the way to the sand and bailed.  He probably thought it wouldn't get any better than that and man was he right.

The older guy then paddled up to me and said, "Don't I know you?".  I gave him a non-commital "Yeah I think I've surfed with you before".  Then we realized we'd shared a really good day about three years ago in which I got swept down more than in any other session.  He lives in Fallbrook and surfs about five or six times a month.  I remembered he used to own a print shop.  He asked me about real estate and we left it at that.

I caught a left which I barely got into and it rewarded me by bowling up and throwing over when I was about halfway back up the face, slamming me onto my back.

It got really crowded towards the pier.  I bailed.

3.7.14 South Winnies to North Pinnies

Yesterday was a bust for me surf-wise, as I was assigned on daddy duty.  As Lucia, Chucho and I pushed off with the stroller, I got a bit of a mood changer in the form of a caress of onshore wind.  You read that correctly, ONshore wind.

Sure enough, when we got to the water, there was texture on it and it was pretty much unsurfable.  Pier looked doable, but there was a pack of rabid dogs on it.  I held my fist up in the air in a triumphant Black Panther salute.

Today's session had better conditions in store, but not quite as good as I'd anticipated.  I rode my beach cruiser to Harbor and was bummed when I saw nothing surfable.  I rode on the beach, then onto The Strand and all the way to Wisconsin.  I passed Wisconsin and stood there on the bike, mulling over my options.

I saw a couple of sets with one guy on too big a board trying to get in on them.  It looked dumpy but makeable on the rights. Out thar!

Just as I paddled out, the current swept Too-Much-Foam Dude to the south and it was just me out there.  Upon perching, I realized there were two other guys paddling out right behind me.

This is a phenomenon that surfers often bitch about.  There is a long beach with waves for them to plunder, but people will paddle out where already are heads out rather than surf alone.  I don't think it has anything to do with an innate fear of being alone that we as human beings share.  They are just lazy and someone already did the homework for them, so they'll paddle out at where it's better than average and sit in a better spot.

I spent the next half-hour paddle-battling the two bros, and one caught a sick one after I'd JUST missed out on its immediate predecessor.  Eventually, I caught an ok left, but I waited to long to snap and blasted the fins out the back in what I'm sure looked like a comical expression of rage.

I was sick of the inconsistency and shiftiness and went in, then walked about twenty minutes north to the pintail-shaped houses.  It was empty and looked doable.  I caught zero waves of note and went in after another half-hour...

3.5.14 Better (?) South Tyson

After the storm, we were blessed with a strange, now apexing, string of waves.  The forecasts and buoys dictated that Wednesday morning would be the absolute best of it.  Because of the funky tide, I took my bike to Wisconsin Street and shaved twelve minutes off my morning commute thanks to a serendipitous string of coincidences, starting with the old school full-size pickup which let me draft behind it to and through the 101 with only slight slowdown as we coasted to the light for just a couple.

The surf looked robust from the train tracks and I was licking my chops.  I cruised down the Strand, Oceanside's beachfront road as I checked the waves.  I saw a pretty sick A-Frame break and I locked up the bike at a lamppost vacation rental complex called Land's End.  I didn't know if that was a no-no, but I had to get my surf on.

I paddled out to the completely empty peak and was joined less than ten minutes later by a squatty dude.  I gave him a "What's up, man?", which he ignored completely, even though he was less than twenty feet away.  Then three more guys paddled out, two of which he apparently had made plans to surf with, and the guy could not stop talking. 

We were both paddling for a sick one, Mr. Selectively Talkative with priority, and he caught (and I pulled back from) what I'll call the wave of the session and got to his feet a little late.  The thing looked like it was going to be a makeable, thick barrel.  I looked from the back and was trying to see if I'd see that telltale bulge and/or color change towards the top of the wave when a guy is pitted.  Just as I'd started to look for it the guy's head popped through.  He'd bailed! If he pussed out on a wave another guy could've gone on, he's a morph.

