9.24.13 Differing Dreams; Low Tide and Hollow Combo Swell Remnants at South Tyson

It started with a dream.

I woke up with vivid memories of a dream I'd had this morning.  I was walking along a beach I'd never traversed, in my fullsuit and with board.  My inner monologue as I walked and the unsettled feeling encroaching me subconsciously led me to believe it was a trip with the in-laws.

I saw small but good waves breaking and guys tearing them apart.  I put my board to water and realized the bottom was rocky, so I'd have to watch my path.  Twenty yards directly outside of me, I spotted the head of what appeared to be a large cat. I don't know if it popped up or had been there the whole time, but I do know it was staring right through me.  It had the look of a cat when it's hissing, but I couldn't hear anything coming from it.  Come to think of it, I don't remember experiencing any audio the whole dream.

I awkwardly felt for bottom, and found some craggy rocks to aid me in my quest towards deeper water.  I noted how I seemed to be in a valley of deeper water, but in between two shallow lanes of rock.  Bizarre.

Less than ten seconds after breaking the big cat's stare, I looked up again.  The large cat's head was now within six feet of my head.  I looked into its eyes and watched it go into a roar of sorts, its giant saber teeth striking terror into me.

I flashed back onto what I was told to do as a child when a stray dog came up to me.  I picked up some small stones and threw them at the cat, hoping to just make it go away.  I floated a couple of stones its way, not wanting to hurt it.  It barely registered, closing its eyes ever so slightly as each projectile met its target.

I looked down towards my feet for something more convincing and looked up as the cat was right in front of me.  It started to let out another inaudible roar and that woke me up.

WEIRD.

I didn't know if there would be enough juice to make the trek worthwhile, but I decided to chance it.  I had to alter my route so I'd be walking along the 101 due to the City of Oceanside closing down an intersection.  This led to a new route.

My goal on my route is to pick up at least one piece of litter each way.  There is a recycling bin/trash can station right by the Wisconsin ramp, but the one I used on the way back, in an alley, has been pulled in by the homeowner.  This means I am forced to hang on to the trash for longer, until I get to the gas station/convenience store.

A new route means more trash and figuring out where to dump it.  Luckily, Oceanside does provide trash cans along the 101.  I know it's probably too late, but before you call me a hero, my motivation is not an altruistic one.  I am simply trying to please the surf gods and hope they will bless me with good timing/positioning/luck while I'm paddling around.

Today I picked up quite a score, thanks to my not having "used up" all the trash karma on previous walks to the beach.  I giddily dumped it along the 101 and almost skipped down to the beach to the cornucopia of waves that likely awaited me.

I envisioned spinning lefts on one side, spinning rights on the other.  I'd catch a wave, get pitted (casually of course), get spat out, and fawn over the upcoming rank off the closeout section.  I'd compress my body and pre-wind my arms, then unload upon the approaching section, landing cleanly after an air reverse, hang out while sliding fakie, get sick of that and have the fins engage as I yawned.

The ocean would then go flat as an oh-so-temporary rip would zip me right out to take a look at the rights.  Given such an opportunity, I would hug the face of the wave, trailing my front arm behind me as a thick slab folded over me.  I resisted the urge to grab the rail and felt the wave out with my feet as the lip's cracking thunder resonated in an audiophile's acoustics wet dream.  I eventually caught up to the beginning of the lip line and breathed a mini-sigh of relief as the darkness of the barrel went away and light permeated my vision.
The spit hit me hard and jostled me a bit, as my hair slapped me in the face, whiplashed after experiencing such a quantum leap in pressure differentials.  I had all of this speed as I exited the tube and half-blindly slammed my heels into my board and pivoted my hips while rotating my shoulders, intent on eviscerating the lip which had given me so much pleasure just seconds ago.  My hair was moved back by the air resistance as I laid into a backside carving 360, then airdropped into the near-vert section.  I knew a sick section was coming up, but opted to float it.  While doing so, I put most of my weight on my front foot while kicking out my back foot over my holdless fins.  My tail rotated down and I smoothly stomped my first-ever tail-drop 360 floater.

I got woken up out of my daydream  by the sight of the ocean.  It wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible.

I walked north, as it looked a little lazy considering we'd passed the depth of the low tide.  A guy stopped me on the sand and we talked about my board for a good five minutes.  I told him my experience and gave him a sizing tip and extricated myself when I saw a juicy set come.

I half-jogged fifty or so paces north and paddled out.

Just like yesterday, my first wave arrived within minutes of my perching.  The drops were way steeper as I'd gotten out earlier and the low tide was later, meaning I was closer to the steepest waves of the morning.

I took off on a left and leaned slightly on my back foot hoping not to launch myself over the nose by pearling.  The wave let me in and I felt ñañara ("trepidation"?) only slightly.  I swooped into a mini bottom turn but the wave sectioned off into a barrel, which I had the pleasure of shadowing for more than three seconds.  I made a note to pull in on my next wave.

