February Wrap-Up and a Plea

Here are the most-surfed spots of the month:

Grandview 2
MD's
Seascape
S. Pipes
D St

G-View pulls out a razor-thin margin to become the winner of the month.  Congrats to all of the nominees and better luck next month!
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A Plea:

Please stop and/or stop people from saying the following phrases. Permission to use force, granted...

Sunday Funday aka how to let people know you're a douche in just two words

"It is what it is.":  The most pointless sentence uttered in the history of mankind.  Obviously, it is what it is.  It also isn't what it isn't.  This sentence is most often seen escaping, and flying away as quickly as it can, from the mouths of those who like to hear themselves talk.  And I should know!

"I'm not gonna lie to you.": This would make sense to say before a true statement only if the human race also said the opposite during a farcical statement. I caught myself saying this once and immediately cringed.

"Good human" or "(fill-in-the-blank) human": I first heard this in the jungles of Isla Bastimentos, when a pretty well-known surf photog described some of his subjects as such.

Is my being so easily annoyed a sign of getting older?  Whatever the case, GET OFF MY LAWN!

2.28.13 Religious Epiphany, then Macking D Street w/ M-I-M!

The reports from last night were juicy.  An overnight building swell and perfect offshore, with a medium tide to boot.  The water was still a scrotum-wrinkling (I have pics to prove it) 56 degrees, so the crowds should be lighter than normal.

I called up Missed-It-Mike and he was down to surf.  Given the combo nature of the swell and the medium-rising tide, D Street was the call.

I met him there at seven and goaded him into suiting up without checking it.  On the way down, we saw a sick set break and our pace quickened.  we somehow began talking about God. Mike is Catholic and I chide him for it constantly.  I can't remember what I asked him, but he downplayed his faith in his response.

I told him to say, "I, Missed-It-Mike, hereby banish Jesus Christ from my heart".  He wouldn't do it.  I repeated it with my own name in his' place.  I nervously snapped my neck up and around looking for the fateful bolt of lightning that was sure to be the end of me.

When it didn't arrive, I decided morosely that God had forsaken me.  It was at that point that I exclaimed that I would allow Satan into my heart.  This is how I imagine Mike viewed me, except prone, paddling on my surfboard:



After a lot of duckdiving and head-dipping into the brisk water, we perched.  There was a guy on a log who was sitting deeper and inside of us.  I saw him catch a left from the top and just kind of cruise on it.  Another good-sized left came and the same result.  The logger paddled back out and a juicy one was within his grasp, but he half-heartedly paddled for it and missed it.  I let out a hearty, "WHHAAAAAAAAT!?!?" and received a grin from some guy between us who'd witnessed the 'exchange'.

Since Mike and I were still having no luck, I paddled for about three minutes until I was outside of him.  The logger paddled back out and went way down the line, so much so that he wasn't a factor. Or so I thought...

When my first wave was heaving and close to elevating me, I was salivating.  This was the first good wave I'd caught since early December.  All of those mornings spent convincing to paddle out then sitting and shivering flashed through my mind ad I got lifted.  I pumped once, then laid into a slash.  After jumping though the wave, I realized I'd somehow snaked the longboarder.  Eagle-eyed readers will see him in the background at the 6/7-second marks.



I sincerely apologized to him after realizing my mistake, but I'm sure he thought I was an asshole after this and the WHAAAAAAAAAT incident.

A minute later, according to the GoPro timestamps, I caught another wave on which I got barreled and pinched. BAH!

Mike caught a left and gave it two solid smacks.  As he was paddling back out, I caught a left on which I didn't descend all the way and got barreled within a second-and-a-half of popping up.  I set up a little too far away from the wall, but I don't think it was all that makeable (it IS D St, after all...).

Mike was in position for a left that the logger caught but couldn't make it around the section.  This left developed into the best barrel I've EVER seen break at D St.  Thick, bowly, wide and remarkably makeable -looking!  Of course, it finale'd with a massive closeout, so a doggy-door exit would have been in order.

An older guy who looks like a Gentile version of Dos Equis' "Most Interesting Man in the World" was out and frothing, making catching waves difficult.

The tide rose and the waves suffered.  I was able to catch a pretty sick left on which I pumped once, rose up to the lip, SUPERpumped and got stuck on a heaving ledge of a lip.  I aborted towards the trough and midflight, all two inches of my manhood managed to free themselves from its between-two-thighs nest and flop up towards my stomach.  I ended up landing right on it, not an easy task for such a small target, but luckily all I suffered through were nerves from the incident.

I am happy to report that it still works for the purposes it was designed!

Mike and I went in after about eighty minutes of being out there, cold and having to get on with our days...

2.25.13 Denying a No-Go at South Pipes w/ Forrest PM SESSION

After canvassing the coast for the better part of an hour, we made Pipes our last check.  Forrest really wanted to get in the water, but I wasn't too amped on the tiny waves.  Since Forrest had driven and gas prices were so high, I finally relented and told him we could surf if he really wanted to.  I didn't expect him to accept my challenge.

While suiting up, I silently bemoaned my decision to throw myself on the mercy of Forrest's surf whims.

I had my shortboard with me this time, after longing for it for the majority of the previous day's session.

I took my time paddling out and the first duckdive was a dooz.  Whatever warmth the Santa Ana day had bestowed upon me was immediately taken from me, to return only after my thaw-out shower later that day.

It was a gorgeous day with not a cloud in the sky.  With any decent swell, we'd have a classic winter day on our hands.  Of course, if the conditions were good, there couldn't be any swell, so we were stuck picking up whatever scraps were coming in.

Every fifteen minutes or so, a two-wave set would come in.  I was lucky enough to be in position for one of these just after perching.  It was a fast right that almost immediately closed out.  I attempted to flop over it, but I got caught in the lip and slammed into the trough harder than I expected.