I decided I'd had enough of Mr. ST Morph and paddled to the north, against the current, but away from he and his buddies.  I stopped paddling once his musings were merely a murmur.

No waves of note came for thirty minutes.  It was Closeout Central.  Eventually, I caught a left which looked like it was going to line up very well for me.  As I got to my feet, I pumped up and down as much as I could and saw a section ten or fifteen feet from me spilling over.  I crashed up into it, and came back down with so much speed but was immediately slowed to a crawl by a lack of wave slope.  I had big plans for that wave...

After being out close to ninety minutes, I caught a small right and did a couple of flickier-than-I'd-like pumps.  I managed to outmaneuver the spilling section and did a solid smash off the whitewash, projecting onto the flats with speed.

I bailed shortly thereafter.

3.4.14 Quick Mish to S. Jetty

S. Jetty is special to me.  It is the site of one of my greatest sessions of all time: July 4th 2007.  Missed-It-Mike made the trek up here after I swore to him it would be good.  Mike and I surfed our brains out for two-plus hours and we were all alone.  The lines, especially on the lefts, were solid and held a nice steep wall.  These were absolutely perfect for smacking.  It felt like I was surfing a mirror image of Lowers and without the crowd.

Today's S. Jetty session was nowhere near this one.  I rode my beach cruiser down to Pier for a quick check. It was riding away from there I realized I hadn't put my bike lock back on the frame (I'd taken it off to do some painting). I cursed my mistake and briefly thought about returning home for it, but I was on such a limited window that I was going to have to chance it if I was to surf.

Today would be an experimental session for me.  I decided I didn't want to be riding a 5'4" with a thruster set-up but only a small trailer fin.  Unfortunately, I couldn't remove the small fin.  I was afraid if I exerted any more force I would hurt the board.  So I did the next best thing:  I left all three fins as they were, and added two more!

After much deliberation as to where to surf, including riding all the way to Harbor's boat entrance, I decided S. Jetty looked the least awful.  I didn't want to leave my bike near the parking area where someone could lift it up and put it in their pick-up, so I rode it onto the sand and leaned against a rock.

I only had forty minutes before I was due back at the pad, so I tried to make it count.

Most waves were of the lazy kind.  The swell was big enough so as to barely break on the outside bombie set-up, but too big for the inside to have consistently peeling waves.

I did a pretty good snap on one wave that did line up, a right that needed a few Huntington hops to rev it up.  The extra fins definitely made me commit to my line a bit more.

I caught a left, pumped a couple of times and snapped off the end section.  My fins held me well and I descended successfully.

No other memorable waves came and I rode on the beach to the north end of the Strand, then up the pier and back home.

3.3.14 Post-Storm Pier

After mulling it over since five in the morning, I decided to risk various infections by paddling out this morning, after one of the biggest storms in the last five years.  They say to avoid contact with the ocean 48-72 hours after a rain.  If you really think about it, as a storm continues, the "land pollution" swept into the storm drains lessens.  The first rain of the season is always the hairiest one, so on a macro level, you should avoid paddling out until three days have passed after that one.  On a micro level, if it has been raining for three days, you're probably ok to paddle out on the fourth or fifth day.

Or at least that's what I kept telling myself as I suited up.

Yesterday's post-brekkie surf check revealed the biggest surf I've seen in Oceanside since I moved here nearly eight months ago.  Massive waves were coming through and they had lines to them.  It was practically empty, and people seemed to be having trouble catching waves.  I jerked my neck to the left, then a little more north, then back south as we practically coasted down the littoral.  My loins filled with lust as the waves' curves beckoned to me.  Raquel may have rolled her eyes as guttural passion noises continued to  emanate from my mouth; I don't really know, I wasn't looking at her.

Raquel had made it clear I only had until 8 to be ready to take the baby, so I jogged down to the 101, then hung a right towards the pier, and continued jogging until I hit the stairs south of Pier.  The waves were a shadow of their yesterday's selves, but I was still so revved up from their subconscious come-ons that I didn't care.  I would be jumping into their arms with everything I had for them.