And pull in I did.  I compressed myself as tightly as I could and suffered the consequences of the lip taking my head off and bitch slapping me head first into the trough.  I came up surprised at the turn of events I'd just endured.  Guess I'll have to wait to get barreled when I'm on a bigger wave.

I got into another left, this one tighter and racier than the last.  I had no option at this point but to ride it out straight as I would a closeout or tuck into a switch crab grab.  I opted for glory and got barreled for a second-and-a-half before I saw it close out.

I took another left on.  There was  a section immediately in front of me about to break.  I broke character of kook Eddies past and rose up and slammed my weight down, netting a boatload of speed.  This aided me in getting around the section.  As soon as I did, I rose up and SNAPPED hard, but somehow lost my footing and splayed out.  Damn that would have been sweet!

A good twenty minutes passed and the heads started coming out.  My wave count suffered.  A female surfer set up to my inside.  A set came and I chivalrously (?) let her have the first, but hoping there was a bigger second one behind it like the last few sets'd had.

She caught her wave and I was on the next one.  This one was nice and steep, so much so that I quit paddling so I wouldn't overshoot.  The girl was back, likely wise to my plan by now as she watched me heave myself over the ledge and tuck into the barrel.  I weaved through it  as best I could for two seconds, even pulling up slightly so as not to intersect the crashing lip.  I got bounced off my board somehow, but was amped on the spilling cylinder I'd watched unfold for those beautiful couple of ticks.

Nothing much came, which was surprising as the tide was rising, so I bailed.

9.23.13 Combo Swell Action at South Wisconsin

This combo swell surprised me.  I thought there'd be something out there, but not like this.

The first winter swell of the fall season was upon us, and the crowd count reflected that.  Not only were there close to three times as many heads out there as is normal, but there were TWO sweepers out.  I don't think I surfed near a sweeper all summer.

Increased crowds, especially with a couple of sweepers peppered about, will lead to a stunted wave count for almost all involved. 

With winter swells comes different rotation on the water's surface, which means upwelling.  Upwelling is when water comes up from the depths of the ocean, cooling the water surface temperature.  I should be donning my 4/3 by the end of next month.

I paddled out a ways south of Wisconsin, as I had a feeling I would not be swept north, but south, thanks to the predominant NW swell.

My first wave was the best of the day, and I got it within two minutes of perching.  It was a nice juicy chest-high left.  I pumped up and down twice, then up again and absolutely obliterated the section with a really squirrelly gouge.  I felt the fins disengage, and if I'd leaned slightly more on my front foot, I know I could have slid the tail out.

My second wave was another left, but not very steep.  I made it down the face and pumped gingerly, then really stomped on the gas when I saw a steep section.  I was really happy with my tactical positioning and timing, but wasn't rewarded as the wave fizzled almost immediately.

I had a look at two set waves in a row, but they both closed out.  Then, I had a look at a head-high left, but one of the sweepers snagged it ridiculously early and just. stood. there. All wave.  Brutal.

I caught a right that had an open face once I swooped around its spilling section, but I slightly dug my inside rail.  Not only did this decrease my speed, but it threw me off rhythmically and directionally, and I was forced to abort.

Later, I caught a left that was extremely racy.  So much so, that I pumped up and down quickly on a sliver of a section.  Upon descending, the section immediately adjacent to the one I victimized with my quick pump exacted its revenge by detonating on my board.  I was shocked I was able to hang on AND keep my speed.  It was all for naught though, as it closed out on me.

I got swept down to Wisconsin and the waves weren't really doing anything, so I caught one in.

9.19.13 Autumn is in the Air: FUN, then inconsistent Wisconsin

After yesterday's sunset skimboarding session, I realized the waves were surfable.  The crowd had died down also, so I was planning on surfing the next day.

As I walked down to the beach, I saw that the street lights were still on, meaning I'd gotten an early start.  The marine layer was up, so that should make the water a little warmer.  The offshore wind was stiff and I wondered if maybe it was too strong.

I walked close to halfway to pier after descending down the Wisconsin ramp.  I saw what appeared to be a barrel section, though it was difficult to be sure because of the angle of the swell.

After walking for a few minutes, I saw no other waves to keep the case open.  I circled back to Wisconsin and paddled out, seeing a few fun ones out there.

As I paddled out, I was excited to see some shoulder-high sets break.  There was no one out within three hundred yards of me.  It was GLORIOUS.

I paddled out and perched and within three minutes I got a pretty nice wave.  I caught it a little late and was concerned about the sectioning lip five yards ahead of me, I swooped around it, rose up to pump at least four times and as I approached the oncoming section, I compressed my body into a solid bottom turn. 

I unloaded on the section and felt my fins go free for an instant, then reconnected.  I don't know exactly what went wrong, but I think I wasn't ready for such a quick transition from halfway airborne to what devolved into a brusque cutback.  If I'd shifted my weight to the front of my board, I could have turned it into a sick roundhouse cutty.