About ten minutes later, I spotted what appeared to be two young wahines paddling our way.  It turned out one was a dude.  The girl he was with was wearing a wetsuit set-up not often seen outside of Hawai'i.  It was a one-piece wetsuit with a bottom that was shaped like a bikini bottom, leaving the legs and butt exposed.  I felt like such a puss in my (albeit leaky) 4/3.

They paddled out after us and went in before us, and I found out why on the walk up.

I caught a left and pumped a couple of times before attempting to ball myself up small enough so as to get tunnel vision from the microscopic barrel that was about to throw.  It hit me in the base of the skull and I called it a day.

On the way up, we saw the dude who to my estimation had received a blow to the head from his longboard. He had blood streaks over his face.  He was being looked after by the girl and some other guy, so we bailed.

This is shaping up to be the worst winter in my surfing career.  Stay tuned...

2.24.13 Seascape Fish Sesh w/ Sponging Forrest

I had my interns look up the last session I'd enjoyed with Forrest.  All three of them came back with August 3rd, the night surfing session. WOW.

Forrest met his now-girlfriend Angie and has been MIA since, surfing-wise.  The guy's been a ghost.  I hadn't heard from him.  Have you heard from him?  NOBODY's heard from him!

Today he called me to see if I wanted to eat lunch with him and I told him I'd just had lunch.  He told me to come watch him eat and I agreed upon the condition that he buy me an horchata.  He agreed.  I then asked if  he wanted to surf.  He asked how it was and I said, "Terrible".  He left his pad to come get me and I grabbed my fish.

Forrest's knee has been giving him issues, so he decided he would be sponging it today.  He hadn't been in the ocean in quite some time, so a sponge was better than no dip at all.

We decided on Seascape, a wave we used to surf all of the time about thirteen years ago but had since been relegated to our dustbin of surf history. Today, we resuscitated it and HARD.

We didn't bother checking the waves.  When we got within eyeshot of the waves, Forrest let out a telltale groan.  I was thrilled to see waves, and some were sort of lining up! YEEEEEEEEEEEH!

The paddle-out wasn't too bad, but the second dip swept me awash in the agony that is the ice cream headache.  Luckily, I only had one more progressively worse instance to endure before reaching my perch spot.

My first wave was a quick left on which I kicked out almost immediately.

Forrest was bobbing about on the Costco-bought sponge and he said the waves look way bigger prone.  He mentioned being colder than usual, likely because more of his body was in the water.  I asked him if he wanted to switch boards and he replied negatively.

Forrest caught a wave, and I was alone.  A left came, and I was convinced it would close out.  I went anyway, hoping the chop on the face would slow its demise.  I bottom-turned up to the top, pumped hard down, then back up.  I was going pretty fast, but I was on a section that was about vertical on a board with no rocker.  It looked as though I would not be victorious, but I proved triumphant, zooming down the face.  I saw a little section approach and went up hard, slamming my weight onto my front foot so I could do a 360.  The fins washed out oh-so-slightly, but my momentum caused me to fly off.  I came up, amped on making that pump and milking as much speed as I could out of that beast.

A couple more forgettable waves came and went, and one took Forrest's boogie board with it.  Forrest swam all the way in to fetch it, then came back out.

During his absence, I caught a big left.  I was continuing my pumping regime when I caught a glimpse of the sketchy, frothy section coming up to meet me looked like it had some teeth.  By the time I'd spotted it, I had no time to react and it gobbled up the nose of my board,  I freefell all of four feet into the trough, then got picked up and slammed over the falls again.  I took a bit of a beating, but not as bad as it could've been...

A right came, and I was on it.  There was not much to it though, so I Fosbury flopped over it.

I caught one of the biggest waves of the day.  I was reluctant to go because of my board choice, but I pushed on.  By the time it got to me, it was steep and nasty.  I dropped down and the frontside edge of my nose bit in just a tad, altering my trajectory and throwing me off balance.  I ended up doing an abrupt hairpin turn up and over the face without descending all the way.  That one must have looked interesting from the beach!

No other memorable waves came.  Many party waves were attempted, but Forrest was limited by his lack of foam, so we only got one...

SICK Clip

This clip combines three of my favorite things: Hawai'i, surfing, and guitar.  Throw in a couple of half-naked ladies (I say half-naked only because my wife may see this) and you have my idea of heaven; what I've been working so hard toward for the last thirty-three years.



Highlights for me include the very first turn at around the :50 mark. WOW! The barrels are SICK and as only Backdoor can deliver.  The alley-oop 360 at 2:40 is also donuts and that straight ollie about twenty seconds later... oof!

2.14.13 PM SESSION w/ Mark DeGrovel at TINY Grandview

My boy and rap protegé Mark DeGrovel texted me yesterday to see if I wanted to surf.  I had an appointment set for this afternoon, but King Neptune smiled upon me and commanded the client to postpone for the next day.

I met Mark at his in-laws' beach house and we had the good fortune of having the cliff-top backyard as our vantage point.  It looked better than I expected, but still pretty rank.

We suited up, then walked down the stairs.  It was an absolutely glorious afternoon and I was amped on that (and not much more).  I carried Wanda, my fish, thinking its lack of rocker would easy my entry into these little morsels.

About a half-hour in I caught one pretty good wave on which I was able to rise up and smack the lip AND ride down, which is a bit of an accomplishment on that board.

I caught another wave immediately after and went a little too radically, sliding the tail out and sliding my chances of a successful maneuver out the window along with it.

About twenty minutes later, I caught a wave I paddled for for a solid eight seconds before I finally stood up on it.  It took forever for that thing to get steep.  But once it did it was a doozy.  It was steep and I popped up and pumped almost immediately, rejoicing in the quick burst of speed I garnered.  Unfortunately there was no payoff.

