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.
"If the best surfer in the water is the one having the most fun, Eddie P would be a promising amateur who eventually burns out and is forced to perform 'favors' for surf wax" -Anonymous
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Sunday, June 9, 2013
Friday, May 31, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, May 20, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
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).
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, April 22, 2013
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...
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...
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Update: Illness and Travel Plans
On Saturday March 30th, I went to the beach sans wetsuit and con skimboard to open skim season. The warm weather and mid-day high tide ensured I wouldn't be too cold. A friend of mine swears that wearing a wetsuit while skimboarding is akin to laying down with a man so I waited long enough to avoid the hurtful whispers and accusatory stares she would likely bestow upon me the next time I meet her acquaintance.
There was very little swell and the shorebreak didn't really have much going on. I skimmed maybe a dozen times before zoning out a good half-hour, not finding a single decent hit section or launch pad. I felt sluggish and I packed it in. The next morning, I woke up with a sore throat and as Easter Sunday progressed, the telltale signs of a sinus infection gingerly crept in.
I was feeling well enough to continue my gym routine as usual, but on Wednesday night I went a little too hard on the guitar jamming and blew my throat out. My voice was useless on Thursday and not much better Friday. It still suffers from an octave or so drop to the extent that passers-by may mistake me for someone who did in fact complete puberty.
This setback pushed me back into full-borne cough/cold/fever/congestion mode and I've been functional but pretty miserable.
I'm still feeling the symptoms and have kept myself out of the water as a result. Today I managed to complete a full routine at the gym so I am very close to being at full strength and will likely go for a surf drive tomorrow morning.
My wife and I found out we're expecting our first and likely only child at the end of February. It's due at the end of October. Thanks to the discovery of the fetus, my plans to go to India for a wedding were scuttled and will be parlayed into a boat trip to the Mentawai islands of Indonesia.
This is exciting for me for several reasons:
1. I've never left the northwest hemisphere of the planet. The Mentawai are in the southeast. Padang (my last air connection, in Indonesia) is JUST south of the Equator.
2. I'll be surfing a whole new ocean, so far having only amassed the Pacific and Caribbean.
3. The trip would normally cost $4500, but airfare has already been paid due to the India plans. Interestingly enough, I will be only about two hours by air from India.
4. Ten days of only surfing. No internet. No phone calls. It is very likely I will not see a single woman during the entire trip which will be trippy. Luckily my system is set to hermaphrodize AFTER fifteen days of not seeing a woman so I should return a heterosexual male.
5. The Mentawais are the most wave-rich zone on the planet. Swell comes roaring from storms near Antarctica and funnel east and north. The multiple island setup allows for there to be surfable waves as long as there's swell. Problematic winds can be sidestepped by going to the opposite side of an island, where the winds will be offshore.
6. I can surf waves about which I've dreamt for years: Macaronis, E-Bay, HT's and Greenbush in particular.
So far I've had trouble finding someone to go with. My last hope appears to be Missed-It-Mike, who has a big work project ending in August. My goal is to go in early September, approximately six weeks shy of the due date. I'm getting a little push-back from the Mrs. as she's afraid I'll miss the birth, but the chances of that are somewhat slim.
I will be taking my day-to-day 6'1" DHD, a step-up 6'3" for the head to slightly overhead days and a balls-to-the-wall 6'6" or 6'7" if it gets double overhead. All will have GoPro mounts and I'll move the camera from board to board as needed.
Stay tuned...
There was very little swell and the shorebreak didn't really have much going on. I skimmed maybe a dozen times before zoning out a good half-hour, not finding a single decent hit section or launch pad. I felt sluggish and I packed it in. The next morning, I woke up with a sore throat and as Easter Sunday progressed, the telltale signs of a sinus infection gingerly crept in.
I was feeling well enough to continue my gym routine as usual, but on Wednesday night I went a little too hard on the guitar jamming and blew my throat out. My voice was useless on Thursday and not much better Friday. It still suffers from an octave or so drop to the extent that passers-by may mistake me for someone who did in fact complete puberty.
This setback pushed me back into full-borne cough/cold/fever/congestion mode and I've been functional but pretty miserable.
I'm still feeling the symptoms and have kept myself out of the water as a result. Today I managed to complete a full routine at the gym so I am very close to being at full strength and will likely go for a surf drive tomorrow morning.
My wife and I found out we're expecting our first and likely only child at the end of February. It's due at the end of October. Thanks to the discovery of the fetus, my plans to go to India for a wedding were scuttled and will be parlayed into a boat trip to the Mentawai islands of Indonesia.
This is exciting for me for several reasons:
1. I've never left the northwest hemisphere of the planet. The Mentawai are in the southeast. Padang (my last air connection, in Indonesia) is JUST south of the Equator.
2. I'll be surfing a whole new ocean, so far having only amassed the Pacific and Caribbean.
3. The trip would normally cost $4500, but airfare has already been paid due to the India plans. Interestingly enough, I will be only about two hours by air from India.
4. Ten days of only surfing. No internet. No phone calls. It is very likely I will not see a single woman during the entire trip which will be trippy. Luckily my system is set to hermaphrodize AFTER fifteen days of not seeing a woman so I should return a heterosexual male.
5. The Mentawais are the most wave-rich zone on the planet. Swell comes roaring from storms near Antarctica and funnel east and north. The multiple island setup allows for there to be surfable waves as long as there's swell. Problematic winds can be sidestepped by going to the opposite side of an island, where the winds will be offshore.
6. I can surf waves about which I've dreamt for years: Macaronis, E-Bay, HT's and Greenbush in particular.
So far I've had trouble finding someone to go with. My last hope appears to be Missed-It-Mike, who has a big work project ending in August. My goal is to go in early September, approximately six weeks shy of the due date. I'm getting a little push-back from the Mrs. as she's afraid I'll miss the birth, but the chances of that are somewhat slim.
I will be taking my day-to-day 6'1" DHD, a step-up 6'3" for the head to slightly overhead days and a balls-to-the-wall 6'6" or 6'7" if it gets double overhead. All will have GoPro mounts and I'll move the camera from board to board as needed.
Stay tuned...
Sunday, March 31, 2013
3.25.13 A No-Go Averted at SouPa
I'd spent the entirety of the dry part of my Sunday frothing over what could have been. The waves in Oside that day showed some real promise, especially as the tide continued to drop. Because of my appointment, the session was cut short just as it was beginning to really turn on.
Monday morning resulted in my waking up and jetting up to Oside. Unfortunately, the surf had dropped to the point where it was being smothered by the tide. I didn't bother checking Jetty/Harbor and looped back down onto the 101. North north Carlsbad weakened my optimism with its usual lack of luster. I was about to cement this day in history as a dry day when I made the fateful decision to keep on keeping on the 101.
I spotted an oh-so-surfable set and I pulled into the just-off-the-street spot, next to an older couple solving their respective Sudoku puzzles. I suited up and bounded down the cliff.
I was especially excited at the prospect of surfing by myself. I paddled out and was surprised at the froth surging through my frontal cortex.
The inside was very abrupt shorebreak on which you could maybe get a turn in if you were in the right spot and extremely efficient in your drop-turn-smack progression. I opted for the rarer, meatier outsiders.
After paddling and missing a couple due to lack of steeps, I caught a left which had some slope to it, but fizzled quickly. The lip slid down the face more than it crashed. I jumped over it.
It took sixteen minutes of a lot of frustrating paddling and pulling back from lame mushburgers before I stood up again. This time I was on a right. I thought I'd caught it, then thought better. I set my chest down on the deck and windmilled with both arms. I did finally drop down the face, to be greeted by a closeout as the entire section felt bottom at the same time.
I caught a quick left not five minutes later, more towards the inside. I pumped up and down a couple of times, then did a mid-face slash. I felt the falling lip hit my board and it threw me off and down into the water.
During the ride, I heard a guy hoot from the cliff. I looked up and he was wearing a road crew vest (fluorescent yellow) and gave me either thumps up or shaka.
I was so excited to see a decent left that on my next wave, I leaned too far forward and on my front foot. The fins gave out, not in a good way, and I awkwardly shoulder-checked the wave.
My next wave was an umph-lacking left. I pumped up, then slowly back down. I then did a really weak fade cutty so as to stay closer to the source. There was no pleasant surprise at the end of this one and I kicked out.
I caught a right and gingerly set my feet. I knew any mistake would crush my chances with this relative gem. I pumped up very slightly, then rushed up to the lip. The lip came at me sooner than I'd expected. I elevated and leaned back and was either elevated by the lip or levitated up to it. I hung up on the lip then managed to bring it around. It looked like a longboard floater. It felt a lot cooler than it looked on the GoPro.
I'd had enough letdowns for one day, so I packed it in.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
3.24.13 Rush Solo Sesh at North Wisconsin
Brutal.
There was still combo swell in the water. Not only was it a Sunday, but the extreme high tide would hamper the surf so only the set waves would be rideable. In order to maximize my chances, I'd held off on making the trek north until the high tide was on its way back down. I had only a sliver of a window, as I'd scheduled an appointment at ten and would have to beat feet out of Oside only an hour after suiting up.
I saw something decent on my way to the pier, but it wasn't so great that it got me to park and suit up. I knew deep down that checking Jetty/Harbor would only lighten the ride of its gasoline, but I pushed on with the logic that the tide will have fallen that much more when I do paddle out.
Jetty and Harbor were worse than I expected. These are both pretty much low tide-only spots unless it's really pumping.
My first wave was an ok left. I pumped once, then had to deal with the lip hitting me in the knees. I kept my speed and found a section to hit but by the time I did so, the wave had no push with which to send me on my way for another hit.