As I paddled into the cool embrace of my years-long crush, I began to realize more and more she was not as attractive as she was yesterday.  Her curves were a little flatter, and her faces more disheveled.  I kept on, the visions of how gorgeous she'd looked yesterday dancing upon my head.

The waves looked ok, but they were bloated.  You'd see an open face from shore and go, yeah,  I could go for some of that.

Once in the water, you'd realize how they were practically unsurfable.  It was weird because the tide wasn't high, it was about mid-tide on a moderate tide swing day.

I caught two rights, both of them head high, within ten minutes of each other.  On both I went up for a hit and had to settle for a roundhouse cutty attempt.  On both, I had lost most of my speed and ended up just sitting in the wash as a result.

I overheard a bro telling another bro about how good it had been the previous day.  He said, "It's the biggest I've seen Oceanside with shape".  I cursed myself for having the maturity to abstain from surfing.

A bomb right came through and I was pretty inside.  I whirled around and thought about not going, but my last look at it showed me that it was in the beginning stages of merging with another wave, meaning I'd have a little extra time before it got REALLY steep and angry.

Aforementioned surf bro was paddling for it, and in better position than me, makeablity-wise.  I had priority and I would be damned if I wasn't going to go after so much surf lust.  The thing steepened up alright, but I had no fear for some reason.  I stomped the air drop, but so much of the wave had broken to my right that I just couldn't make it past that mountain of whitewater.  Surf bro had gone anyways, which was wise because I couldn't have made it.

That was the last memorable wave before my watch told me it was my time to take care of the baby.

2.23.14 I Shun Pier in favor of Condors

A still-in-bed check of the tides this morning confirmed that Harbor would likely be much better than Pier due to the low tide.  I hemmed and hawed about paddling out given that it was a Sunday and crowds would be a major factor.  Eventually, I went for it as I didn't want to miss out on the dwindling swell, especially considering the relative flatness we're in for followed by the storm system that will waste the waves it brings.

It didn't feel cold in the alley as I pedaled away from my back gate, but men did my fingers and toes scream in agony as I picked up speed on the downhill portion of my journey.

Once I'd decided where in Harbor I was going to surf I looked down and saw some grisly purple-ish toes.  I couldn't wait to get in the water because I knew it wouldn't be nearly as cold as the air.

I had a nice dry-hair paddle out and spent the vast majority of the session paddling around for waves.  The waves were big and a little fat, surprising considering the dropping tide, but they were easy to get into.  For me at least; I faded off of several shoulders of waves on which paddlers with right-of-way just weren't able to make it happen.  I saw others take off blatantly on others so as not to let any gems go unridden but I don't have that in me.

I caught two waves of note.  The first was a left I descended gingerly, reset my footing and came up and did a nice pocket snap.  I came back down and for some reason bobbled and lost it as I was about to b-turn again.

On my last wave of the session, I caught a right that turned into a speed demon.  I got a few pumps in and finished it off with a flourish, a sweet off-the-lip.  I went in after about ninety minutes of water time, the most since I became a dad.

2.20.14 Super Butthurt at Tyson Street

Harbor had offered up decent waves during my previous session, but not many for me.  I vowed to change that on this day.  I had no plans of surfing Pier but a quick glance on my surf rack-equipped beach cruiser revealed a bomb right breaking off the pier with solid not too-fast speed, steepness and great shape.  I considered pulling off then and there but I had to continue my mission.

Ten or so more minutes of pedaling revealed nothing worthwhile at Harbor.  The task of pedaling this one gear beast back up the hills seemed daunting but less so when I considered that magical right I'd seen.

I pedaled out to the lookout south of Pier and there wasn't much there.  I eventually settled on locking up the bike at Tyson and paddling out to a sandbar that seemed to work ok.  I focused initially on the rights.  Nothing all that memorable stands out from the numerous closeouts, though there was one wave on which I had my hand on the deck, trying to lean into it to get some speed.