Mark and I got cold after about an hour and fifteen minutes and in we went.

2.12.13 Solo Sesh at Deserted MD's

Seeing as to how the air was a testicle-levitating forty degrees and the water not much help at 56 degrees, I opted to suit up in the relative comfort of my living room.

The charts said it would be 3-4' and I couldn't wait to sink my fins into some of that.

I drove down to MD's and parked The Rad at 20th Street.  I didn't bother checking it, I was going out no matter what.

I slipped my all-but-spent 4/3 over my shoulders, then shoe-horned my feet into my geriatric booties.  Upon first glimpse of the ocean, I was immediately worried, but this was a short-lived sensation as I saw a head-high banger crack hard.  The sound of it rifled into my ears, amplified by the cold air.  I walked north a ways, knowing I would be shepherded into the line of fire of that wave in due time, hopefully not before I perched though!

I waited nearly a minute for this seven- or eight-wave set to end its assault on the otherwise calm water.  I ran into the water, jumped on my board, and glided before paddling.  I knew it was a matter of time before I would have to dunk my head and feel the sting of ice cream headaches.  Supposedly, the reason these happen is the temperature differential between the skull and the brutal cold of the water.  The frosty air piling on wasn't going to help.

After a good five or six minutes of constant paddling and duckdiving, a short clearing appeared and I whisked through just in time.  The sets were frequent and hitting hard, reminiscent of a new swell hitting the shore.  Unfortunately, the tide was making the waves slam shut with very few (and short) exceptions.

I caught my first wave within three minutes of perching.  It was a steep right and I made the drop, got a look at the lip throwing, and attempted to straighten out.  The lip undermined my backside rail and literally pushed my board over.  Picture a bully tilting a tray, but forcefully.

About forty minutes passed with a lot of paddling/pulling back.  Also, there was the scenic tour of some of the most expensive real estate in the county thanks to the N angle in the swell and the longshore current byproduct.

I saw an overhead left and I paddled for it.  It had the slightest of openings, but as I paddled, I smiled because I could see this thing was going to shut down on me, but I was GOING!  I went, and it did its pitching-all-at-once thing.  I attempted to pull through head first but my timing was off slightly.  My face slammed into the lip really hard, and while the pain was present, I wondered if I'd get a black eye from it.

Once I got to Three Palms, I got caught in the rip.  I paddled in and just missed another closeout, one that would get me closer to The Rad and its heater.  My hands were so cold that I could not stop fantasizing about a hot shower.

Ten minutes passed, and finally a wave broke outside of me.  I rode the foam in prone and spent the three-block walk back to The Rad alternating which hand carried my board and which hand was blessed by my warm breath blowing into it.

I should have checked it...!

2.7.13 Grandview Slump Buster with Matt

If you've ever gotten really into surfing, you know that after about two weeks of dry time, you start jonesing hard.  I was on four weeks without any interaction with salt water.  I would imagine it's a weaker cousin to what our neighbors in the Pacific Northwest tend to suffer from this time of year, Seasonal Affective Disorder.  I know it seems like hyperbole if you don't surf, but I swear to you, moods dip and tensions rise.

The charts were saying the weather was going to be bad, but a closer look at the hourly breakdown revealed gentle offshores in the morning.  I called Matt the previous night and he wanted to surf Ponto, a wave that is so fickle.  It's usually rank, but when it gets good it's really good.  And its proximity to the 101 ensures it's really crowded when it's good.  The predominant swell direction was WNW and given Ponto's shores aimed WSW and lack of bathymetral (not sure if that's a word) variety, I nixed it.  He proposed Grandview, with a cornucopia of underwater bathymetry scenarios.  I readily agreed and we were out thar.

I got there about ten minutes early and jammed out to the GuyPod.  I got a text from Matt saying "where u at. Gonna get off on la costa and check ponto".  Of course our meeting time comes and goes with no sign of the guy.  So I call him and he tells me he's waiting for me to meet him.  I'm not sure what I was supposed to read into his text that would make him believe he'd unilaterally changed the meeting spot and I was on my way.

I told him I wasn't going to Ponto and he acquiesced and met me at our official, bilaterally agreed-upon meeting spot.  I got out of my ride, ready to give him shit for being late.  He looks me up and down and says, "Really? PJ pants?", and I about lost it.  I told him this is a surf check, not a fashion show (for those interested, mid-thirties Matt was wearing what appeared to be the latest offerings from Tilly's).

Things calmed down after we saw a left peel down the line.  It looked slow, but when it connected to the inside section, we both gushed with anticipation.

We changed into our wetsuit and I quietly admired Matt's new-looking Excel wetsuit.  A real estate client of mine swears by them and I am flirting with the idea of making an Excel my next purchase, once prices go down come Spring.  My journeyman Rip Curl has been squeezing me too hard in uncomfortable areas going on five years now!  It's due for retirement and a fat pension (that's what I tell it anyways, it's really going to be recycled into a new wetsuit).

We paddled out and were predictably shuttled south thanks to the north angle in the swell.  The waves were punchy, but extremely racy.

Matt happened upon an SDSU friend of his, Grady, and we watched as he took off on two set waves, waited out the flat spots, and admirably traversed towards the inside section.

I thought about joining him out there, but I was concerned the rocker on my board wouldn't allow me to ride out the flat spots.  I continued to opt for the middle-inside, hoping to luck into a corner.  I caught several waves that immediately closed out.

The one stand-out wave was a left that I pumped pretty much on the flats two or three times before realizing it too would bar me from some lip-time.

Matt had to go to work so in we went...

January Wrap-Up

January SUCKED as a surf month.  The swell was on when the weather wasn't, and when the weather was perfect, we were cursed with some of the flattest ocean I've ever seen.  This is winter!  Where are the waves?