My second wave was a better left. I pumped pretty well, though I didn't do it super quickly with the fear of passing the wave by. Once the section I was hoping for appeared to be on its way, I cut down then back up and was immediately disappointed by its lack of push.
I caught a pretty sweet right on which I got hung up on the lift, but dropped diagonally down the face and got a bunch of speed. It was the first time I can remember air-dropping and having my fins engage immediately. I think what happened is I landed with the board at the exact right angle. It reminded me of going over a hip in snowboarding. Unfortunately, that's all the wave had in store for me.
Long lulls in between sets kept me from upping my wave count. Until tomorrow...
There was still combo swell in the water. Not only was it a Sunday, but the extreme high tide would hamper the surf so only the set waves would be rideable. In order to maximize my chances, I'd held off on making the trek north until the high tide was on its way back down. I had only a sliver of a window, as I'd scheduled an appointment at ten and would have to beat feet out of Oside only an hour after suiting up.
I saw something decent on my way to the pier, but it wasn't so great that it got me to park and suit up. I knew deep down that checking Jetty/Harbor would only lighten the ride of its gasoline, but I pushed on with the logic that the tide will have fallen that much more when I do paddle out.
Jetty and Harbor were worse than I expected. These are both pretty much low tide-only spots unless it's really pumping.
My first wave was an ok left. I pumped once, then had to deal with the lip hitting me in the knees. I kept my speed and found a section to hit but by the time I did so, the wave had no push with which to send me on my way for another hit.
My second wave was a better left. I pumped pretty well, though I didn't do it super quickly with the fear of passing the wave by. Once the section I was hoping for appeared to be on its way, I cut down then back up and was immediately disappointed by its lack of push.
I caught a pretty sweet right on which I got hung up on the lift, but dropped diagonally down the face and got a bunch of speed. It was the first time I can remember air-dropping and having my fins engage immediately. I think what happened is I landed with the board at the exact right angle. It reminded me of going over a hip in snowboarding. Unfortunately, that's all the wave had in store for me.
Long lulls in between sets kept me from upping my wave count. Until tomorrow...
Sunday, March 24, 2013
3.23.13 Dodging the Weekend Warriors at Wisconsin Street
The previous session's devil wind had subsided for the day, and I was foaming at the mouth to get back up to Oceanside.
I convinced myself to wait until the high tide was on its way down to avoid the dreaded mushburgers
Buc Beach was lying dormant yet again, though I did see a couple of heads sitting low in the water. Evidence there were some steep set waves that were breaking somewhat deep.
I parked and walked down to Wisconsin Street, as the massive, just-shy-of-the-peak high tide was smashing into the boulders. I strapped the leash on then ventured down in between the violent water-on-rock assaults. I got halfway past the boulders when a big one slammed in. I managed to securely tripod myself (a skill honed in El Salvador) and endure the rush of water. The water rushed back out and I took the opportunity to gain some steps before the next rush arrived.
Once it did, I jumped on my board and sprint-paddled, waiting for the backwash to blast me towards the outside. A couple of backwashes aided me in my quest, but then I got stuck in the middle of a long set. About five minutes of non-stop paddle-paddle-duckdive I made it under the last wave of the set.
I checked back towards shore and I'd suffered a two-block migration towards the north. I'd anticipated more than that, so I was in good shape.
My first wave came about five minutes after perching. It was a steep head-high left on which I was extremely late on. It had a line, so I went for it. Upon stomping my feet on the deck, I was treated to a blind air drop. My board fell with my lower extremities following closely behind. My knees extended, but I somehow buckled and ate it.
My second wave involved a left that was about shoulder-high. It was a bit fat, so I descended at less of an angle than I normally do. I caught up to the foaming lip with one pump, then had to hustle to keep up with it. Exerting all of this effort rewarded me with a trip to the top of the fat lip and the sensation of choking up on the board, hoping to descend again and maybe fade back towards the energy "center" of the wave. It was not to be.
I was in position for a meaty right. I caught it and was taken aback by the speed. I was even more surprised at the intensity with which the approaching section arrived. It got there very quickly and oh so steeply. My trajectory was more drawn-out than the section called for and I blasted out the back.
I caught another right, but the result was drastically different. It appeared I had a bit of a beast on my hands but it chubbed out on me.
My last wave of the day was a frustrating combination of chub and raciness. I couldn't get much speed from the wave and the thing foamed out on me. I must have been riding over a deep spot.
The highlight of the day was when a four-pod strong of dolphins come RIGHT towards me. I sat and watched as one of them breached and all four dove under me, re-surfacing five or six yards past me.
I convinced myself to wait until the high tide was on its way down to avoid the dreaded mushburgers
Buc Beach was lying dormant yet again, though I did see a couple of heads sitting low in the water. Evidence there were some steep set waves that were breaking somewhat deep.
I parked and walked down to Wisconsin Street, as the massive, just-shy-of-the-peak high tide was smashing into the boulders. I strapped the leash on then ventured down in between the violent water-on-rock assaults. I got halfway past the boulders when a big one slammed in. I managed to securely tripod myself (a skill honed in El Salvador) and endure the rush of water. The water rushed back out and I took the opportunity to gain some steps before the next rush arrived.
Once it did, I jumped on my board and sprint-paddled, waiting for the backwash to blast me towards the outside. A couple of backwashes aided me in my quest, but then I got stuck in the middle of a long set. About five minutes of non-stop paddle-paddle-duckdive I made it under the last wave of the set.
I checked back towards shore and I'd suffered a two-block migration towards the north. I'd anticipated more than that, so I was in good shape.
My first wave came about five minutes after perching. It was a steep head-high left on which I was extremely late on. It had a line, so I went for it. Upon stomping my feet on the deck, I was treated to a blind air drop. My board fell with my lower extremities following closely behind. My knees extended, but I somehow buckled and ate it.
My second wave involved a left that was about shoulder-high. It was a bit fat, so I descended at less of an angle than I normally do. I caught up to the foaming lip with one pump, then had to hustle to keep up with it. Exerting all of this effort rewarded me with a trip to the top of the fat lip and the sensation of choking up on the board, hoping to descend again and maybe fade back towards the energy "center" of the wave. It was not to be.
I was in position for a meaty right. I caught it and was taken aback by the speed. I was even more surprised at the intensity with which the approaching section arrived. It got there very quickly and oh so steeply. My trajectory was more drawn-out than the section called for and I blasted out the back.
I caught another right, but the result was drastically different. It appeared I had a bit of a beast on my hands but it chubbed out on me.
My last wave of the day was a frustrating combination of chub and raciness. I couldn't get much speed from the wave and the thing foamed out on me. I must have been riding over a deep spot.
The highlight of the day was when a four-pod strong of dolphins come RIGHT towards me. I sat and watched as one of them breached and all four dove under me, re-surfacing five or six yards past me.
3.22.13 Combo Swell Solo Mish to Oside Pier
The first S swell of the season (El Salvador was PERFECT according to several friends and their Facebook pics) was upon us and with it, a cross-up/current reducer NW windswell. Unfortunately, the forecasts spieled of a S wind that would make the water's surface less than ideal. After clearing the cobwebs from my geriatric 4/3, I was out thar!
The tide was very high and I didn't know if anything would be breaking. The waves at Buc Beach were forgettable. S. Wisconsin looked ok, but the waves there were nothing to make me froth. Then I saw a set break at the pier and I pulled into the free lot by the Dairy Queen and made my way to the sand.
The paddle-out wasn't bad, and it felt good having the warmer-than-I-remember-from-nearly-three-weeks-ago water wash over me without penalizing me with pain.
Seeing as to how it was the first booming swell in a LONG time, there was a pack out there. One guy who was tearing the place apart reminded me of a younger version of Panamanian rap legend and godfather of Reggaeton (before it turned to muck), El General:
I was paddling with, then against the pack trying to secure a nug to call my own. I caught a left that closed out, then when paddling back out I saw El Generalito catch a bomb on the outside and shred it. Easily WQS talent, that guy...
I caught a couple of other waves whose rides escape me. The last wave was a right I caught near the pier. It sectioned off, then opened up, but its shoulder was slouched by the still-fat tide.
The tide was very high and I didn't know if anything would be breaking. The waves at Buc Beach were forgettable. S. Wisconsin looked ok, but the waves there were nothing to make me froth. Then I saw a set break at the pier and I pulled into the free lot by the Dairy Queen and made my way to the sand.
The paddle-out wasn't bad, and it felt good having the warmer-than-I-remember-from-nearly-three-weeks-ago water wash over me without penalizing me with pain.
Seeing as to how it was the first booming swell in a LONG time, there was a pack out there. One guy who was tearing the place apart reminded me of a younger version of Panamanian rap legend and godfather of Reggaeton (before it turned to muck), El General:
I was paddling with, then against the pack trying to secure a nug to call my own. I caught a left that closed out, then when paddling back out I saw El Generalito catch a bomb on the outside and shred it. Easily WQS talent, that guy...
I caught a couple of other waves whose rides escape me. The last wave was a right I caught near the pier. It sectioned off, then opened up, but its shoulder was slouched by the still-fat tide.
Friday, March 8, 2013
3.4.13 Solo Mish to Disheveled D Street
I'd made plans to surf with someone this morning and received a text saying they weren't feeling well. Mike was on his way to Mountain View for some work stuff, and Forrest isn't a fan of surfing early, especially when it's cold.
I pulled up to D and checked it. I immediately saw a set break and realized I needn't check it any longer. I walked down the stairs and marveled at there being nary a surfer in the water. It would've made for a really boring Twilight Zone episode.
I paddled out with no issue, except for the slightest twinge of an ice cream headache.
Since I was all alone, I would have my pick of the waves. Where were GMIMITW and Incomplete Neoprene Puzzle Guy?