The waves kept coming. It was really consistent and still not a soul near me.

I caught a right that looked juicy.  Unfortunately, I dug a rail as soon as I started leaning into a bottom turn.  I let out a frustrated roar as I stumbled over the back.

My wave of the day came about twenty minutes of fading off waves and being a little too inside for the relative mackers.  I pumped a couple of times right off the bat, then rose up and SMASHED the section.  The wave was dying out and I laid into a slash, which showed similar signs of life.

The waves then went into fatness mode.  It got very inconsistent and I knew I'd gotten the best of the morning.  I packed it in, making a mental note to paddle out even earlier tomorrow.

9.15.13 Foggy and Wedgy Sunday Morning at South Wisconsin

I got out there earlier than usual and surveyed the scene when I got to the lifeguard tower.  There were peaks up and down the beach, save for my immediate right.  The crowds, as usual, were lighter on the southern end of Wisconsin.  This is where I headed.

I paddled out in front of the property with the patriotic banners left up from Fourth of July, as there appeared to be a sandbar there.  I felt myself froth, much like the session from three days ago, but I did my best to temper my expectations.

I felt as though I was a bit late on my first wave and stomped on the deck.  My board couldn't take the shift in momentum and cruelly pearled.  I smacked the water HARD but was able to break the fall with my face. OOOWWWW!  I thought I was going to get a black eye, which would have been great for having strangers on the street eye Raquel suspiciously while I did my best puppy dog eyes.  Alas, I am but pink.

My first right was a bum-out, as it quickly closed out.  I flopped over the back.

About twenty minutes of to-and-fro paddling/pulling back, I caught a left that was sooooo sweet.  I dropped down while eyeing this beautiful shoulder-high wall, bottom-turned, and SMACKED it, came back down and immediately smacked it again, but I'd waited to long to hit it and just barely faded.  This is the sickest wave I've caught in easily two weeks.

A guy to my north had a great right come to him and he was paddling for it nonchalantly.  I was concerned he was going to miss it and for what may be the first time ever yelled "PADDLE!" at a complete stranger.  He missed it and a couple of people let out a collective groan.

The wave supply once again dried up with the high tide and my comrades and I were left jonesing.  I floated down to a couple of guy's who were discussing Josh Kerr's choice in boards.

The waves were really bogging now with the water continuing to rise so I bailed.

9.14.13 Shifty but Better than Yesterday!

I got out there earlier than yesterday, hoping my timing would mitigate the crowds a bit.

At first, I didn't see much of anything a I came around the bend, but then I saw a good-sized wave break, and not all at the same time.

I paddled out right at Wisconsin Street and endured a set on the head.  I had timed it so my chest would hit my board just as the last wave of the set broke.  This gives one the most chance for a dry hair paddle-out.  Unfortunately, a sneaker set detonated and ruined my chances of that.

I looked behind me and was awestruck at how far removed I was from my taking-off point.

I perched next to another hippy-looking dude, but different from yesterday afternoon's session, unless this guy had spawned a massive beard overnight.  He too was on a Firewire Vanguard, marking the first time I'd ever seen someone else on that board.

I finally got a look at a nice wave, but there was an older guy on a log paddling furiously inside of me.  I sensed a snake, so I went right. I dropped down somewhat brusquely, did a sweet-feeling drawn-out bottom turn and smacked the lip GLORIOUSLY.  The wave then fizzled, as though I'd slayed it.  I paddled back out and saw an extended foam trail from my spray, or blood from its jugular if you prefer.

After this wave I was caught in a nasty rip.  I didn't realize it right away, as it had been months since the last time this had happened.  I'd almost forgotten about them!

I was slowly drifting away when I saw a guy with a shaved head struggle to catch a wave, get barreled and swallowed up in the whitewash, and make it out.  I complimented him on it and he wasn't sure he was in the barrel.  Looked like it to me.

The rip took a solid grip of me and I'd grown wise to it when I noticed waves breaking elsewhere, but not where I was.  In hindsight, I wish I'd paddled with it, but I spent the next half-hour or so paddling against it, then perching and trying for a wave that did roll through that was choppy because of the rip.

I tired myself out and was over it, especially as the tide hit its peak and slowed the waves WAY down.  Maybe tomorrow will be my chance...?

9.13.13 Swell is Here; Oside Beachbreaks at Critical Mass PM SESSION at Michigan

I was wiling away the time until dinner when I decided to go surf.  I thought about going skimming because of the high tide, but if the surf is up, that makes little sense.

The waves were bigger than this morning and A LOT less crowded.  The wind had had its way with the ocean surface and the waves were pretty choppy, something my little board doesn't do well with (less flex and rocker with which to absorb chop).

I paddled out at Michigan and there was one other guy in my vicinity, a logger who looked soulful, enjoying the day to the fullest.