The swell of the century, at an unheard of 25-second swell period (meaning it's coming in extremely fast and with power) was a dud.  Had this swell or even something half as good materialized, Blacks would have been the go-to spot.  I probably would've paddled out on my 6'3" like an idiot to try to bag one. Bah, enough mental masturbation over a love that wasn't to be...

I surfed three times.  THREE! I surfed alone all three times. Mike is still MIA surf-wise, Forrest was in Thailand for "work" and everyone else was bitching about the cold.  I'm calling it, January 2013 was the worst month in the history of this blog.

I heard a small swell did come in late in the month but of course it was while I was in Mammoth...

Here is the breakdown:
Condors: 1
NoTePads: 1
Seaside: 1

The session of the month goes to NoTePads and it's not close.

Bail of the month honors go to the second left barrel I got at NoTePads, during which the lip hit me in the head with the ferocity of a woman scorned (and her new boyfriend joining in on the wallop).  My doctor thinks it may have permanently parted my hair.

The All-List Post

Below you will find a list of all of the spots I can remember surfing in the last fifteen-plus years  I also added a couple of other lists to reward all of the loyal readers of EddieSurfs.com

Costa Rica

Puntarenas Province:
El Palo
Playa Hermosa de Jacó

Guanacaste Province:
Ollies
Playa Avellanes
Playa Junquillal
Playa Negra
Witches

El Salvador

Departamento de La Libertad:
Balsamar
Conchalío
El Barco
El Matadero
El Pedrero
El Recodo
El Zonte
K-59
La Bocana
La Bocanita
La Izquierda
La Paz
Playa Toluca
Punta Roca
San Blas
Sunzal
Sunzalito

Departamento de San Miguel:
Las Flores

Departamento de Usulután:

El Toro
La Vaca

Mexico

Las Cabañitas
Monuments
Syringes
Tule

Panama

Kusapin
Playa Larga
Red Frog Beach

United States

California

Orange County:
Anderson Street (Seal Beach)
Cottons
Huntington Pier

San Diego County:
85-60's
Avalanches
Avocado's
Baby Blacks
Beacons
Blacks
Buccaneer Beach
Campgrounds
Cardiff Reef
Churches
Corner Bowls
D Street
Del Mar Beachbreaks (17-29th Streets)
Del Mar Reefs (7-15th Streets)
Del Mar Rivermouth
George's
Grandview
Loopholes
Lowers
Marine Street
NoTePads
OB Pier
Oceanside Boulevard
Oceanside Harbor
Oceanside Pier
Pillbox
Pipes
Ponto
Power Plants
Scripps
Sea Point
Seaside
Sea Bluffe
SouPa
Stone Steps
Swami's
TableTops
Tamarack
Trees
Turtles
Trails
Tyson Street
Uppers
Windansea
Wisconsin Street

Hawaii

Hawaii (Big Island):
Honl's

Kauai:
Anahola Bay
Hanalei Bay
Kalihiwai Bay
Pinetrees
Tunnels (thanks Tia!)

Oahu:
Green Lanterns (thanks Tia A!)
Pipeline
Publics
Rest Camps
Velzyland (thanks Kurt!)
Waikiki

Dream Trip:
Six-plus weeks of traveling through South Indian hitting namely these waves:
Lance's Right
Macaroni's
Grajagan

Want to help? Buy through the Amazon link on the left-hand side of the blog.

Haven't-gotten-around-to-them "local" waves in order of lust:

Puerto Escondido/Zicatela, Mexico
Playa Colorados, Nicaragua
Outer Banks, North Carolina, during hurricane season
Pavones, Costa Rica

Surf Notables with whom I've shared waves aka had waves stolen by (all at Lowers unless otherwise indicated):

Shane Beschen (Punta Roca)
Alana Blanchard (Pinetrees)
Gilbert Brown (Punta Roca)
Tom Curren (Punta Roca)
Mick Fanning
John-John Florence (Pipeline)
Laird Hamilton on an SUP (Hanalei Bay)
Bruce Irons
Kyla Langen (Cottons)
Shea Lopez (Punta Roca)
Rob Machado
Dean Morrison (They call him Dingo, but I call him Didgo; because he burned EVERYbody)
Jamie O'Brien
Joel Parkinson
Mike 'Snips' Parsons (Lowers AND Wisconsin Street)
Random Brazilian Pros whose names escape me
Gus Tandberg (Grandview)

Least Favorite Ethnic Race on Land:
I do not see race.

Least Favorite Ethnic Race in the Water:
Brazilians

1.9.13 Seaside Solo Sesh

The forecasts' tales for this week made my loins droop with woe.  I was going to surf today's mediocrity no matter what.  I initiated the suit-up sequence in the relative warmth of my living room.

Because of the massive tide, I had a feeling MD's and NoTePads would be washed out with fat rollers.  I opted to take the 101 and swing south so as to maximize the angle of the swell with the countering angle of the coastline.

I saw a sick left break at Seaside that the lucky rider was able to ride all the way through to the inside connection in the shorebreak.  I pulled over off the 101 JUST as I entered Solana Beach, finished suiting up, and got out thar.

On the walk to the break, I reflected on all of the magical sessions I've had here. The bummer is there aren't any.  I've never had success at Seaside, despite the seemingly rippable walls that, when firing, remind me of Uppers on an ok day.  The strongest memory I have of Seaside is paddling out ten years ago with my buddy Andrés, a busboy at the restaurant formerly known as Jay's Gourmet.  I caught a massive right that freight-trained on without me and got so hammered, my left heel was left hanging out of its warm cocoon of a booty.

Perhaps today my relationship with this fickle tease would change.

When I rounded the corner and had a view of the waves, I accelerated and thought "top to bottom, top to bottom" thinking the hittable lips would encourage me not to ride out so far into the shoulder.