My first two waves had nice steep drops followed by too racy shoulders. I pulled through on both.
I caught a nice left on which I pumped. I was racing the curl the whole first two-thirds of the wave when I finally saw my opportunity to smack it. By the time I got there, the cascading lip grabbed a hold of my fins and it turned from a snap into a floater of sorts. I had no speed and fell pretty much straight down, thanks to my inertia. Had I had some speed I could have used that to project onto the flats.
A macker of a left came and I had to hustle. I superpumped a couple of times and spotted what appeared to be a bowly inside section. I tucked in as much as I could given where I was on the wave and received a lip to the head. Taylor Knox would have claimed this as a barrel, but I know better. This was maybe a head dip. The chandeliering lip drove into my head and I did my best to disperse the energy evenly onto my board. It finally released me from its grasp.
It was at this point that the aforementioned Gentile Most Interesting Man in the World blessed me with his presence, but he appeared to be alone. He of course paddled right to me. This is extremely annoying when the whole beach is available to him and he could find his own peak. Thankfully, he thought better of it and bailed.
I caught a right on which I got one off-balance smack. I got hung up on the lip and made it. It felt pretty good but the footage was bollocks.
GMIMITW hadn't caught squat fifteen minutes into his session, which is rare for him. He's usually frothing and going on just about everything. The waves were turning a mean shade of ugly, thanks to the dropping tide and the kicked-up wind.
I was sitting pretty deep when a bomb came through. There was a slightly smaller wave in front of it. I seized the opportunity at a chance for glory or a massive tumble. I paddled for it and just as I popped up felt the thing turn inside out. I somehow managed to drop in and I got a great view of the mackers combining forces and throwing out behind me. It was probably a 7'.
I paddled out yet again but the waves got worse and worse. I rode one in on my belly and called it a session.
I pulled up to D and checked it. I immediately saw a set break and realized I needn't check it any longer. I walked down the stairs and marveled at there being nary a surfer in the water. It would've made for a really boring Twilight Zone episode.
I paddled out with no issue, except for the slightest twinge of an ice cream headache.
Since I was all alone, I would have my pick of the waves. Where were GMIMITW and Incomplete Neoprene Puzzle Guy?
My first two waves had nice steep drops followed by too racy shoulders. I pulled through on both.
I caught a nice left on which I pumped. I was racing the curl the whole first two-thirds of the wave when I finally saw my opportunity to smack it. By the time I got there, the cascading lip grabbed a hold of my fins and it turned from a snap into a floater of sorts. I had no speed and fell pretty much straight down, thanks to my inertia. Had I had some speed I could have used that to project onto the flats.
A macker of a left came and I had to hustle. I superpumped a couple of times and spotted what appeared to be a bowly inside section. I tucked in as much as I could given where I was on the wave and received a lip to the head. Taylor Knox would have claimed this as a barrel, but I know better. This was maybe a head dip. The chandeliering lip drove into my head and I did my best to disperse the energy evenly onto my board. It finally released me from its grasp.
It was at this point that the aforementioned Gentile Most Interesting Man in the World blessed me with his presence, but he appeared to be alone. He of course paddled right to me. This is extremely annoying when the whole beach is available to him and he could find his own peak. Thankfully, he thought better of it and bailed.
I caught a right on which I got one off-balance smack. I got hung up on the lip and made it. It felt pretty good but the footage was bollocks.
GMIMITW hadn't caught squat fifteen minutes into his session, which is rare for him. He's usually frothing and going on just about everything. The waves were turning a mean shade of ugly, thanks to the dropping tide and the kicked-up wind.
I was sitting pretty deep when a bomb came through. There was a slightly smaller wave in front of it. I seized the opportunity at a chance for glory or a massive tumble. I paddled for it and just as I popped up felt the thing turn inside out. I somehow managed to drop in and I got a great view of the mackers combining forces and throwing out behind me. It was probably a 7'.
I paddled out yet again but the waves got worse and worse. I rode one in on my belly and called it a session.
Monday, March 4, 2013
3.1.13 M-I-M and I hit up Lower Tide D Street
I arrived at 6:58 and saw Mike standing by the bench, checking it. The fact that he wasn't scampering back to change into his wetsuit was a bad sign. He told me it was about as good as yesterday, but less consistent and smaller.
We walked a little south of the stairs towards a really fun-looking peak, then doubled back towards the stairs after seeing a couple of rights reel and with the philosophy that we wouldn't fight a crowd there, unlike the south peak.
We paddled out and sat for about an hour (!) before either of us caught our first wave. The waves that would come through were closeouts or in rare instances had someone on them. Both Incomplete Neoprene Puzzle Man (hood, gloves, missing only booties) and his bro Gentile Most Interesting Man in the World were out along with other guys and they were catching some bombs. I finally convinced Mike to paddle a ways south and eventually we caught some.
The only memorable wave for me was a left I caught that seemed as though it would not let me in at first. I dueled with the lip and eventually got to do surfing's version of an uppercut on its exposed jaw. Unfortunately, I hit it with my weight too far back and ended up splayed.
The tide ruined things and we were over it, pleased that we didn't get cold for nothing. We should have fought the pack and picked off a few...
We walked a little south of the stairs towards a really fun-looking peak, then doubled back towards the stairs after seeing a couple of rights reel and with the philosophy that we wouldn't fight a crowd there, unlike the south peak.
We paddled out and sat for about an hour (!) before either of us caught our first wave. The waves that would come through were closeouts or in rare instances had someone on them. Both Incomplete Neoprene Puzzle Man (hood, gloves, missing only booties) and his bro Gentile Most Interesting Man in the World were out along with other guys and they were catching some bombs. I finally convinced Mike to paddle a ways south and eventually we caught some.
The only memorable wave for me was a left I caught that seemed as though it would not let me in at first. I dueled with the lip and eventually got to do surfing's version of an uppercut on its exposed jaw. Unfortunately, I hit it with my weight too far back and ended up splayed.
The tide ruined things and we were over it, pleased that we didn't get cold for nothing. We should have fought the pack and picked off a few...
Thursday, February 28, 2013
February Wrap-Up and a Plea
Here are the most-surfed spots of the month:
Grandview 2
MD's
Seascape
S. Pipes
D St
G-View pulls out a razor-thin margin to become the winner of the month. Congrats to all of the nominees and better luck next month!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Plea:
Please stop and/or stop people from saying the following phrases. Permission to use force, granted...
Sunday Funday aka how to let people know you're a douche in just two words
"It is what it is.": The most pointless sentence uttered in the history of mankind. Obviously, it is what it is. It also isn't what it isn't. This sentence is most often seen escaping, and flying away as quickly as it can, from the mouths of those who like to hear themselves talk. And I should know!
"I'm not gonna lie to you.": This would make sense to say before a true statement only if the human race also said the opposite during a farcical statement. I caught myself saying this once and immediately cringed.
"Good human" or "(fill-in-the-blank) human": I first heard this in the jungles of Isla Bastimentos, when a pretty well-known surf photog described some of his subjects as such.
Is my being so easily annoyed a sign of getting older? Whatever the case, GET OFF MY LAWN!
2.28.13 Religious Epiphany, then Macking D Street w/ M-I-M!
The reports from last night were juicy. An overnight building swell and perfect offshore, with a medium tide to boot. The water was still a scrotum-wrinkling (I have pics to prove it) 56 degrees, so the crowds should be lighter than normal.
I called up Missed-It-Mike and he was down to surf. Given the combo nature of the swell and the medium-rising tide, D Street was the call.
I met him there at seven and goaded him into suiting up without checking it. On the way down, we saw a sick set break and our pace quickened. we somehow began talking about God. Mike is Catholic and I chide him for it constantly. I can't remember what I asked him, but he downplayed his faith in his response.
I told him to say, "I, Missed-It-Mike, hereby banish Jesus Christ from my heart". He wouldn't do it. I repeated it with my own name in his' place. I nervously snapped my neck up and around looking for the fateful bolt of lightning that was sure to be the end of me.
When it didn't arrive, I decided morosely that God had forsaken me. It was at that point that I exclaimed that I would allow Satan into my heart. This is how I imagine Mike viewed me, except prone, paddling on my surfboard:
After a lot of duckdiving and head-dipping into the brisk water, we perched. There was a guy on a log who was sitting deeper and inside of us. I saw him catch a left from the top and just kind of cruise on it. Another good-sized left came and the same result. The logger paddled back out and a juicy one was within his grasp, but he half-heartedly paddled for it and missed it. I let out a hearty, "WHHAAAAAAAAT!?!?" and received a grin from some guy between us who'd witnessed the 'exchange'.
Since Mike and I were still having no luck, I paddled for about three minutes until I was outside of him. The logger paddled back out and went way down the line, so much so that he wasn't a factor. Or so I thought...
When my first wave was heaving and close to elevating me, I was salivating. This was the first good wave I'd caught since early December. All of those mornings spent convincing to paddle out then sitting and shivering flashed through my mind ad I got lifted. I pumped once, then laid into a slash. After jumping though the wave, I realized I'd somehow snaked the longboarder. Eagle-eyed readers will see him in the background at the 6/7-second marks.
I sincerely apologized to him after realizing my mistake, but I'm sure he thought I was an asshole after this and the WHAAAAAAAAAT incident.
A minute later, according to the GoPro timestamps, I caught another wave on which I got barreled and pinched. BAH!
Mike caught a left and gave it two solid smacks. As he was paddling back out, I caught a left on which I didn't descend all the way and got barreled within a second-and-a-half of popping up. I set up a little too far away from the wall, but I don't think it was all that makeable (it IS D St, after all...).