The memorable wave of the day was a right and it was fast.  I popped up and made it around the initial explosion.  A bit more wave came down and I was antsy to catch up to the beautiful green wall that was just sitting there for me to climb and, likely, disappoint.  I felt the urge to bail, but I overpowered it thanks to that sight of the next section.

The lip then slammed down just inside the backside rail of my board.  In one fell swoop, my board flipped over and I fell onto a fin, butthole first.  I felt an unfamiliar, and much to my relief, completely not sexy feeling as the fin and I became one.

I was pretty sure what had happened as I tossed and tumbled underwater.  As I was surfacing, I felt for the source of the pain and realized that the fin had indeed destroyed an important portion of the protection I had packed.  My wetsuit had a small tear in it.

My ass was sore.  I had fallen down right on the fin, a direct hit; you sank my battleship.  Luckily though, my momentum must have spun my body in such a way that my buttbone took a lot of the hit.  It is still sore as I type this, more than eighty hours post trauma.

The bike ride back was a difficult one.  When I got home I bent over and asked my wife if she noticed anything different about me.  She immediately asked what happened to my ass.

My wetsuit is now repaired and after a trip to my proctologist, I'm happy to announce my behymen is still intact.

2.19.14 Beach Cruiser Extends my Range to Oceanside Harbor

Given the previous session's experience, I was mad at South Pier and points even more south.  I forewent a real surf check there and continued to Harbor, a place I hadn't surfed in close to a year.

I had to go almost all of the way to Avalanches, but I found something that looked pretty good.  A-Frame peaks were popping up shiftily and inconsistently, but it was better than anything I'd seen in a while.  I locked up the bike on a rusted street sign.

I paddled out and under three waves.  On my last breaching of the ocean surface, I felt the initial sting of a nasty ice cream headache.  If I'd had to duckdive four waves it would have been nasty.  I've heard that if you hold your tongue against the top of your mouth, you won't feel it, but I would argue any improvement is as a result of the placebo effect.

Fifteen or so minutes in I caught a nice right and did a good snap on then kicked out.

On my way back out, I saw an older guy on a lot of foam paddle his ass off into the wave of the day; a left-his backhand.  After spending what seemed like an eternity getting up as his board rose higher and higher into the reeling lip, he managed to put it all together and descend it.  I cheered him on with a raised fist.  As he paddled back out he regaled me with a toothy grin.

Toothy Grin and his cronies spent the next half hour terrorizing me on their thick boards, paddling for just about anything.  I missed out on two solid waves because one of them was already on it.

I thought about paddling out past them to get position on them but my mind was interrupted by a not-that-impressive-at-first left.  As I paddled for it, just in case it turned into something, it steepened into a semblance of the sublime.  I jumped up and pumped.  I was going really fast when I eventually met with the closeout section.  I rose into it, laid my weight back and slid across the foam as my tail got away from me.  I ended up going fakie for a half-second before I splayed onto my back.

I caught a less impressive left five minutes later and did a snap just on the outside corner of the pocket.  I ended up splayed, less impressively, on that one too.

Eventually Father Time reared his ugly head in the face of my SICK Rasta watch and I had to pedal back to watch our daughter while Raquel held court over her conference call.

2.18.14 Disappointing All-Encompassing Pier-Wisconsin

The talk of the growing swell reverberated from the pleasure center of my brain to my loins and back. I would definitely be out there tomorrow, I thought on the preceding night.

I made my way to the 101, then towards Wisconsin Street.  I instantly regretted my turn south, as given the swell direction, Wisconsin and Wisconsin-adjacent would undoubtedly be less than firing.

Sure enough, my eyes confirmed what my mind had wrought, and I had no choice but to hoof it to the pier.  In all, I walked thirty minutes.  In the last fifteen minutes of my walk, I was treated to a front row seat of good conditions, decent swell, and more closeouts than you could pan your telephoto lens in between.  The waves were consistent, and they were consistently closing out.  Guys would either catch waves and bail right off the bat because of the steepness of the waves or they would make it to the bottom.  The latters' reward would be a cracking of the lip onto their heads, surfboards, or if they were lucky, only an underwater drubbing.