After a pretty long, ten minutes-plus, paddle-out, I perched inside of the pack of five.  Within five minutes, I caught my first wave. It was an overhead (!) right and the drop was a dooz.  I angled up and then slammed my weight forward.  I brought it about halfway around into a roundhouse cutty, but the lip was gone.  Oh well, at least I got my first one out of the way.

There were two groms out, and one was emphatically telling his bro about how he slid his fins out on a layback snap and made it.  SICK, if true!

Fifteen minutes passed, the bulk of which I spent paddling back and forth with the very shifty waves.  The guys outside of me kept missing some, but by the time they got to me, they were closing out or still not steep enough to catch.

I saw a steep left that one of the groms couldn't catch.  I put my head down and stroked hard for it, salivating over its steepness.  I popped up keeping the vast majority of my weight towards the front, so the rocker would make a smooth transition into the possible air drop.  Seaside decided to pull the football away from me, and flattened out so I popped up and immediately pearled.  Damn it!

I paddled back out and sat with the pack, and twenty minutes later I was rewarded with a similar wave, though a little bigger.  I sat back on my tail a little more and immediately faded right to counteract its probable marshmallowing.  I read the wave correctly, but when I swooped into my bottom turn, I just didn't have enough momentum to stay with it.  Too bad, because the inside section looked good from the back.

I decided I'd had enough and bailed shortly thereafter.

1.4.13 Solo Mish to NoTePads, RIP Missed-It-Mike :*-(

It is with a heavy heart that I report the passing of my best surf bro, Missed-It-Mike.  I am thankful to have spent the majority of Sunday with him at the Chargers game.  I have called him three times since to go surfing and I haven't heard back from him.  I will always remember the good times, him bitching about his feet hurting in particular.  Walking barefoot on gravel without drawing a reminiscent tear will be especially difficult.

I of course will be the last one to eulogize him, as the order goes from least to most important.  In my run-throughs thus far, I've gotten most choked up bringing up when he used the Amazon link on this very blog to buy a $700 washing machine, netting me $28 in Amazon money in the process.  I will remember the good times bro.



Mike leaves behind a wife, a son, and perhaps most tragically, a surf bro (for life, brah, never forget).

Obviously, I am dedicating this session to his memory.

I woke up and practically lunged for my phone, but Mike had once again failed to return my call.  He was gone.  I had a hard time getting out of bed with the grave thought of his entering his next phase.

I debated staying in bed, but pushed myself out the door at 7:40.

I half-heartedly checked the surf.  MD's was not great, but the tears in my eyes made things a little blurry.  I packed back into The Rad and considered going home to have a good cry session, but I knew Mike would have wanted me to soldier on, south, towards one of his favorite waves, NoTePads.

It was beautiful.  It was as though Mike had flapped his angel wings and kicked up some swell, and somehow also stoked the offshores in the opposite direction, into their cherubic faces.

I knew the water/wind combo would lead to ice cream headaches, and for once I welcomed them, hoping their presence would dull my inner pain.

I watched two guys on too much foam, take turns going over the falls, as the winds seemed to catch their boards and delay their descent until the wave pounced on them.

The lefts to their south looked most appetizing.  I figured with the N angle on this swell (WNW), I would be pushed right into their line of fire, so I paddled out straight out and got swept down slowly.  I watched as two grinders spun about fifty yards south of me and hurried things along by paddling towards them.

Within five minutes, I caught my first wave.  I am getting way better on my frontside barrels,  I dropped down, set my line well, kept my weight on my front foot but got slightly pinched and a little too far behind the lip.  I had a fleeting feeling of reaching daylight.  My head and the wave ceiling said their hellos, but I pushed through for another half-second before being slammed into the trough.



Two minutes later, I had a look at a shoulder-high or so right and was able to tuck in to a pigdog barrel.  On the descent, I thought briefly that my shoulder was going to run into the wave and either stall or pull me into its vortex.  I narrowly avoided disaster and got my longest pigdog barrel in over a year.  It isn't so long, however, that you can see what happens without constantly toggling the pause/play button in the footy...



The next wave I caught was a left and I smelled a barrel.  I unfortunately set up a little too far away from the wall and received a lip to the head for my efforts.  The lefts kept pinching and pinching hard; my guess being the swell direction wasn't working in their favor, benefiting mostly the rights.

The next wave was a twin to its immediate predecessor, just a bit bigger.  The same result happened, except I got SLAMMED by it so hard it made my knees buckle.  This sudden acceleration of force upon my body also caused my lower legs to somehow slam into one another, leaving me with an agonizing few seconds.

I caught a small right and tucked into it crab-grab, for old-time's sake.  It closed out much more quickly than expected and I pulled through the back pretty violently in an attempt to get out of its grasp.  I managed to go through just barely, then immediately detouring straight up into its spinning maw.  This resulted in a tense but thankfully painless tumble over the falls.

I called it a day and realized it was the first surf session in a while in which I'd made every turn I'd attempted.  I looked up to the sky and smiled.

1.2.13 FREEZING Just-Get-Wet Solo Mish to Condors

After yet another wetsuit half-on abortion of a paddle-out attempt the previous day, I was salivating over the reports.  They claimed 5-7' surf from the NW.  Well, with this in mind, I made MD's my first check.  It revealed surf so bad it made me want to drive up to Huntington and take it up with Surfline personally.

By the way, did you know Surfline claims 95% accuracy in forecasting the surf conditions "within one foot" of actual surf heights?  I'm guessing they're not including when they "update" the forecasts.  Also, I'm guessing they further pad their figure by saying it will be 5-7' when the surf is actually 2-4' is within one foot. Unconscionable...

Since MD's was terrible, I didn't bother checking NoTePads due to my experience making those rounds yesterday.