Mike was in position for a left that the logger caught but couldn't make it around the section. This left developed into the best barrel I've EVER seen break at D St. Thick, bowly, wide and remarkably makeable -looking! Of course, it finale'd with a massive closeout, so a doggy-door exit would have been in order.
An older guy who looks like a Gentile version of Dos Equis' "Most Interesting Man in the World" was out and frothing, making catching waves difficult.
The tide rose and the waves suffered. I was able to catch a pretty sick left on which I pumped once, rose up to the lip, SUPERpumped and got stuck on a heaving ledge of a lip. I aborted towards the trough and midflight, all two inches of my manhood managed to free themselves from its between-two-thighs nest and flop up towards my stomach. I ended up landing right on it, not an easy task for such a small target, but luckily all I suffered through were nerves from the incident.
I am happy to report that it still works for the purposes it was designed!
Mike and I went in after about eighty minutes of being out there, cold and having to get on with our days...
I called up Missed-It-Mike and he was down to surf. Given the combo nature of the swell and the medium-rising tide, D Street was the call.
I met him there at seven and goaded him into suiting up without checking it. On the way down, we saw a sick set break and our pace quickened. we somehow began talking about God. Mike is Catholic and I chide him for it constantly. I can't remember what I asked him, but he downplayed his faith in his response.
I told him to say, "I, Missed-It-Mike, hereby banish Jesus Christ from my heart". He wouldn't do it. I repeated it with my own name in his' place. I nervously snapped my neck up and around looking for the fateful bolt of lightning that was sure to be the end of me.
When it didn't arrive, I decided morosely that God had forsaken me. It was at that point that I exclaimed that I would allow Satan into my heart. This is how I imagine Mike viewed me, except prone, paddling on my surfboard:
After a lot of duckdiving and head-dipping into the brisk water, we perched. There was a guy on a log who was sitting deeper and inside of us. I saw him catch a left from the top and just kind of cruise on it. Another good-sized left came and the same result. The logger paddled back out and a juicy one was within his grasp, but he half-heartedly paddled for it and missed it. I let out a hearty, "WHHAAAAAAAAT!?!?" and received a grin from some guy between us who'd witnessed the 'exchange'.
Since Mike and I were still having no luck, I paddled for about three minutes until I was outside of him. The logger paddled back out and went way down the line, so much so that he wasn't a factor. Or so I thought...
When my first wave was heaving and close to elevating me, I was salivating. This was the first good wave I'd caught since early December. All of those mornings spent convincing to paddle out then sitting and shivering flashed through my mind ad I got lifted. I pumped once, then laid into a slash. After jumping though the wave, I realized I'd somehow snaked the longboarder. Eagle-eyed readers will see him in the background at the 6/7-second marks.
I sincerely apologized to him after realizing my mistake, but I'm sure he thought I was an asshole after this and the WHAAAAAAAAAT incident.
A minute later, according to the GoPro timestamps, I caught another wave on which I got barreled and pinched. BAH!
Mike caught a left and gave it two solid smacks. As he was paddling back out, I caught a left on which I didn't descend all the way and got barreled within a second-and-a-half of popping up. I set up a little too far away from the wall, but I don't think it was all that makeable (it IS D St, after all...).
Mike was in position for a left that the logger caught but couldn't make it around the section. This left developed into the best barrel I've EVER seen break at D St. Thick, bowly, wide and remarkably makeable -looking! Of course, it finale'd with a massive closeout, so a doggy-door exit would have been in order.
An older guy who looks like a Gentile version of Dos Equis' "Most Interesting Man in the World" was out and frothing, making catching waves difficult.
The tide rose and the waves suffered. I was able to catch a pretty sick left on which I pumped once, rose up to the lip, SUPERpumped and got stuck on a heaving ledge of a lip. I aborted towards the trough and midflight, all two inches of my manhood managed to free themselves from its between-two-thighs nest and flop up towards my stomach. I ended up landing right on it, not an easy task for such a small target, but luckily all I suffered through were nerves from the incident.
I am happy to report that it still works for the purposes it was designed!
Mike and I went in after about eighty minutes of being out there, cold and having to get on with our days...
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
2.25.13 Denying a No-Go at South Pipes w/ Forrest PM SESSION
After canvassing the coast for the better part of an hour, we made Pipes our last check. Forrest really wanted to get in the water, but I wasn't too amped on the tiny waves. Since Forrest had driven and gas prices were so high, I finally relented and told him we could surf if he really wanted to. I didn't expect him to accept my challenge.
While suiting up, I silently bemoaned my decision to throw myself on the mercy of Forrest's surf whims.
I had my shortboard with me this time, after longing for it for the majority of the previous day's session.
I took my time paddling out and the first duckdive was a dooz. Whatever warmth the Santa Ana day had bestowed upon me was immediately taken from me, to return only after my thaw-out shower later that day.
It was a gorgeous day with not a cloud in the sky. With any decent swell, we'd have a classic winter day on our hands. Of course, if the conditions were good, there couldn't be any swell, so we were stuck picking up whatever scraps were coming in.
Every fifteen minutes or so, a two-wave set would come in. I was lucky enough to be in position for one of these just after perching. It was a fast right that almost immediately closed out. I attempted to flop over it, but I got caught in the lip and slammed into the trough harder than I expected.
About ten minutes later, I spotted what appeared to be two young wahines paddling our way. It turned out one was a dude. The girl he was with was wearing a wetsuit set-up not often seen outside of Hawai'i. It was a one-piece wetsuit with a bottom that was shaped like a bikini bottom, leaving the legs and butt exposed. I felt like such a puss in my (albeit leaky) 4/3.
They paddled out after us and went in before us, and I found out why on the walk up.
I caught a left and pumped a couple of times before attempting to ball myself up small enough so as to get tunnel vision from the microscopic barrel that was about to throw. It hit me in the base of the skull and I called it a day.
On the way up, we saw the dude who to my estimation had received a blow to the head from his longboard. He had blood streaks over his face. He was being looked after by the girl and some other guy, so we bailed.
This is shaping up to be the worst winter in my surfing career. Stay tuned...
While suiting up, I silently bemoaned my decision to throw myself on the mercy of Forrest's surf whims.
I had my shortboard with me this time, after longing for it for the majority of the previous day's session.
I took my time paddling out and the first duckdive was a dooz. Whatever warmth the Santa Ana day had bestowed upon me was immediately taken from me, to return only after my thaw-out shower later that day.
It was a gorgeous day with not a cloud in the sky. With any decent swell, we'd have a classic winter day on our hands. Of course, if the conditions were good, there couldn't be any swell, so we were stuck picking up whatever scraps were coming in.
Every fifteen minutes or so, a two-wave set would come in. I was lucky enough to be in position for one of these just after perching. It was a fast right that almost immediately closed out. I attempted to flop over it, but I got caught in the lip and slammed into the trough harder than I expected.
About ten minutes later, I spotted what appeared to be two young wahines paddling our way. It turned out one was a dude. The girl he was with was wearing a wetsuit set-up not often seen outside of Hawai'i. It was a one-piece wetsuit with a bottom that was shaped like a bikini bottom, leaving the legs and butt exposed. I felt like such a puss in my (albeit leaky) 4/3.
They paddled out after us and went in before us, and I found out why on the walk up.
I caught a left and pumped a couple of times before attempting to ball myself up small enough so as to get tunnel vision from the microscopic barrel that was about to throw. It hit me in the base of the skull and I called it a day.
On the way up, we saw the dude who to my estimation had received a blow to the head from his longboard. He had blood streaks over his face. He was being looked after by the girl and some other guy, so we bailed.
This is shaping up to be the worst winter in my surfing career. Stay tuned...
Sunday, February 24, 2013
2.24.13 Seascape Fish Sesh w/ Sponging Forrest
I had my interns look up the last session I'd enjoyed with Forrest. All three of them came back with August 3rd, the night surfing session. WOW.
Forrest met his now-girlfriend Angie and has been MIA since, surfing-wise. The guy's been a ghost. I hadn't heard from him. Have you heard from him? NOBODY's heard from him!
Today he called me to see if I wanted to eat lunch with him and I told him I'd just had lunch. He told me to come watch him eat and I agreed upon the condition that he buy me an horchata. He agreed. I then asked if he wanted to surf. He asked how it was and I said, "Terrible". He left his pad to come get me and I grabbed my fish.
Forrest's knee has been giving him issues, so he decided he would be sponging it today. He hadn't been in the ocean in quite some time, so a sponge was better than no dip at all.
We decided on Seascape, a wave we used to surf all of the time about thirteen years ago but had since been relegated to our dustbin of surf history. Today, we resuscitated it and HARD.
We didn't bother checking the waves. When we got within eyeshot of the waves, Forrest let out a telltale groan. I was thrilled to see waves, and some were sort of lining up! YEEEEEEEEEEEH!
The paddle-out wasn't too bad, but the second dip swept me awash in the agony that is the ice cream headache. Luckily, I only had one more progressively worse instance to endure before reaching my perch spot.
My first wave was a quick left on which I kicked out almost immediately.
Forrest was bobbing about on the Costco-bought sponge and he said the waves look way bigger prone. He mentioned being colder than usual, likely because more of his body was in the water. I asked him if he wanted to switch boards and he replied negatively.
Forrest caught a wave, and I was alone. A left came, and I was convinced it would close out. I went anyway, hoping the chop on the face would slow its demise. I bottom-turned up to the top, pumped hard down, then back up. I was going pretty fast, but I was on a section that was about vertical on a board with no rocker. It looked as though I would not be victorious, but I proved triumphant, zooming down the face. I saw a little section approach and went up hard, slamming my weight onto my front foot so I could do a 360. The fins washed out oh-so-slightly, but my momentum caused me to fly off. I came up, amped on making that pump and milking as much speed as I could out of that beast.