I caught three waves.

The first was a left that I immediately outran.  When I wasn't dodging extremely racy waves, I was pulling back from them, so I entered into my experience with this wave with my foot on the throttle.  Oops!

As I was paddling out, a set detonated outside of me.  It was maxing out what this place can hold which is a couple of feet overhead.  Any bigger and I believe it would have been, as Aaron says, a "big stinkin' closeout".

I caught my second wave after recovering from how far back the big set pushed me.  My arms were noodling out from the morning sesh, gym, and then the five minutes of paddling and duckdiving that immediately preceded this wave.  I barely made it up, dropped down after having to stomp on my front foot, and was on my way.  I felt a burst of speed from my bottom turn and laid into a slash.  I wasn't too amped on it, as the section on which I slashed was a little chubby, so I didn't get even a shot at releasing the fins.  The wave then slammed shut in front of me and I had very little speed, so I called it a wave.

I paddled back out for one last chance at redemption and sort of got it when I dropped in on an overhead closeout, no small feat on a 5'4".  I rode it in to the sand and reflected on the limitations of this board.  No crabgrabs. No super steep drops.  Iffy on choppy waves.  Other than that, I love this board.

9.13.13 Frustration Sets in as Swell Increases at Wisconsin

For perhaps only the second time, I spotted waves breaking while rounding the coffee place by the beach.  It almost always appears to be flat from there, but not today.  A high school or so kid I see at least three times a week lives between the coffee shop and the waves and he never mentions the surf (unless he's asking me how it was on my way back) and he said, "There's some fun ones out there!.

He's absolutely right.  There are some fun ones out there.  Unfortunately, they're few in far between thanks to the high tide which is swamping it out and the massive crowd, perhaps the biggest I've seen in the almost two months I've lived here.

I decide to trek south, as Wisconsin proper is logjammed with rolling heads, lulled to paddle out by the easy access.  I see scattered peaks which look like something out of a surf mag, but blink, and you'll miss it.  This works both ways, though, as I realize the shots in surf mags are merely a snapshot of a moment when the waves looked amazing, before they raced out and slammed shut.

There was a nice offshore wind to top it all off.  We had SOO many of the ingredients for a magical surf session, but I had quite the opposite experience unfortunately.

I paddled out and was raring to get into one.  A wave would come and there'd be a dude on it.  I'd paddle to where he just caught it, and right where I was, another wave would come.  About fifteen minutes of this later, I caught my first wave and it wasn't a great one.  I got one pump in before it closed out.

I caught a right and slammed into my crabgrab stance.  I forgot my board doesn't have a nose and immediately penetrated into the water with my board.  Looks like I'll be scrubbing crabgrabs from my repertoire for the foreseeable future...

I got a little covered up on a left that shut down as I was entering it.  I took advantage of my positioning to sneak a view of the barrel and then I got out of there.

A BOMB came in south of me and I saw a guy scratching furiously for it.  He dropped in and got barreled almost immediately.  The spinning cylinder engulfed him completely and he appeared to have been the victim of the fin grip-killing foamball.  I complimented him on his drop and he smiled and said, "Almost had it".

About twenty minutes later, I had my eye on an ok looking left which appeared to have a line.  I dropped in as a guy about five yards away was paddling and dropped in a second after me to my inside.  Not only did he drop in, he ate it on his first turn.  I came up just before he came up and I stared daggers at him.  He felt my death stare, looked straight at me, then looked away.

The guy looks like a cross between Tom Curren after an alcohol bender and Chris Ward.  He surfed like neither. 

The guy paddled back out and I kept staring at him.  He seemed to glance over to see if I was still staring at him but playing it off as though he wasn't.  He eventually settled five yards or so outside of me.  About ten minutes later, we're all paddling out lazily as a set is spotted on the horizon.  I make a gut-call and furiously sprint-paddle south, putting me in priority over villain.

Nice Drop guy, the guy I complimented, has priority so I pull back.  Villain takes off on him and ruins one of the sicker waves of the morning for him.  Villain paddles back out nonchalantly and I'm really staring at him HARD this time, like Tex Avery cartoon eyes hard.  He sees me staring and this time doesn't break my gaze.

We stare each other down for a solid five seconds and when he's close enough I say to him, "Are you going to burn everybody today?" to which he replies, "Oh, sorry bro, did I burn you?".  I point to Nice Drop guy and say "You just burned him.  You burned me ten minutes ago." and he reacts with, "Oh, sorry man".

I glance over at Nice Drop Guy and he's smiling.

Rather than continue on with villain and allow him to completely ruin my morning, I quit fighting the current and let it whisk me away to a happier place.  The waves at where I paddled out were maddeningly frustrating and I wanted to see what points north had in store.