I thought, well, I am going to paddle out because I haven't in almost three weeks and the tide is coming up so it can only get better.

All of the waves I caught were bad.  I'd think I'd have a corner and out of nowhere the section in front of me (and usually, the section in front of it) would experience a last second push and burst right in my way.

The tide was slowly rising and you could sense the shift in the surf.  Unfortunately, it got even worse in the sense that the outside sets were having less and less push, leading to not even a hint of hope.  As Tennyson put it, it was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.  I will spare you, dear reader, of detailing each individual baby step towards madness.


In all, I saw one guy catch a wave and get a turn out of it.  I had the later morning shift with the baby and we retraced my steps.  I am happy to report that the surf still sucked and I didn't have to sit at the amphitheater with blue balls while my dog panted and my baby slept.

1.30.14 Time Crunch leads to Pre-Sunrise Session at South Pier

I'd spent too long of the previous day bumming about not being able to surf.  My seaside stroll with Lucia and Chucho confirmed that my worst fears had been realized: It was pumping and damn near empty.  I slouched home the rest of the way, kicking detritus with every tenth step in an attempt to feel control over SOMETHING.

The truth is I made mental plans to be on it no matter what the next day.  Raquel had a call from eight to ten and I had a flexible schedule.  I had to be back home by 7:40.  Including the walk back I should have a solid hour and some flex time to catch a wave in, rather than doing the emasculating paddle to the sand.

I did some research and I knew the sun would be up at 6:44, which meant I could surf in natural light and have some idea as to what was happening if I hit the water at 6:10 or so.  As is typical for me these days, I woke up right around four but thankfully managed to get another hour of sleep. I woke up and laid in bed waiting for the sun to get somewhat close to breaching the local topography, so I wouldn't have to nightsurf.

I saw the water as I passed The Cup and there was definitely enough light with which to surf.  I went down the ramp to The Strand and I saw size there, but not enough steepness to make it worth my while.  I knew Pier would be better, it just had to be.  I was surprised the pier lights were still on as I made my 3/4 mile walk north.  There was no one out.

I licked my lips at the prospect of being the first guy out but then I saw someone come bounding the Tyson Street stairs.  NOOOOOOO.  I chased after him in a half-jog and warmed up my left shoulder in stride.

We hit the water at about the same time, but since he chose to paddle out in the channel (puss), he beat me out there.  I was in a much better position than he, and it reflected in our different experiences on basically the same peak.

True to form, it took me twenty minutes to catch my first wave.  It was a sketchy set wave.  I went right, away from the pier and amazed at my speed.  I snapped a bit off-balance, recovered, and as soon as I realized I was getting too far out on the shoulder, laid into a roundhouse cutback.  Alas, the section I'd targeted was weak with nothing of note to bounce off and my ride was over.

I caught a couple of lefts towards the pier, which is a lot of fun when there aren't fishing lines around.  On my first attempt, I kept up with my wave, then watched it steepen.  I bottom-turned and prepared to snap nice and vertically but the wave hit a deep spot and fizzled.  Dammit.

My second left was bigger, and I had the opposite experience.  I cruised up the face of what looked like a burger, but it steepened up as I slashed.  I reeled in the torque so as not to slide my fins out and risk tumbling, then being driven by the whitewash into a pier pylon, then kicked out.  The narcissist that I am, I proudly surveyed the foam trail of my spray.

I caught a right that went nowhere and I did a throwaway attempt at an off-the-lip 360.  The result is not worth describing...

Fifteen or so minutes went by of my not having caught a wave.  My watch was telling me it was time to go home and so I did.  I took a left in and did an off-the-lip but got bounced off on the way down.  I power-walked home and saved myself a browbeating by getting back just in time.