A couple more forgettable waves came and went, and one took Forrest's boogie board with it. Forrest swam all the way in to fetch it, then came back out.
During his absence, I caught a big left. I was continuing my pumping regime when I caught a glimpse of the sketchy, frothy section coming up to meet me looked like it had some teeth. By the time I'd spotted it, I had no time to react and it gobbled up the nose of my board, I freefell all of four feet into the trough, then got picked up and slammed over the falls again. I took a bit of a beating, but not as bad as it could've been...
A right came, and I was on it. There was not much to it though, so I Fosbury flopped over it.
I caught one of the biggest waves of the day. I was reluctant to go because of my board choice, but I pushed on. By the time it got to me, it was steep and nasty. I dropped down and the frontside edge of my nose bit in just a tad, altering my trajectory and throwing me off balance. I ended up doing an abrupt hairpin turn up and over the face without descending all the way. That one must have looked interesting from the beach!
No other memorable waves came. Many party waves were attempted, but Forrest was limited by his lack of foam, so we only got one...
Monday, February 18, 2013
SICK Clip
This clip combines three of my favorite things: Hawai'i, surfing, and guitar. Throw in a couple of half-naked ladies (I say half-naked only because my wife may see this) and you have my idea of heaven; what I've been working so hard toward for the last thirty-three years.
Highlights for me include the very first turn at around the :50 mark. WOW! The barrels are SICK and as only Backdoor can deliver. The alley-oop 360 at 2:40 is also donuts and that straight ollie about twenty seconds later... oof!
Highlights for me include the very first turn at around the :50 mark. WOW! The barrels are SICK and as only Backdoor can deliver. The alley-oop 360 at 2:40 is also donuts and that straight ollie about twenty seconds later... oof!
Thursday, February 14, 2013
2.14.13 PM SESSION w/ Mark DeGrovel at TINY Grandview
My boy and rap protegé Mark DeGrovel texted me yesterday to see if I wanted to surf. I had an appointment set for this afternoon, but King Neptune smiled upon me and commanded the client to postpone for the next day.
I met Mark at his in-laws' beach house and we had the good fortune of having the cliff-top backyard as our vantage point. It looked better than I expected, but still pretty rank.
We suited up, then walked down the stairs. It was an absolutely glorious afternoon and I was amped on that (and not much more). I carried Wanda, my fish, thinking its lack of rocker would easy my entry into these little morsels.
About a half-hour in I caught one pretty good wave on which I was able to rise up and smack the lip AND ride down, which is a bit of an accomplishment on that board.
I caught another wave immediately after and went a little too radically, sliding the tail out and sliding my chances of a successful maneuver out the window along with it.
About twenty minutes later, I caught a wave I paddled for for a solid eight seconds before I finally stood up on it. It took forever for that thing to get steep. But once it did it was a doozy. It was steep and I popped up and pumped almost immediately, rejoicing in the quick burst of speed I garnered. Unfortunately there was no payoff.
Mark and I got cold after about an hour and fifteen minutes and in we went.
I met Mark at his in-laws' beach house and we had the good fortune of having the cliff-top backyard as our vantage point. It looked better than I expected, but still pretty rank.
We suited up, then walked down the stairs. It was an absolutely glorious afternoon and I was amped on that (and not much more). I carried Wanda, my fish, thinking its lack of rocker would easy my entry into these little morsels.
About a half-hour in I caught one pretty good wave on which I was able to rise up and smack the lip AND ride down, which is a bit of an accomplishment on that board.
I caught another wave immediately after and went a little too radically, sliding the tail out and sliding my chances of a successful maneuver out the window along with it.
About twenty minutes later, I caught a wave I paddled for for a solid eight seconds before I finally stood up on it. It took forever for that thing to get steep. But once it did it was a doozy. It was steep and I popped up and pumped almost immediately, rejoicing in the quick burst of speed I garnered. Unfortunately there was no payoff.
Mark and I got cold after about an hour and fifteen minutes and in we went.
2.12.13 Solo Sesh at Deserted MD's
Seeing as to how the air was a testicle-levitating forty degrees and the water not much help at 56 degrees, I opted to suit up in the relative comfort of my living room.
The charts said it would be 3-4' and I couldn't wait to sink my fins into some of that.
I drove down to MD's and parked The Rad at 20th Street. I didn't bother checking it, I was going out no matter what.
I slipped my all-but-spent 4/3 over my shoulders, then shoe-horned my feet into my geriatric booties. Upon first glimpse of the ocean, I was immediately worried, but this was a short-lived sensation as I saw a head-high banger crack hard. The sound of it rifled into my ears, amplified by the cold air. I walked north a ways, knowing I would be shepherded into the line of fire of that wave in due time, hopefully not before I perched though!
I waited nearly a minute for this seven- or eight-wave set to end its assault on the otherwise calm water. I ran into the water, jumped on my board, and glided before paddling. I knew it was a matter of time before I would have to dunk my head and feel the sting of ice cream headaches. Supposedly, the reason these happen is the temperature differential between the skull and the brutal cold of the water. The frosty air piling on wasn't going to help.
After a good five or six minutes of constant paddling and duckdiving, a short clearing appeared and I whisked through just in time. The sets were frequent and hitting hard, reminiscent of a new swell hitting the shore. Unfortunately, the tide was making the waves slam shut with very few (and short) exceptions.
I caught my first wave within three minutes of perching. It was a steep right and I made the drop, got a look at the lip throwing, and attempted to straighten out. The lip undermined my backside rail and literally pushed my board over. Picture a bully tilting a tray, but forcefully.
About forty minutes passed with a lot of paddling/pulling back. Also, there was the scenic tour of some of the most expensive real estate in the county thanks to the N angle in the swell and the longshore current byproduct.
I saw an overhead left and I paddled for it. It had the slightest of openings, but as I paddled, I smiled because I could see this thing was going to shut down on me, but I was GOING! I went, and it did its pitching-all-at-once thing. I attempted to pull through head first but my timing was off slightly. My face slammed into the lip really hard, and while the pain was present, I wondered if I'd get a black eye from it.
Once I got to Three Palms, I got caught in the rip. I paddled in and just missed another closeout, one that would get me closer to The Rad and its heater. My hands were so cold that I could not stop fantasizing about a hot shower.
Ten minutes passed, and finally a wave broke outside of me. I rode the foam in prone and spent the three-block walk back to The Rad alternating which hand carried my board and which hand was blessed by my warm breath blowing into it.
I should have checked it...!
The charts said it would be 3-4' and I couldn't wait to sink my fins into some of that.
I drove down to MD's and parked The Rad at 20th Street. I didn't bother checking it, I was going out no matter what.
I slipped my all-but-spent 4/3 over my shoulders, then shoe-horned my feet into my geriatric booties. Upon first glimpse of the ocean, I was immediately worried, but this was a short-lived sensation as I saw a head-high banger crack hard. The sound of it rifled into my ears, amplified by the cold air. I walked north a ways, knowing I would be shepherded into the line of fire of that wave in due time, hopefully not before I perched though!
I waited nearly a minute for this seven- or eight-wave set to end its assault on the otherwise calm water. I ran into the water, jumped on my board, and glided before paddling. I knew it was a matter of time before I would have to dunk my head and feel the sting of ice cream headaches. Supposedly, the reason these happen is the temperature differential between the skull and the brutal cold of the water. The frosty air piling on wasn't going to help.
After a good five or six minutes of constant paddling and duckdiving, a short clearing appeared and I whisked through just in time. The sets were frequent and hitting hard, reminiscent of a new swell hitting the shore. Unfortunately, the tide was making the waves slam shut with very few (and short) exceptions.
I caught my first wave within three minutes of perching. It was a steep right and I made the drop, got a look at the lip throwing, and attempted to straighten out. The lip undermined my backside rail and literally pushed my board over. Picture a bully tilting a tray, but forcefully.
About forty minutes passed with a lot of paddling/pulling back. Also, there was the scenic tour of some of the most expensive real estate in the county thanks to the N angle in the swell and the longshore current byproduct.
I saw an overhead left and I paddled for it. It had the slightest of openings, but as I paddled, I smiled because I could see this thing was going to shut down on me, but I was GOING! I went, and it did its pitching-all-at-once thing. I attempted to pull through head first but my timing was off slightly. My face slammed into the lip really hard, and while the pain was present, I wondered if I'd get a black eye from it.
Once I got to Three Palms, I got caught in the rip. I paddled in and just missed another closeout, one that would get me closer to The Rad and its heater. My hands were so cold that I could not stop fantasizing about a hot shower.
Ten minutes passed, and finally a wave broke outside of me. I rode the foam in prone and spent the three-block walk back to The Rad alternating which hand carried my board and which hand was blessed by my warm breath blowing into it.
I should have checked it...!
Friday, February 8, 2013
2.7.13 Grandview Slump Buster with Matt
If you've ever gotten really into surfing, you know that after about two weeks of dry time, you start jonesing hard. I was on four weeks without any interaction with salt water. I would imagine it's a weaker cousin to what our neighbors in the Pacific Northwest tend to suffer from this time of year, Seasonal Affective Disorder. I know it seems like hyperbole if you don't surf, but I swear to you, moods dip and tensions rise.
The charts were saying the weather was going to be bad, but a closer look at the hourly breakdown revealed gentle offshores in the morning. I called Matt the previous night and he wanted to surf Ponto, a wave that is so fickle. It's usually rank, but when it gets good it's really good. And its proximity to the 101 ensures it's really crowded when it's good. The predominant swell direction was WNW and given Ponto's shores aimed WSW and lack of bathymetral (not sure if that's a word) variety, I nixed it. He proposed Grandview, with a cornucopia of underwater bathymetry scenarios. I readily agreed and we were out thar.