About five minutes after letting go and letting God, I caught a nice left which did not immediately section off on me.  I got a pump in, then a small smack, then one more pump before I attempted a 360 rotation off the foam.  I felt my fins slip for  a second, but then they took hold and I flopped over them awkwardly.  It felt good to get a screamer, even if it was one of the smaller waves.

Nothing great came in the next twenty minutes.  I was drifting closer to Wisconsin Street.  I decided to go in and try my luck north.  I walked for five minutes or so and paddled back out. 

Unfortunately, it was even worse there.  I caught one wave that closed out, convinced myself to give the morning sesh one last shot, and paddled back out.  I sat for fifteen minutes until I decided to go in on a closeout.

9.12.13 Good-Sized but STEEP South Swell Rolls Through

Rumors of an incoming swell were percolating through the coconut wireless.  It was to have arrived yesterday, filling in overnight.

I am pleased to report that there is in fact fresh swell in the water!  It is a little jarring to see it first-hand, after nearly two weeks of lackluster waves.

The problem, and there's almost always a problem, wasn't the size.  It wasn't the period; the waves were spread out fine.  No, the wind wasn't an issue.  I thought the tide might be a bit low, but it wasn't affecting the waves negatively.  Yeah, it was a little crowded, but not so much so that it affected my wave count.

The problem was the steep (180-210) angle of the swell.  It arrives at an angle and so it breaks at an angle.  It combines this unfortunate detail with the lack of sandbars, making it spill over every five or ten yards almost every time.

My first wave was a left that immediately snapped shut on me.

My next wave was a bigger, throatier wave.  It did the same, so I pulled through the wall.

A couple more repeats of the above and I got my decent wave.  It got nice and steep right where I was.  I did two very stylish (or so they felt) pumps and then smacked the oncoming spill-over whitewash.  My fins lost just a wee bit of traction, and I pulled it.  NICE!

After another half-hour of getting excited, paddling, then pulling back from closing out shoulder-high waves, I got a little frustrated.  It's akin to when you're a little kid and you see a big package with your name on it on Christmas morning thinking it's that rad present you've been lusting after for weeks, when in fact it's a winter coat or something similarly boner-bending.

Eventually, I caught another wave that had somewhat of a line, though it was much weaker.  I smacked it ok and made it.  I thought about going in, but I wanted a shot at one more.

Twenty minutes later, I paddled into a wave which had some size, maybe head-high, but it too closed out.

I did see some cool wildlife stuff.  I saw some seagulls harassing a small pod of dolphins and a decent-sized school of sardines.  I saw seagulls fly in after a fish was floundering on and over the water's surface, being chased by God knows what, only to have a pelican swoop in and snag it in an unceremonious gulp.  There were plenty of long-necked duck looking creatures also.  All of this fauna leads me to believe that fall is here, at least for the animal world, which means differently angled swell and BETTER WAVES!

9.9.13 The Bad Streak Continues

I made an amateur mistake this morning.

I clicked on "surf forecast", instead of "surf report".  The surf forecast said it was fair, 1-3'.  I grabbed my board and went for it.

My first-hand report was the 1' waves didn't have enough juice for you to do anything on, while the 2' waves closed out.

My wave of the day involved finding a wave that was 2' and stayed open long enough for me to pump twice.

Once I got back home I checked the report and it read 1-2' and Poor. NAILED IT.

Swell is on the way, though...!

9.7.13 Saturday Morning: Epic Skimboarding Conditions, Dismal Surfing Conditions

I walked down to the beach, as usual, with the Firewire Vanguard.

My first glimpse was a brutal one: complete and utter nothingness.  I continued down the ramp and I saw some shorebreak going MAYBE fifteen feet from the sand.

I had come this far and the weather was great, so I was out there!

I sat about twenty-five feet from the sand and waited for a "macker" for about forty-five minutes.  The waves I did catch closed out instantly.  I wasn't in the mood for surfing in a foot of water, as I usually reserve that for good waves, so I eventually bailed.

9.6.13 Beat The Heat PM Trunk It SESSION at Michigan

The waves were bad.  I knew this.

The air was hot.  I knew this.

I decided to just go paddle around and bask in the gorgeous weather without being negatively affected by it.

I had a hard time finding a decent corner, taking off on quite a few closeouts.  The waves were a bit bigger, which I attribute to the tide, more than anything, and MAYBE a slight kick in the windswell.

My last wave was by far my best.  I was able to descend a double-up and SMASH the oncoming whitewater.  I ecstatically claimed it with a fist up in the air, more out of relief and surprise that I got anything going in the crappy conditions.

9.5.13 Practicing my Fades at Michigan

Not too much to report on this one...

The waves and consistency were of the bad and meager varieties.  I got my exercise walking to and from the beach, not all that much once I was in the water...

I think I stood up on three waves and I faded off the back on all three of them.  I would have been better off skimboarding.

9.4.13 Michigan Morning Trunk-It Sesh; Talk Story Segment #1

The waves were mushy for the most part, but once in  a while, you could get on a clean one.  The sets were chest-high at best and not too bad consistency-wise.