I headed for points further north.  Dog Beach was slightly bigger but slow.  Seaside looked ok but had a pack.  George's was way too racy and Cardiff was Cardiff.  Pipes was packed as usual so I hung a right towards the freeway and pretty much committed myself to surf by taking the time and using the gas to get The Rad up to Oceanside.  Buc Beach was laughably small and the Wisconsin-Pier corridor had not much more. NSide Pier had maybe a half-foot or so on its southern contingent, but still not worth paddling out.

I crossed the waterway to officially enter Oside Harbor and I saw S. Jetty's small and in direct line of fire of the topographical offshore funnel surf.  Good luck catching those waves, pack of eight!  I drove further north, past the boat ramp and N. Avalanche looked ok.  I also a semi-decent wave break at Condors.  Fug the cold, I'm out thar!

All I had to do was slip my wetsuit on over my shoulders, I kept telling myself.  That was a struggle in itself, the gusting offshore wind lapping away at my will to surf.

I powered through, grabbed my board and headed to the sand.  I didn't bother taking a second glance at S. Jetty as the memories of frustrating blown-out-the-back (not quite as good as it sounds) waves from sessions past kept flashbacking through my mind.  I thought about paddling out just north of the jetty, but there were two dudes already there.  N. Avalanche seemed a mile away and I wasn't looking forward to trudging back with purple hands upon going in.

I settled on the compromise that is Condors, though I didn't notice the dude already out there until just before going prone.  I gave him his space and settled on inside and north of him, but not before experiencing is the empirical overload that is duckdiving in  ~60 degree water with ~40 degree air to greet you upon you surfacing.  I immediately felt the overpowering sting of ice cream headache.  Two more dips further enhanced the sensation.  I tried out a trick that I use to see as very informal thermometer.  I use my lips to make a horse lip fart sound and felt the numbness in my cheeks.  Oof.

My first wave was a racy left on which I got a solid pump before the wave collapsed upon itself.  It was good to see there was some juice out there.

My second wave was better, if you exclusively use raciness as your sole barometer.  I got hung up towards the top and tumbled.

I'd made one of my New Year's Resolutions to not crab-grab anymore, and I must give myself credit.  I made it to my third wave of the year before breaking it.  It was a small barrel and I was too high on it.  I'm not sure it was makeable, but I didn't do myself any favors by picking such a high line.

The only other guy out there wasn't doing a good job functioning as my buoy.  He would paddle whenever he saw the slightest bump on the horizon.  I made a mental note to not trust his gut and got paid off for my instinct when the wave of the session came through.  He had over-paddled for it and was way too deep.

I somewhat made up for my self-treason by doing a proper pig dog pivot on it.  I got in it very well and even took my hand out of the wall and leaned forward to give myself a shot at making it.  This low percentile wave didn't care  for my trying to up my chances of blowing through it and punished me by shutting down, but not before allowing me to be dazzled by the risen sun's light dance on the ceiling.

After this wave, there was nothing special.  I was tempted to go in about twenty minutes later but convinced myself to stay out another ten.  When I finally got back to The Rad I came to the grave realization that I'd forgotten pants for my journey.  I'd also neglected to bring a towel or changing robe, so I rode home tucked tightly into my 4/3, heater blasting.

The shower was awesome.  I uploaded footage of it, but YouTube disallowed it because it "violated YouTube terms of service"?