I got there about ten minutes early and jammed out to the GuyPod. I got a text from Matt saying "where u at. Gonna get off on la costa and check ponto". Of course our meeting time comes and goes with no sign of the guy. So I call him and he tells me he's waiting for me to meet him. I'm not sure what I was supposed to read into his text that would make him believe he'd unilaterally changed the meeting spot and I was on my way.
I told him I wasn't going to Ponto and he acquiesced and met me at our official, bilaterally agreed-upon meeting spot. I got out of my ride, ready to give him shit for being late. He looks me up and down and says, "Really? PJ pants?", and I about lost it. I told him this is a surf check, not a fashion show (for those interested, mid-thirties Matt was wearing what appeared to be the latest offerings from Tilly's).
Things calmed down after we saw a left peel down the line. It looked slow, but when it connected to the inside section, we both gushed with anticipation.
We changed into our wetsuit and I quietly admired Matt's new-looking Excel wetsuit. A real estate client of mine swears by them and I am flirting with the idea of making an Excel my next purchase, once prices go down come Spring. My journeyman Rip Curl has been squeezing me too hard in uncomfortable areas going on five years now! It's due for retirement and a fat pension (that's what I tell it anyways, it's really going to be recycled into a new wetsuit).
We paddled out and were predictably shuttled south thanks to the north angle in the swell. The waves were punchy, but extremely racy.
Matt happened upon an SDSU friend of his, Grady, and we watched as he took off on two set waves, waited out the flat spots, and admirably traversed towards the inside section.
I thought about joining him out there, but I was concerned the rocker on my board wouldn't allow me to ride out the flat spots. I continued to opt for the middle-inside, hoping to luck into a corner. I caught several waves that immediately closed out.
The one stand-out wave was a left that I pumped pretty much on the flats two or three times before realizing it too would bar me from some lip-time.
Matt had to go to work so in we went...
The charts were saying the weather was going to be bad, but a closer look at the hourly breakdown revealed gentle offshores in the morning. I called Matt the previous night and he wanted to surf Ponto, a wave that is so fickle. It's usually rank, but when it gets good it's really good. And its proximity to the 101 ensures it's really crowded when it's good. The predominant swell direction was WNW and given Ponto's shores aimed WSW and lack of bathymetral (not sure if that's a word) variety, I nixed it. He proposed Grandview, with a cornucopia of underwater bathymetry scenarios. I readily agreed and we were out thar.
I got there about ten minutes early and jammed out to the GuyPod. I got a text from Matt saying "where u at. Gonna get off on la costa and check ponto". Of course our meeting time comes and goes with no sign of the guy. So I call him and he tells me he's waiting for me to meet him. I'm not sure what I was supposed to read into his text that would make him believe he'd unilaterally changed the meeting spot and I was on my way.
I told him I wasn't going to Ponto and he acquiesced and met me at our official, bilaterally agreed-upon meeting spot. I got out of my ride, ready to give him shit for being late. He looks me up and down and says, "Really? PJ pants?", and I about lost it. I told him this is a surf check, not a fashion show (for those interested, mid-thirties Matt was wearing what appeared to be the latest offerings from Tilly's).
Things calmed down after we saw a left peel down the line. It looked slow, but when it connected to the inside section, we both gushed with anticipation.
We changed into our wetsuit and I quietly admired Matt's new-looking Excel wetsuit. A real estate client of mine swears by them and I am flirting with the idea of making an Excel my next purchase, once prices go down come Spring. My journeyman Rip Curl has been squeezing me too hard in uncomfortable areas going on five years now! It's due for retirement and a fat pension (that's what I tell it anyways, it's really going to be recycled into a new wetsuit).
We paddled out and were predictably shuttled south thanks to the north angle in the swell. The waves were punchy, but extremely racy.
Matt happened upon an SDSU friend of his, Grady, and we watched as he took off on two set waves, waited out the flat spots, and admirably traversed towards the inside section.
I thought about joining him out there, but I was concerned the rocker on my board wouldn't allow me to ride out the flat spots. I continued to opt for the middle-inside, hoping to luck into a corner. I caught several waves that immediately closed out.
The one stand-out wave was a left that I pumped pretty much on the flats two or three times before realizing it too would bar me from some lip-time.
Matt had to go to work so in we went...
January Wrap-Up
January SUCKED as a surf month. The swell was on when the weather wasn't, and when the weather was perfect, we were cursed with some of the flattest ocean I've ever seen. This is winter! Where are the waves?
The swell of the century, at an unheard of 25-second swell period (meaning it's coming in extremely fast and with power) was a dud. Had this swell or even something half as good materialized, Blacks would have been the go-to spot. I probably would've paddled out on my 6'3" like an idiot to try to bag one. Bah, enough mental masturbation over a love that wasn't to be...
I surfed three times. THREE! I surfed alone all three times. Mike is still MIA surf-wise, Forrest was in Thailand for "work" and everyone else was bitching about the cold. I'm calling it, January 2013 was the worst month in the history of this blog.
I heard a small swell did come in late in the month but of course it was while I was in Mammoth...
Here is the breakdown:
Condors: 1
NoTePads: 1
Seaside: 1
The session of the month goes to NoTePads and it's not close.
Bail of the month honors go to the second left barrel I got at NoTePads, during which the lip hit me in the head with the ferocity of a woman scorned (and her new boyfriend joining in on the wallop). My doctor thinks it may have permanently parted my hair.
The swell of the century, at an unheard of 25-second swell period (meaning it's coming in extremely fast and with power) was a dud. Had this swell or even something half as good materialized, Blacks would have been the go-to spot. I probably would've paddled out on my 6'3" like an idiot to try to bag one. Bah, enough mental masturbation over a love that wasn't to be...
I surfed three times. THREE! I surfed alone all three times. Mike is still MIA surf-wise, Forrest was in Thailand for "work" and everyone else was bitching about the cold. I'm calling it, January 2013 was the worst month in the history of this blog.
I heard a small swell did come in late in the month but of course it was while I was in Mammoth...
Here is the breakdown:
Condors: 1
NoTePads: 1
Seaside: 1
The session of the month goes to NoTePads and it's not close.
Bail of the month honors go to the second left barrel I got at NoTePads, during which the lip hit me in the head with the ferocity of a woman scorned (and her new boyfriend joining in on the wallop). My doctor thinks it may have permanently parted my hair.
Monday, January 14, 2013
The All-List Post
Below you will find a list of all of the spots I can remember surfing in the last fifteen-plus years I also added a couple of other lists to reward all of the loyal readers of EddieSurfs.com
Costa Rica
Puntarenas Province:
El Palo
Playa Hermosa de Jacó
Guanacaste Province:
Ollies
Playa Avellanes
Playa Junquillal
Playa Negra
Witches
El Salvador
Departamento de La Libertad:
Balsamar
Conchalío
El Barco
El Matadero
El Pedrero
El Recodo
El Zonte
K-59
La Bocana
La Bocanita
La Izquierda
La Paz
Playa Toluca
Punta Roca
San Blas
Sunzal
Sunzalito
Departamento de San Miguel:
Las Flores
Departamento de Usulután:
El Toro
La Vaca
Mexico
Las Cabañitas
Monuments
Syringes
Tule
Panama
Kusapin
Playa Larga
Red Frog Beach
United States
California
Orange County:
Anderson Street (Seal Beach)
Cottons
Huntington Pier
San Diego County:
85-60's
Avalanches
Avocado's
Baby Blacks
Beacons
Blacks
Buccaneer Beach
Campgrounds
Cardiff Reef
Churches
Corner Bowls
D Street
Del Mar Beachbreaks (17-29th Streets)
Del Mar Reefs (7-15th Streets)
Del Mar Rivermouth
George's
Grandview
Loopholes
Lowers
Marine Street
NoTePads
OB Pier
Oceanside Boulevard
Oceanside Harbor
Oceanside Pier
Pillbox
Pipes
Ponto
Power Plants
Scripps
Sea Point
Seaside
Sea Bluffe
SouPa
Stone Steps
Swami's
TableTops
Tamarack
Trees
Turtles
Trails
Tyson Street
Uppers
Windansea
Wisconsin Street
Hawaii
Hawaii (Big Island):
Honl's
Kauai:
Anahola Bay
Hanalei Bay
Kalihiwai Bay
Pinetrees
Tunnels (thanks Tia!)
Oahu:
Green Lanterns (thanks Tia A!)
Pipeline
Publics
Rest Camps
Velzyland (thanks Kurt!)
Waikiki
Dream Trip:
Six-plus weeks of traveling through South Indian hitting namely these waves:
Lance's Right
Macaroni's
Grajagan
Want to help? Buy through the Amazon link on the left-hand side of the blog.
Haven't-gotten-around-to-them "local" waves in order of lust:
Puerto Escondido/Zicatela, Mexico
Playa Colorados, Nicaragua
Outer Banks, North Carolina, during hurricane season
Pavones, Costa Rica
Surf Notables with whom I've shared waves aka had waves stolen by (all at Lowers unless otherwise indicated):
Shane Beschen (Punta Roca)
Alana Blanchard (Pinetrees)
Gilbert Brown (Punta Roca)
Tom Curren (Punta Roca)
Mick Fanning
John-John Florence (Pipeline)
Laird Hamilton on an SUP (Hanalei Bay)
Bruce Irons
Kyla Langen (Cottons)
Shea Lopez (Punta Roca)
Rob Machado
Dean Morrison (They call him Dingo, but I call him Didgo; because he burned EVERYbody)
Jamie O'Brien
Joel Parkinson
Mike 'Snips' Parsons (Lowers AND Wisconsin Street)
Random Brazilian Pros whose names escape me
Gus Tandberg (Grandview)
Least Favorite Ethnic Race on Land:
I do not see race.