I paddled out and sat for a solid five minutes.  I caught a left, floated almost immediately and pulled it.

I had to pull back from about a half-dozen or so waves in a row in a span of about fifteen minutes.

Then a pretty sick one came.  I jumped on it and saw an Aussie guy who'd been ripping paddle for it, glancing at me for half a second while I was standing, descending the wave about fifteen feet outside of him.  I watch as he stands up.  I whistle loudly and he decides he's more special than I am and continues on his snaking journey.  I kick out so as to avoid any chance of a collision (very slight chance he could have gone for a roundhouse cutty as I pumped down the line) and give him a look.  He makes eye contact for another half-second and looks away as he paddles towards his buddy.

There are three courses of action when you feel you've been wronged in the water:

1. Confront the person so they know you will not be tolerating this behavior.  
2. Ignore it
3. Shadow the person so you're always just to their inside and take off on every wave they paddle for.

I'm proud to say I chose option 2.  I felt anger bubble up, but almost instantly I let it go.  I did fantasize about saying something to the effect of "Next time that happens my board may or may not fly in your general direction".  But I didn't.

Talk Story

It's time to unveil a new segment of the EddieSurfs.com empire, Talk Story.  For those not in the know, the act of talking story is a Hawaiian tradition of passing knowledge and experiences down.  Historically, this has been done from an older generation to a younger one, but more and more, it's evolved (devolved?) into storytelling between people regardless of age groups.  In this connotation (bastardization?) of the phrase, it's exclusively surfing, contextually.

Dateline, August 1998...  I had just gotten back from El Salvador for my first real summer of surfing down there.  I was surfing sizable Del Mar (18th Street or so) and had a line on a juicy overhead left.  I was going down the line when another surfer, who I will refer to hereon as PussyBoy, not only looked in my direction, seeing I was up and riding, but he smiled oh so slyly and took off on me, RIGHT in my way. Had I not averted course, there most likely would have been a collision.

I had waited over an hour for that set wave and had endured a few poundings and PussyBoy had decided he deserved it more, even though he'd paddled out fifteen minutes or so before popping up on my wave of the day.

I was livid.  I was young. I was foolish.  I was insecure.  I was weak.  So I didn't say a word to him.  He paddled out and stayed about fifty feet north of me, waiting for the next wave to arrive.  I paddled over to him, then past him, giving up priority on the lefts.  And from that moment on, every wave PussyBoy paddled for, I paddled right with him, ten feet to his inside.  PussyBoy employed evasive maneuvers after the first three waves this happened.  I followed him.

Two more waves passed, same result.  He paddled in a bit and I went with him, not saying a word and pretending it was all a coincidence of cosmic chances.  He then paddled for a nasty closeout which even I, in my most passive-aggressive FU didn't want a piece of, straightened out and went in.

My God, did that feel incredible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back to the day's session...

I caught a couple of other waves, but I faded off the back.  I remember being irked by hearing the Aussie's nasally drawl, an accent I usually find charming (not in a gay way, though; that I save for Latvians).

I eventually went in after deciding I was over it.

9.3.13 Yet Another Michigan PM SESSION

I am at least on the cusp of breaking my record for most trunk sessions in the US in a year.  For this I credit the recent hot spell and my cousin's visit and subsequent surf lust.  This last swell gets only partial credit because it was only a partial swell.

I had gone to Carlsbad Pipelines while waiting for a table at Las Olas and scored a small trail fin without having to buy the ridiculously-priced liquid-slicing triumvirate (yes, that word works as you can also buy politicians).

I installed the trailer fin as my center fin and started my walk.

The waves were waist- to chest-high, with some very rare toppers.

I had a nice pump-pump-bury-the-rail-slash sequence on one of them.

I caught a smaller left, did a nice turn (I saw the spray), then ended it by sliding the tail out in the foam, on purpose.  I was trying to see how that smaller fin changed things.  I flopped awkwardly off my board after my weighting and momentum had a disagreement.  This would probably be my highest-scoring wave on the new board if judges had been watching.  A solid 1.5, no question.

I was looking towards Pier and I saw a dolphin breach and fly over an oncoming wave.  I can't say I've ever seen that from behind a wave before!

After this wave, I didn't catch much of anything, so I went in.

9.1.13 The Start of the September Sessions... PM SESSION plus some Knowledge Droppin!

Fall in SoCal is usually a wonderful time for surfers.  The water is still relatively warm.  The summer south swells tend to ease up, but not cease completely.  The WNW/NW Aleutian swells begin to crank.  The weather/wind is more favorable, usually.

When you have two solid swells coming from different directions and a light offshore grooming their progeny, amazing sessions tend to go down.

On top of this, groms and college students are back in school, so the crowd factor is diminished.