December AND 2012 Wrap-Up

NoTePads 2
MD's
George's
Cardiff

December is a cruel mistress of a surf month.  This month she bestowed five sessions upon me.  The Santa Ana days are a waste without swell, and conversely, the swell days are pretty much rotten without the Santa Anas.

~~~2012 Wrap-Up~~~

I counted 128 sessions.  That's one session every 2.8 days.

Of these sessions, 102 happened in California, with 99 happening in metropolitan SD County (Oside and points south).

25 (19.53%) of these happened in El Salvador.

1 went down during my early trip to Hawaii.

I spent $0 on new gear this year, but untold hundreds on gas.  Airfare I won't count thanks to Raquel's frequent-flyer miles.

12.21.12 A Second No-Go Denied at NoTePads

The previous day, we were blessed with offshores.  MD's was too bloated, so I headed south to NoTePads.  As I descended toward the foot of the valley, I saw a scrumptious section fold over, albeit racily, into an unmakeable barrel.  I hadn't gone in the water for close to two weeks, so I was down for getting some tube time with very little chance of making it.

Upon exiting The Rad, I was greeted by a frosty offshore wind that was blasting through the 56 corridor and out into the ocean.  I was determined to go for it.  I took my shirt off and put on my changing robe.  My toes were numb from the wind and their exposure to it.  I continued to look into the ocean as I suited up.  I pulled the wetsuit up around my waist and realized this was the warmest I would be all morning.  Having spotted nary a tube section since parking, I made a call to cancel the wetsuit sequence and retreat to the relative warmth of The Rad.  I rode home with the wetsuit half on, wetsuit sleeves and tail firmly planted between legs (nothing sexual though).

I vowed to exact my revenge at my next opportunity, and it arrived less than a day later...

Missed-It-Mike met me at MD's and we weren't impressed by what it showed us.  We trekked south, to the scene of the emasculation, to NoTePads.  This time I came prepared.  People who saw me driving thought I was a pussy, a neoprene fetishist gimp or perhaps both.  Mike felt the cold caress of the wind and lost his mojo.  There really wasn't much out there, but I was determined to paddle out.  It, without question, would've been a repeat of the previous day's embarrassment.

Mike decided he was going to film me from his car, using his phone.  The footage, much like the waves, was forgettable.  I looked like a speck of black against white splashing on the wave's surface.

There was no one out, though I did see sweeper about a hundred yards south.  The water temperature was a welcome warmth and made the temperature much more manageable.

I got a little bit of a cover-up on a right crab-grab attempt.  Other than this wave, there were no stand-outs.  I spent my time on the rest of the waves Huntington-hopping my way to frustration.  I haven't looked at the GoPro footy yet, but I know there is no need to, because the waves were so lacking.

When I finally decided to call it a sesh, I found myself in an upwelling spot where the cold water felt like death.  It felt as though my fingers were closing up on themselves in an attempt to keep warm.  I found a wave and belly-boarded it, then walked past a guy who was pacing back and forth about fifteen steps in each direction before changing directions.  He asked me if I was cold and I replied affirmatively.

Luckily, I didn't have to wait for my hands to thaw.  I had enough torque to turn the key in the ignition.

The post-surf shower was AMAZING!  It's what I'm calling the shower of the year.

12.7.12 FUN, Peaky 20th Street Solo Mish

I woke up at my usual just-shy-of-five time and decided to make good on the promise to myself from the night before:  I would make a good faith effort to check the waves despite the reports' tales of woe from the swell charts.

Because of the NW direction of the swell, I made MD's my first check.  As I came within eye shot of the surf at 15th, my eyes bulged out of my head.  What is THIS? There's SWELL!  As I hung down and then right onto Coast Blvd, I came to the realization that it wasn't a maritime mirage, but honest-to-goodness, consistent grinders up and down the beach.

I parked at 20th and was about to ask a guy coming in how it was.  Unprompted, he said, "It's soooo good!". Yowza.

On my first wave, I was a bit inside, but made it onto the wave and around the initial crashing section.  I did a quick pump, then had to take my foot off the gas as the wave hit a deep spot and slowed down.  I put more weight on my front foot to stay on it and the wave felt sand again, turning steeper.  The wave was shutting down, though it was more of a foam-over than a classic slamming closeout.  I kept weight on my front foot as I slashed and managed to stay over my board, but I faded off the back.

My next wave was a second left, but this one was slow the whole way.  I pumped and did my best to not fade.  I was successful, but there was no reward.  The wave somehow shut down without having any sort of decent slope from which to harvest speed.

 The next left had some slope to it, though it did start off a little slow.  I milked the most speed I could off of it and made it to the inside section where I slashed it well, but there was little pushback from the wave and I plopped off my board, devoid of speed.

A weird thing about the waves today is that the prevailing swell direction was NW, but the vast majority of rights were shutting down almost immediately.

Case in point: My next wave was a scrumptious-looking steep right.  I dropped down at an angle and tried to avert destiny by giving myself the best chance to make it around the section.  I choked up with a quick pump, but the thing shut down behind me and in front of me, hitting me in the back in the process.

Then, one of the weirdest, most startling things that has ever happened to me occurred.  I paddled back out from the right and perched.  About three minutes later, I spotted this massive sea lion, quite possibly the biggest I'd ever seen in the wild, motoring RIGHT towards me from about two o'clock.  I noticed how much of its body was out of the water, meaning the guy was MOVING!

Its mouth was open and it looked angry.  It was staring right at me.  I looked at it mostly bemused, but somewhat bewildered.  It had two huge protrusions in its mouth, not sure if they were tusks, but they were so gnarly.  I stood my ground, getting a little more alarmed.  Then, when it was about fifteen feet away, it let out a heavy-sounding grunt/cough; the presence of which slammed my chest against my board and sent me scurrying.  The first four or so strokes were sprint-paddles, but I cooled it down because I was concerned the splash chaos would attract it to me.  I was so scared!  Within ten seconds, I looked to the south and it had semi-surfaced from the dive it took when my head was turned. PHEW!

My next wave was a sick left, though it didn't look so at first.  It appeared to be slow, and I pumped up to try to generate some speed.  The wave then hit a shallow spot and started spinning quickly.  I was in a really critical spot; the opening part of the lip tapping me ever so slightly twice.  Then the wave slowed way down, and I slammed on my backside rail hoping to throw a ton of spray.  I did, but it was at the expense of making it.  I made the mistake of too critical a turn for too flat a wave.  Bummer.

My next wave was a right, which today meant a quick exit.  Luckily, I was able to make something of it this time and swung up into it for an aerated rock 'n roll.  In surfing, this is called a foam climb.  Here is the footy, but we warned, it gets salacious at the end!



The curse of the lazy lefts continued.  I caught a wave I wasn't sure would develop and descended it straight down, I cut back up then stomped on the deck of my board with my front foot and leaned way down, hoping this would allow me to continue down the face.  It didn't, and I plopped over.

Another left, but this one had more steepness to it.  I saw after descending it was going to close out on me, so I took the opportunity to soul arch my way out of it.  I jumped over the foam and that was it.