1.27.14 Back in the Water after a Brief Respite

We left for a quick trip to Seattle not long after my last session, and got back not long before this one.  I was missing this swell, but the time away made me remember a realization of mine.

In SoCal, when the waves get above a certain size, there are only a handful of breaks that can handle them well.  This is important to note because breaks that can sort of handle them are not that fun to surf when it's bigger.  You're left scrambling over and under waves, then paddling back to try to get a wave.  You miss that and a clean-up set hits and you're toasted, at least for several minutes of paddling and duckdiving.

If you want to go to the spots with the best chance of focusing the energy into some good waves, you will have to brave the massive crowds.  Have you seen the overflow from the Swami's parking lot?  It's enough to turn the taking of your breath from seeing the waves into a sob-riddled sigh.

I gravitate away from the prime winter spots at all times because the majority of the time you will either not catch a set wave, and if you do, you'll get snaked.  It's worth neither the hassle nor the heartache.

With this in mind, I went to 20th St in Del Mar after checking a few spots.  The tide was dropping off its high from an hour and a half before and the waves were jacking up more and more as the water receded.  I saw a few closeouts which was not a surprise.  I was going to go back up to Pillbox when I saw "The Wave".

It was a perfectly peeling left which turned hollow about three seconds after initial  breaking, perfect for setting a barrel line.  It then kept barreling for another three or so seconds and spit.  About five seconds later, it started barreling again and spit AGAIN!  I couldn't remember the last time I saw a wave spit twice, and I'm not just limiting this to California.

As I watched later waves break decently, I pumped myself up to get out there.  To get your barrel of the year, you need opportunity, and it looked like the waves would give me a shot.  If I got one half as good as The Wave, I would be thrilled at the chance to make it out of a spinning cylinder.

I texted Missed-It Mike and the conversation went as follows:

E: 20th STAT!
M: Be out the door in 5!
E: OK. Hurry. I'm paddling out now.  Look for the guy crab grabbing to glory
M: Is it good?
E: Bigger sets either close out or spit twice.  I'll be just south of 20th, tho current may shift me.  Completely empty now.

I thought, "Cool!  M-IM is paddling out.  I haven't surfed with him in a while...!"

I paddled out and took a lump or two.  I then spent the next twenty minutes paddling back and forth, a pattern from my last three sessions I would desperately like to break.  I eventually caught an extremely racy left, and in my thirst, nay, lust to drop down and do something, I put too much weight on my front foot and pearled.

I spent another twenty minutes exercising and sneaking peeks at the shore so I could wave to Mike.  I never saw him.  He didn't show.  I got caught in a rip and the set waves turn three shades of ugly thanks to the choppiness afforded to them by the rip.  I paddled my ass off for a good five minutes and got out of it, then took a closeout in.

1.24.14 Reversing the Trend: NoPi to SoPi

Having wasted the previous day's swell by electing to watch my daughter while her mother was on a two-hour conference call, I was itching to go.

I checked the usual spots, but ended at Pillbox.  I saw some bigger waves, probably head-and-a-half breaking outside with no one on them.  Out thar!

After suiting up, I saw a guy on a SICK Rasta colors funboard on the sand.  It looked like I was going to have company out there...

Now much wiser, I paddled out at north peak, expecting the WNW angle of the swell to really shine.  What  I didn't expect, was just how much this rising swell was going to shift all over the place and create different take-off zones wave to wave.

It looked like I was in for another half session of no waves, but a buzzer beater came and I sliced its scalp as its kin had made me look like a fool.  I came down speedily, no doubt aided by the even steeper now face, post-hit.  I came back up and attempted a floater I didn't want to attempt to land.  I had seen how much air these inside closeouts were throwing up and wanted none of it.  Luckily my reluctance led me off the lip and onto the back of the wave.

The guy on the Rasta board had caught one smaller wave but other than that was struggling to find something that would let him in on that much foam.  I muttered something to myself about how exciting it was to have caught a wave, which according to WebMD is one of the first symptoms of insanity, and Rasta board guy asked me what I thought of the conditions.  I told him it was too shifty, but at least we had waves.