I was thinking about this the other day:  How long has it been since we had a Japanese typhoon swell?  I don't think it's happened since the inception of this blog.  These are great because they arrive almost completely unfettered by the Channel Islands, though you need a massive storm to make up for the swell decay.

According to what I can remember from Mira Costa's Oceanography courses, for every day a swell is in the water, travelling to its final destination, it loses 20% of its energy.  This means that if a Japan typhoon swell kicked up ten-foot swells, the swell would be at just over 3' with five days of travelling across the Pacific.  If we got really lucky (and the Japanese suffered the opposite luck) and got storms producing 20' swell, we'd have a nice overhead day as a result.  Not only that, but  with that direct a swell angle (280-ish degrees), we wouldn't suffer from swell refraction at a lot of spots, burning off more swell energy.

One thing that's nice is when the swell is a certain size, the actual wave heights are bigger, as waves jack up when they feel bottom.  The surf reports tend to account for this, the buoys do not.

With this in mind, it's easy to see just how fickle a beast good surf can be.  Here's a list of things that have to be right for a GREAT session to happen:

• Swell Size: AFTER accounting for swell decay...
• Swell Direction: SSE Baja hurricane swells are exciting to see on swell maps, but they will bypass most of SoCal until the hurricane tracks west.
• Swell Period: If the waves are too close together, you'll be surfing disorganized waves, and likely, not for long.
• Tide
• Wind Direction
• Wind Speed: Offshores are great, but not so much at 15+ knots.
• Bathymetry: Sand bars have to be right; Reef has to be freed of sand.
• Light: It's difficult to have a truly magical sesh if you can't see.  How many amazing sessions have been missed due to it being nighttime, when the winds are generally calm?
• Crowd
• Timing: It was SOOOO good for ten minutes, now the wind changed or the tide dropped, and you missed that 90-minute window! Conversely, this works for surf trips (the longer the swell window, the better)
• Spot Choice/ Local Knowledge: You surfed Turtles, which was ok, while Suckouts was going off on the low tide.

Honorable Mentions

• Camaraderie: While not necessary to have an incredible session, it amplifies the stoke levels if you and a surf bro are making memories together (that sounded gayer than I intended, apologies).
• Health: Though I've done it quite a few times, suffering through an injury or illness will reduce your stoke level and your longevity in the water.
• Level of Critters: Sea lice is BRUTAL! Sharks are fine so long as no one gets snapped.
• Scenery: Check out the 7.2.12 entry to get a glimpse
• Pollution: Oh, did it rain in the last 48-72 hours?  You better hope the new sandbars and diminished crowd are worth the threat of an ear infection or worse...!
• Board Chemistry: Your board broke and you're forced to borrow your buddy's 6'5" six-channel pintail.  This will give you blue balls immediately if the waves are pumping.

On to the surf...

This day was slightly better than the last afternoon session I had as the tide was a bit lower.  I had a pretty sick floater from which I jumped off the lip and landed at the tail end of the sloping section of the wave.  I felt my nose go under quite a bit, but I managed to pull it out in time before I was sent seaward.

I had a solid hit on another left, and it turned into one of those I-didn't-plan-on-cutting-back-but-I-have-all-this-wave-behind-me-so-here-I-go moments.  I'm sure it wasn't a seamless roundhouse, but I'll take it!

I was in danger of getting surfed out, so I decided to go in in the off chance tomorrow would have better waves.

August Wrap-Up

Wisconsin 9
Pier
Tyson
Minnesota 3






August brought a total of 14 sessions, which is a healthy number!

Warm, COLD, Hot.  August was vexingly inconsistent.  The month of August has been a tragedy-filled month for my family, as I've lost my maternal grandfather (at 38), my uncle Eduardo (at 33), and my mother (at 49) during that 31-day span over the years.  And now the latest tragedy (though it doesn't quite compare), my DHD (at 2) is in two pieces in my surfboard graveyard.

Overall, I'm ok with it happening, as it introduced me to the Firewire Vanguard.  What I went through can be considered similar to being dumped (I'm guessing, as this hasn't happened to me YET) and then meeting a better lady.  You didn't realize quite how bad it was with the former lady until the better lady sweeps you off your feet.  Of course, the Vanguard and I are still in the first month of our torrid love affair.  We'll see what happens when the bloom is off the rose...

8.31.13 Gettin' It while the Gettin's Good PM SESSION

Considering Tommy had about a 100-hour window in which to get his surfing in for the year, he especially was frothing.  He had decided on taking out my fish, after he insisted on needing more floatation than the 6'1" Epoxy Merrick. 

The waves were not as bumpy as I'd expected, given the afternoon winds.  The swell was losing its mojo and we sat a lot more than we caught waves.

I caught quite a few waves on which I would either lean forward or squirt water through the tail and then fade.

I had one wave I was able to connect to the inside, but the oncoming section immediately reared up and snapped shut.

We got swept down a ways, but our luck was no better there...