Least Favorite Ethnic Race in the Water:
Brazilians
Friday, January 11, 2013
1.9.13 Seaside Solo Sesh
The forecasts' tales for this week made my loins droop with woe. I was going to surf today's mediocrity no matter what. I initiated the suit-up sequence in the relative warmth of my living room.
Because of the massive tide, I had a feeling MD's and NoTePads would be washed out with fat rollers. I opted to take the 101 and swing south so as to maximize the angle of the swell with the countering angle of the coastline.
I saw a sick left break at Seaside that the lucky rider was able to ride all the way through to the inside connection in the shorebreak. I pulled over off the 101 JUST as I entered Solana Beach, finished suiting up, and got out thar.
On the walk to the break, I reflected on all of the magical sessions I've had here. The bummer is there aren't any. I've never had success at Seaside, despite the seemingly rippable walls that, when firing, remind me of Uppers on an ok day. The strongest memory I have of Seaside is paddling out ten years ago with my buddy Andrés, a busboy at the restaurant formerly known as Jay's Gourmet. I caught a massive right that freight-trained on without me and got so hammered, my left heel was left hanging out of its warm cocoon of a booty.
Perhaps today my relationship with this fickle tease would change.
When I rounded the corner and had a view of the waves, I accelerated and thought "top to bottom, top to bottom" thinking the hittable lips would encourage me not to ride out so far into the shoulder.
After a pretty long, ten minutes-plus, paddle-out, I perched inside of the pack of five. Within five minutes, I caught my first wave. It was an overhead (!) right and the drop was a dooz. I angled up and then slammed my weight forward. I brought it about halfway around into a roundhouse cutty, but the lip was gone. Oh well, at least I got my first one out of the way.
There were two groms out, and one was emphatically telling his bro about how he slid his fins out on a layback snap and made it. SICK, if true!
Fifteen minutes passed, the bulk of which I spent paddling back and forth with the very shifty waves. The guys outside of me kept missing some, but by the time they got to me, they were closing out or still not steep enough to catch.
I saw a steep left that one of the groms couldn't catch. I put my head down and stroked hard for it, salivating over its steepness. I popped up keeping the vast majority of my weight towards the front, so the rocker would make a smooth transition into the possible air drop. Seaside decided to pull the football away from me, and flattened out so I popped up and immediately pearled. Damn it!
I paddled back out and sat with the pack, and twenty minutes later I was rewarded with a similar wave, though a little bigger. I sat back on my tail a little more and immediately faded right to counteract its probable marshmallowing. I read the wave correctly, but when I swooped into my bottom turn, I just didn't have enough momentum to stay with it. Too bad, because the inside section looked good from the back.
I decided I'd had enough and bailed shortly thereafter.
Because of the massive tide, I had a feeling MD's and NoTePads would be washed out with fat rollers. I opted to take the 101 and swing south so as to maximize the angle of the swell with the countering angle of the coastline.
I saw a sick left break at Seaside that the lucky rider was able to ride all the way through to the inside connection in the shorebreak. I pulled over off the 101 JUST as I entered Solana Beach, finished suiting up, and got out thar.
On the walk to the break, I reflected on all of the magical sessions I've had here. The bummer is there aren't any. I've never had success at Seaside, despite the seemingly rippable walls that, when firing, remind me of Uppers on an ok day. The strongest memory I have of Seaside is paddling out ten years ago with my buddy Andrés, a busboy at the restaurant formerly known as Jay's Gourmet. I caught a massive right that freight-trained on without me and got so hammered, my left heel was left hanging out of its warm cocoon of a booty.
Perhaps today my relationship with this fickle tease would change.
When I rounded the corner and had a view of the waves, I accelerated and thought "top to bottom, top to bottom" thinking the hittable lips would encourage me not to ride out so far into the shoulder.
After a pretty long, ten minutes-plus, paddle-out, I perched inside of the pack of five. Within five minutes, I caught my first wave. It was an overhead (!) right and the drop was a dooz. I angled up and then slammed my weight forward. I brought it about halfway around into a roundhouse cutty, but the lip was gone. Oh well, at least I got my first one out of the way.
There were two groms out, and one was emphatically telling his bro about how he slid his fins out on a layback snap and made it. SICK, if true!
Fifteen minutes passed, the bulk of which I spent paddling back and forth with the very shifty waves. The guys outside of me kept missing some, but by the time they got to me, they were closing out or still not steep enough to catch.
I saw a steep left that one of the groms couldn't catch. I put my head down and stroked hard for it, salivating over its steepness. I popped up keeping the vast majority of my weight towards the front, so the rocker would make a smooth transition into the possible air drop. Seaside decided to pull the football away from me, and flattened out so I popped up and immediately pearled. Damn it!
I paddled back out and sat with the pack, and twenty minutes later I was rewarded with a similar wave, though a little bigger. I sat back on my tail a little more and immediately faded right to counteract its probable marshmallowing. I read the wave correctly, but when I swooped into my bottom turn, I just didn't have enough momentum to stay with it. Too bad, because the inside section looked good from the back.
I decided I'd had enough and bailed shortly thereafter.
Friday, January 4, 2013
1.4.13 Solo Mish to NoTePads, RIP Missed-It-Mike :*-(
It is with a heavy heart that I report the passing of my best surf bro, Missed-It-Mike. I am thankful to have spent the majority of Sunday with him at the Chargers game. I have called him three times since to go surfing and I haven't heard back from him. I will always remember the good times, him bitching about his feet hurting in particular. Walking barefoot on gravel without drawing a reminiscent tear will be especially difficult.
I of course will be the last one to eulogize him, as the order goes from least to most important. In my run-throughs thus far, I've gotten most choked up bringing up when he used the Amazon link on this very blog to buy a $700 washing machine, netting me $28 in Amazon money in the process. I will remember the good times bro.
Mike leaves behind a wife, a son, and perhaps most tragically, a surf bro (for life, brah, never forget).
Obviously, I am dedicating this session to his memory.
I woke up and practically lunged for my phone, but Mike had once again failed to return my call. He was gone. I had a hard time getting out of bed with the grave thought of his entering his next phase.
I debated staying in bed, but pushed myself out the door at 7:40.
I half-heartedly checked the surf. MD's was not great, but the tears in my eyes made things a little blurry. I packed back into The Rad and considered going home to have a good cry session, but I knew Mike would have wanted me to soldier on, south, towards one of his favorite waves, NoTePads.
It was beautiful. It was as though Mike had flapped his angel wings and kicked up some swell, and somehow also stoked the offshores in the opposite direction, into their cherubic faces.
I knew the water/wind combo would lead to ice cream headaches, and for once I welcomed them, hoping their presence would dull my inner pain.
I watched two guys on too much foam, take turns going over the falls, as the winds seemed to catch their boards and delay their descent until the wave pounced on them.
The lefts to their south looked most appetizing. I figured with the N angle on this swell (WNW), I would be pushed right into their line of fire, so I paddled out straight out and got swept down slowly. I watched as two grinders spun about fifty yards south of me and hurried things along by paddling towards them.
Within five minutes, I caught my first wave. I am getting way better on my frontside barrels, I dropped down, set my line well, kept my weight on my front foot but got slightly pinched and a little too far behind the lip. I had a fleeting feeling of reaching daylight. My head and the wave ceiling said their hellos, but I pushed through for another half-second before being slammed into the trough.
Two minutes later, I had a look at a shoulder-high or so right and was able to tuck in to a pigdog barrel. On the descent, I thought briefly that my shoulder was going to run into the wave and either stall or pull me into its vortex. I narrowly avoided disaster and got my longest pigdog barrel in over a year. It isn't so long, however, that you can see what happens without constantly toggling the pause/play button in the footy...
The next wave I caught was a left and I smelled a barrel. I unfortunately set up a little too far away from the wall and received a lip to the head for my efforts. The lefts kept pinching and pinching hard; my guess being the swell direction wasn't working in their favor, benefiting mostly the rights.
The next wave was a twin to its immediate predecessor, just a bit bigger. The same result happened, except I got SLAMMED by it so hard it made my knees buckle. This sudden acceleration of force upon my body also caused my lower legs to somehow slam into one another, leaving me with an agonizing few seconds.
I caught a small right and tucked into it crab-grab, for old-time's sake. It closed out much more quickly than expected and I pulled through the back pretty violently in an attempt to get out of its grasp. I managed to go through just barely, then immediately detouring straight up into its spinning maw. This resulted in a tense but thankfully painless tumble over the falls.
I called it a day and realized it was the first surf session in a while in which I'd made every turn I'd attempted. I looked up to the sky and smiled.
I of course will be the last one to eulogize him, as the order goes from least to most important. In my run-throughs thus far, I've gotten most choked up bringing up when he used the Amazon link on this very blog to buy a $700 washing machine, netting me $28 in Amazon money in the process. I will remember the good times bro.
Mike leaves behind a wife, a son, and perhaps most tragically, a surf bro (for life, brah, never forget).
Obviously, I am dedicating this session to his memory.
I woke up and practically lunged for my phone, but Mike had once again failed to return my call. He was gone. I had a hard time getting out of bed with the grave thought of his entering his next phase.
I debated staying in bed, but pushed myself out the door at 7:40.
I half-heartedly checked the surf. MD's was not great, but the tears in my eyes made things a little blurry. I packed back into The Rad and considered going home to have a good cry session, but I knew Mike would have wanted me to soldier on, south, towards one of his favorite waves, NoTePads.