The swell kept growing, not so much in size, but in frequency and ferocity.  Rasta Board Guy and I were shuttled south towards the middle.  He told he was going in as it was "too much to handle".  I wasn't gnarled out yet, but I could see what he meant.

With very little to lose, I let the current sweep me south, towards hopefully greener (water) pastures.  This is when I really felt the shift in waves and some of the sets were legitimate eight footers.  Pillbox apparently maxes out at this size as the overwhelming majority were massive closeouts.

A peanut gallery had gathered at the park's edge and I was the only guy out.

After about ten minutes of feeling like a wayward cork at an exuberant pool party, I paddled for a wave with the slightest of corners and popped up, then swooped down hard.  I immediately cut through the frothy remnants of the previous wave's passing, tucked close to the wall and was enveloped in this big, white barrel, which darkened a second later and blew me out its ass.  I was overjoyed at getting barreled on such a shifty, good-sized day and came up jubilant.

I spent the next ten minutes getting gnarled out by the continued growth of the swell.  It was time for me to go home to my wife and daughter, but I didn't want to be too inside and get smashed.  I also didn't want to get too far outside and make myself late.  I wasn't scared of what the wavescape had wrought, but if it kept going like this, I could see myself entering the beginning stages of freaking.

I found a friendly closeout which let me in on it.  On my way up the ramp, I was complimented by an older woman for being out there when it was that heavy-looking.  Then I saw Rasta Board Guy walking down the ramp and asking me if he'd missed anything by going in.  I said, "Well, I did get a sick barrel!".  He said, "Oh, yeah, I saw you get that little barrel!"  I thought to myself, "Little!?!?"

1.22.14 First Car of the Swell Train Arrives: SoPi to NoPi

After witnessing the lame offerings at G-View (not once in its history has it been confused with G-Land), George's, Seaside, and 20th St, I settled on an old favorite: Pillbox.

My limited exposure to this spot has yielded me these nuggets:  The north peak tends to work better on a N swell, while the south peak prefers a S.  Not realizing this as my toes hit the water, I paddled out at the southern peak after having been entranced by a reeling, somewhat hollow left's siren song.

I suffered handsomely for having witnessed that once-a-day wave.  The paddle-out was nasty, but what awaited me was perhaps more cruel.  I sat there not catching a thing for over half an hour, a waste of about half a session.

Three guys who'd paddled out to the north peak were having better luck.  I lusted after their conquests and decided I no longer wanted to be a witness to their ways, but a partner in them.

I went in on the first wave that let me on.  At first it looked like a closeout, on my last check before popping up, it appeared to have mellowed, but the steepness of the wave absolutely shocked me, which left me audibly shrieking in excitement/agony at the thought of being tousled in the 2/3 water, 1/6 sand, 1/6 air concoction its younger twin had left in its wake.  I felt my nose dig, but managed to not endo.

I walked north with my leash still strapped to my ankle, knowing full well that taking the leash off my ankle may serve as tiebreaker and lead me back to The Rad. 

I paddled out north of the previously referenced three guys, hoping the current would put me right in the sweet spot.  After about ten minutes of sitting, I caught my first wave.  I arced up from the bottom and demolished the lip.  My momentum carried me out a bit onto the shoulder so I laid into a roundhouse cutty and pulled it smoothly.  I tried to pump in the froth that had broken just in front of where I'd reset my fins to try to keep going, but it was not to be as the section just in front of that cavitated as it filled with froth.

This wave by itself had made all of the paddling, waiting, and walking worth it.

I caught another one and in my ebullience managed to travel too far onto the fatter section of shoulder.  I realized this at the last second and really laid into my back foot.  I sent a lot of spray flying, killing all of the speed I would have otherwise wasted because of not being able to get back into the wave.

Having only a limited time to surf meant it was time to go in.