8.31.13 M-I-M and I hit up Wisconsin, sans Tommy

After feverishly extolling the breath of fresh air that was the previous morning's session, I was able to convince Mike to come up to Oside for a bit of S swell goodness.

My cousin Tom was over it, as his back was still aching from the plane ride over, exacerbated by the double dose of bending it in ways he's not used to.

The waves weren't nearly as good as the previous day's, but they were consistent.

I had a solid hit on a right on which I felt as though I threw a bunch of spray.

I was able to get a nice left on which I smashed the lip, finishing the wave.  Mike gave me his fist pump of approval on that one.

I also did a solid floater.

I offered Mike the opportunity to try my board and he was over it.  It was probably of out habit, but if I had the chance to try out new technology, I would take it!

8.30.13 Frothing, We Vie for a Wisconsin PM SESSION during New Swell

After the delicious bounty upon which we feasted this morning, we came back for seconds.  It had been a LONG time since my last afternoon session and I was going to be trunking it, so two long streaks broken...!

We paddled out right at the foot of the ramp of Wisconsin Street.  The waves weren't as consistent as this morning, leaving me fretting this swell wouldn't be as strong as was expected.

The waves were a little bit lazier than I would have liked.  For this, I blame the tide.  The crowd was bigger than I'd anticipated, drawn out most likely by the gorgeous weather.

The waves I caught varied between crashing-right-by-the-shore shore pound and oafish-but-decent-sized outside waves which did or (usually) did not connect to the inside steeps.

The one memorable wave I caught involved me jumping on a shorebreak wave, pumping one too many times, and attacking a wave sideways, making me flop onto my back.

8.30.13 My Cousin Tom arrives with some Surf in tow

My cousin and best man Tommy arrived last night and was excited about surfing.  He had not gone since I saw him in El Salvador over a year ago.  He lives in DC and the waves within driving distance leave a lot to be desired, unless we're talking about hurricane season.

As we walked to the surf, I extolled tales of what he might expect.  Considering his last session was in El Salvador, I may have overblown it a bit.

The waves did not disappoint.  What normally would have been lazy bumps tripping over themselves every ten or fifteen yards was in fact a sight I hadn't seen since July 20th, and before that, winter.  A wave would peak, throw, then peel for 20+yards at a time before closing out.

I caught easily a dozen waves, the most I've caught in one session in a LONG time.  It was a combination of consistency, lack of people, jonesing after a long lull in swell, and having my cousin Tom in town.

Waves that stick in my memory include a pretty long floater to finish off a left.  Another one is a sick hit I did on a left and threw a good amount of spray.

You'll have to excuse my lack of memory from such a seemingly memorable session, but I've surfed so many times since this that my short-term memory is waterlogged (ha!)

8.29.13 Is that a Mirage?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8.25.13 Lust turns into Bust at Michigan

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

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

This is the frontrunner for worst session of the month.

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

8.23.13 Strictly Slump Busting at Minnesota

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8.10.13 Even Better on New Board, South Wisconsin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8.9.13 A Tick Better on the Firewire Vanguard

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

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

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

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

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

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

8.7.13 Rank Surf on a New Board

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On to the surfing portion...

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

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

There were three waves of note.

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

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

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

8.4.13 A Session Cut Short at Tyson

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

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

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

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

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

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

I doubt my surf bros miss that side of me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8.2.13 Proper, Yet Improper, Wisconsin Street

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

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

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

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

8.1.13 South Wisconsin Street on my Ticking Time Bomb

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of my waves were closeouts.

July Wrap-Up

Wisconsin and Wisconsin-adjacent: 8
Oside Blvd
D Street

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

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

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

7.31.13 Empty Oside on the Big Boy Board

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is essentially a death sentence.

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

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

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

7.25.13 Lower Tide Inconsistent Wisconsin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7.23.13 Low Tide and Hollow-ish Oceanside Boulevard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7.21.13 Missed-It-Mike Appears for a Wisconsin Sesh

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

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

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

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

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

7.20.13 Swell Bumps up to Beachbreak Max

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here's my take of what went down:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7.19.13 Hoping for the Swell Kick at Wisconsin Street

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7.17.13 Oceanside Chronicles, Chapter One

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

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

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

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

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

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

7.2.13 D St Sesh w/ Ali

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June Wrap-Up

Wisconsin Street 2
D Street 2
Turtles
Ponto
Avalanches
Tyson

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

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

6.20.13 Back to D Street w/ Ali PM SESSION

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

6.18.13 Solo Mish to Seemingly Crappy Tyson Street

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

I went against my instincts and paddled out anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

6.12.13 Solo Mish to Avalanches

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

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

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

I immediately caught a healthy amount of waves.

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

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


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

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

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

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

6.10.13 Impromptu D St Sesh w/ Ali PM Session

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We were both getting chilly, so we bailed.

6.10.13 Payback on the Pacific at Ponto?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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