It was beautiful. It was as though Mike had flapped his angel wings and kicked up some swell, and somehow also stoked the offshores in the opposite direction, into their cherubic faces.
I knew the water/wind combo would lead to ice cream headaches, and for once I welcomed them, hoping their presence would dull my inner pain.
I watched two guys on too much foam, take turns going over the falls, as the winds seemed to catch their boards and delay their descent until the wave pounced on them.
The lefts to their south looked most appetizing. I figured with the N angle on this swell (WNW), I would be pushed right into their line of fire, so I paddled out straight out and got swept down slowly. I watched as two grinders spun about fifty yards south of me and hurried things along by paddling towards them.
Within five minutes, I caught my first wave. I am getting way better on my frontside barrels, I dropped down, set my line well, kept my weight on my front foot but got slightly pinched and a little too far behind the lip. I had a fleeting feeling of reaching daylight. My head and the wave ceiling said their hellos, but I pushed through for another half-second before being slammed into the trough.
Two minutes later, I had a look at a shoulder-high or so right and was able to tuck in to a pigdog barrel. On the descent, I thought briefly that my shoulder was going to run into the wave and either stall or pull me into its vortex. I narrowly avoided disaster and got my longest pigdog barrel in over a year. It isn't so long, however, that you can see what happens without constantly toggling the pause/play button in the footy...
The next wave I caught was a left and I smelled a barrel. I unfortunately set up a little too far away from the wall and received a lip to the head for my efforts. The lefts kept pinching and pinching hard; my guess being the swell direction wasn't working in their favor, benefiting mostly the rights.
The next wave was a twin to its immediate predecessor, just a bit bigger. The same result happened, except I got SLAMMED by it so hard it made my knees buckle. This sudden acceleration of force upon my body also caused my lower legs to somehow slam into one another, leaving me with an agonizing few seconds.
I caught a small right and tucked into it crab-grab, for old-time's sake. It closed out much more quickly than expected and I pulled through the back pretty violently in an attempt to get out of its grasp. I managed to go through just barely, then immediately detouring straight up into its spinning maw. This resulted in a tense but thankfully painless tumble over the falls.
I called it a day and realized it was the first surf session in a while in which I'd made every turn I'd attempted. I looked up to the sky and smiled.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
1.2.13 FREEZING Just-Get-Wet Solo Mish to Condors
After yet another wetsuit half-on abortion of a paddle-out attempt the previous day, I was salivating over the reports. They claimed 5-7' surf from the NW. Well, with this in mind, I made MD's my first check. It revealed surf so bad it made me want to drive up to Huntington and take it up with Surfline personally.
By the way, did you know Surfline claims 95% accuracy in forecasting the surf conditions "within one foot" of actual surf heights? I'm guessing they're not including when they "update" the forecasts. Also, I'm guessing they further pad their figure by saying it will be 5-7' when the surf is actually 2-4' is within one foot. Unconscionable...
Since MD's was terrible, I didn't bother checking NoTePads due to my experience making those rounds yesterday.
I headed for points further north. Dog Beach was slightly bigger but slow. Seaside looked ok but had a pack. George's was way too racy and Cardiff was Cardiff. Pipes was packed as usual so I hung a right towards the freeway and pretty much committed myself to surf by taking the time and using the gas to get The Rad up to Oceanside. Buc Beach was laughably small and the Wisconsin-Pier corridor had not much more. NSide Pier had maybe a half-foot or so on its southern contingent, but still not worth paddling out.
I crossed the waterway to officially enter Oside Harbor and I saw S. Jetty's small and in direct line of fire of the topographical offshore funnel surf. Good luck catching those waves, pack of eight! I drove further north, past the boat ramp and N. Avalanche looked ok. I also a semi-decent wave break at Condors. Fug the cold, I'm out thar!
All I had to do was slip my wetsuit on over my shoulders, I kept telling myself. That was a struggle in itself, the gusting offshore wind lapping away at my will to surf.
I powered through, grabbed my board and headed to the sand. I didn't bother taking a second glance at S. Jetty as the memories of frustrating blown-out-the-back (not quite as good as it sounds) waves from sessions past kept flashbacking through my mind. I thought about paddling out just north of the jetty, but there were two dudes already there. N. Avalanche seemed a mile away and I wasn't looking forward to trudging back with purple hands upon going in.
I settled on the compromise that is Condors, though I didn't notice the dude already out there until just before going prone. I gave him his space and settled on inside and north of him, but not before experiencing is the empirical overload that is duckdiving in ~60 degree water with ~40 degree air to greet you upon you surfacing. I immediately felt the overpowering sting of ice cream headache. Two more dips further enhanced the sensation. I tried out a trick that I use to see as very informal thermometer. I use my lips to make a horse lip fart sound and felt the numbness in my cheeks. Oof.
My first wave was a racy left on which I got a solid pump before the wave collapsed upon itself. It was good to see there was some juice out there.
My second wave was better, if you exclusively use raciness as your sole barometer. I got hung up towards the top and tumbled.
I'd made one of my New Year's Resolutions to not crab-grab anymore, and I must give myself credit. I made it to my third wave of the year before breaking it. It was a small barrel and I was too high on it. I'm not sure it was makeable, but I didn't do myself any favors by picking such a high line.
The only other guy out there wasn't doing a good job functioning as my buoy. He would paddle whenever he saw the slightest bump on the horizon. I made a mental note to not trust his gut and got paid off for my instinct when the wave of the session came through. He had over-paddled for it and was way too deep.
I somewhat made up for my self-treason by doing a proper pig dog pivot on it. I got in it very well and even took my hand out of the wall and leaned forward to give myself a shot at making it. This low percentile wave didn't care for my trying to up my chances of blowing through it and punished me by shutting down, but not before allowing me to be dazzled by the risen sun's light dance on the ceiling.
After this wave, there was nothing special. I was tempted to go in about twenty minutes later but convinced myself to stay out another ten. When I finally got back to The Rad I came to the grave realization that I'd forgotten pants for my journey. I'd also neglected to bring a towel or changing robe, so I rode home tucked tightly into my 4/3, heater blasting.
The shower was awesome. I uploaded footage of it, but YouTube disallowed it because it "violated YouTube terms of service"?
By the way, did you know Surfline claims 95% accuracy in forecasting the surf conditions "within one foot" of actual surf heights? I'm guessing they're not including when they "update" the forecasts. Also, I'm guessing they further pad their figure by saying it will be 5-7' when the surf is actually 2-4' is within one foot. Unconscionable...
Since MD's was terrible, I didn't bother checking NoTePads due to my experience making those rounds yesterday.
I headed for points further north. Dog Beach was slightly bigger but slow. Seaside looked ok but had a pack. George's was way too racy and Cardiff was Cardiff. Pipes was packed as usual so I hung a right towards the freeway and pretty much committed myself to surf by taking the time and using the gas to get The Rad up to Oceanside. Buc Beach was laughably small and the Wisconsin-Pier corridor had not much more. NSide Pier had maybe a half-foot or so on its southern contingent, but still not worth paddling out.
I crossed the waterway to officially enter Oside Harbor and I saw S. Jetty's small and in direct line of fire of the topographical offshore funnel surf. Good luck catching those waves, pack of eight! I drove further north, past the boat ramp and N. Avalanche looked ok. I also a semi-decent wave break at Condors. Fug the cold, I'm out thar!
All I had to do was slip my wetsuit on over my shoulders, I kept telling myself. That was a struggle in itself, the gusting offshore wind lapping away at my will to surf.
I powered through, grabbed my board and headed to the sand. I didn't bother taking a second glance at S. Jetty as the memories of frustrating blown-out-the-back (not quite as good as it sounds) waves from sessions past kept flashbacking through my mind. I thought about paddling out just north of the jetty, but there were two dudes already there. N. Avalanche seemed a mile away and I wasn't looking forward to trudging back with purple hands upon going in.
I settled on the compromise that is Condors, though I didn't notice the dude already out there until just before going prone. I gave him his space and settled on inside and north of him, but not before experiencing is the empirical overload that is duckdiving in ~60 degree water with ~40 degree air to greet you upon you surfacing. I immediately felt the overpowering sting of ice cream headache. Two more dips further enhanced the sensation. I tried out a trick that I use to see as very informal thermometer. I use my lips to make a horse lip fart sound and felt the numbness in my cheeks. Oof.
My first wave was a racy left on which I got a solid pump before the wave collapsed upon itself. It was good to see there was some juice out there.
My second wave was better, if you exclusively use raciness as your sole barometer. I got hung up towards the top and tumbled.
I'd made one of my New Year's Resolutions to not crab-grab anymore, and I must give myself credit. I made it to my third wave of the year before breaking it. It was a small barrel and I was too high on it. I'm not sure it was makeable, but I didn't do myself any favors by picking such a high line.
The only other guy out there wasn't doing a good job functioning as my buoy. He would paddle whenever he saw the slightest bump on the horizon. I made a mental note to not trust his gut and got paid off for my instinct when the wave of the session came through. He had over-paddled for it and was way too deep.
I somewhat made up for my self-treason by doing a proper pig dog pivot on it. I got in it very well and even took my hand out of the wall and leaned forward to give myself a shot at making it. This low percentile wave didn't care for my trying to up my chances of blowing through it and punished me by shutting down, but not before allowing me to be dazzled by the risen sun's light dance on the ceiling.
After this wave, there was nothing special. I was tempted to go in about twenty minutes later but convinced myself to stay out another ten. When I finally got back to The Rad I came to the grave realization that I'd forgotten pants for my journey. I'd also neglected to bring a towel or changing robe, so I rode home tucked tightly into my 4/3, heater blasting.
The shower was awesome. I uploaded footage of it, but YouTube disallowed it because it "violated YouTube terms of service"?
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