After two more lazy lefts, I'd decided I couldn't bear the sting of my wetsuit rashes any longer.  I succumbed and beached myself, hoping tomorrow would have bear more of the same.

12.4.12 M-I-M and I hit up NoTePads

We met at the usual time and at the usual place.  MD's was absolutely dreadful.  We saw a guy fade off a couple of waves.  We were still mad at the place for denying us a ride on its sweet curves a few days prior, so we shined it in favor of good old NoTePads.  A tip from Trevor ("Best NoTePads EVER") from the day before got us a little excited, but my expectations were tempered considering how crappy MD's looked.

We parked at our destination and Mike loaded up into The Rad.  He was instantly blessed by the sweet jams of the GuyPod.  Some would say it was these tunes which motivated him to suit up despite the conditions.  The waves would spill over, but they were so fat and had so much water on them that staying on them would be a challenge.  We saw a couple of possibly rideable waves out there, so we talked ourselves into paddling out.

Our pre-paddle pow-wow didn't betray us.  It was as shitty as it had looked from the comfort of The Rad.  Many waves were caught, but not many waves were ridden.  It was a challenge just to descend into the troughs of these marshmallows.  The bright side of course, is that we were by ourselves, in nature, with not one player hater in sight.

The wave of the day, and the only one I can really describe due to the others running together, was one I caught that turned into a double-up on take-off. I was the beneficiary of a quick burst of speed, which ran out, less than ten yards through the wave.  I managed to somehow stay on this slowpoke, and made the inside connection.  I got one quick burst of speed and came up nicely off the bottom, meeting the lip to slash it, then popping back down.

The water's getting really cold and it may be time to break out the gloves and booties soon.

12.1.12 Cardiff Reef PM SESSION with Forrest

Forrest called and asked if I wanted to surf.  I asked where and he said, "Somewhere you don't want to".  I quickly realized he meant Cardiff Reef and said I'd pass.  He said he'd be willing to surf Turtles or Pipes.  I told him Pipes was out because of the massive crowd I'd spied while driving south on the 101 earlier that day.

He asked if I'd rather go mountain-biking and I thought about that, but realized it's rare we get swells like this, so let's SURF!  I packed my board and tub into his car, this time loaded with my 3/2 with the philosophy that this wetsuit, with its different points of friction, may not rub me the same way.

I didn't want to be a bum-out, so I told him we could go to Cardiff if he wanted.  We lucked into one of the first spots south of the restaurants, suited up, slapped on some sunscreen and walked to the sand.  George's looked downright nasty, but the left in front of the newly-christened Pacific Coast Grill looked tasty.  I paddled out and immediately got bashed in the head over and over again.  I couldn't find any open faces and didn't even get a chance to paddle for waves because of the constant paddling and dunking.  I looked back and saw I was north of where we'd parked and I decided I was over it.  I went in and walked north.

I was not going to let Cardiff defeat me.  I walked all the way down to where the lagoon meets the ocean and paddled out.  I duckdived. Constantly. For fifteen minutes.  Then, I had the sad realization that all my paddling had been futile when I duckdived and the nose of my board hit sand. DAMN IT!  I stood up, waded, then waited as each roll of foam assailed me.  I marveled at how hard the water pushed me back, now having a point of reference in the sand.

Eventually, I was able to power through and ended up JUST north of Suckouts, perhaps the closest thing North County has to a mutant wave.  There was a pack of about eight heads sitting there.  I drifted south after not much was coming through and I saw a bearded guy get positioned perfectly, dropping in with his arm shoulder-deep in the wall, but get nothing for his efforts as the wave just stopped barreling before it went over him.  It still looked sick though!

I was in the main takeoff zone of Cardiff Reef now, and the head count reflected that.  It's very possible that I was on the least amount of foam out there.  It wasn't huge, but it was still overhead on the sets.  I paddled half-heartedly for waves, knowing that my chances of a logger falling off on the outside and it being me who was in position to pick up his sloppy seconds were miniscule.

I looked for Forrest but could not spot him.

I floated to the inside a bit, hoping for some 'tweeners.  I saw a wave that missed everyone on the outside and was absolutely shocked I was in position for it.  I was a bit deep, and the waves were a bit fat, so I had to paddle my ass off.  I descended and smacked it, then went for a roundhouse cutty but I faded.  I'd wandered too far onto the shoulder.

After all that work, I had one wave to show for it.  I wasn't about to paddle out and risk a decapitation from a guy on a big board who isn't used to all that speed.  I bailed and Forrest pulled up shortly thereafter.

12.1.12 MD warm-up, then George's

I made a point to dog M-I-M for missing out on the previous day's great sesh.  He responded as I'd hoped, with ardent fervor.  We made plans to surf the same spot.  I showed early and checked it, but there was some texture on it from the NNE wind.  The waves were coming in hard and fast, with nary a sizable break to be seen.

I convinced Mike to paddle out by extolling tales of yesterday's waves.  We suited up and walked onto the sand, and it looked a bit intimidating.  We weren't sure if there would be a payoff to our paddle-out pain, but we pressed onward.  We got close to halfway out when our forward progress plateau'd.  The constant onslaught kept us duckdiving instead of paddling, and once we surfaced, we were roiled in efficiency-killing foaminess.  Our fingers would rake through the aerated water and not have enough water to make progress.

I pride myself on my tenacity when it comes to paddling out.  Twenty minutes of constant paddle-paddle-paddle-duckdive-paddle-paddle-paddle-duckdive later and my steadfast commitment to making it out was crumbling.

Just as it's best not to look down when you're up high, it's a bad idea to look back towards the shore on grueling paddle-outs.  It's rare when doing so that the culprit thinks, "Wow! I'm really far from shore!" .  After my left trapezius was exhausted from it being overtaxed, and my left arm and shoulder were numb, I made the fatal mistake of looking back and realizing how little progress I'd made.  Couple all of this with my stinging wetsuit rashes (now two strong) and you had a real demotivator.

Mike was behind me and a bit south.  He gestured in such a way so as to relay to me that he was over it.  We had a pow-wow:  Were we really going to let this swell humble us and send us scurrying to our cars?  After a three-minute debate of sorts, we decided we would let it.  I suggested we hit up a reef that would provide some break in the swell and perhaps even a channel.

I put on my changing robe over my wetsuit, got in to The Rad and headed up north, with Mike following behind.  If there are any ladies, or even effeminate men, reading this, be glad you didn't see me in it as you would have become pregnant with a baby that looks like this:



After passing through Solana Beach, the 101 opens up.  Seaside looked ok, but crowded.  George's was showing us some welcoming, but fleeting, faces.  Best of all, the peaks were EMPTY. I flipped a bitch and parked.  Mike and I grabbed our stuff, gushed over how easy the paddle-out looked (it's interesting how our priorities changed) and paddled out.

We flew outside with no issues, but of course we were overzealous and paddled out too far while taking the rip.

We vacillated between paddling in, then being surprised by a set and sneaking under them for about ten minutes before this happened.

A wave came, and I was in a great spot for it.  Mike asked which way I was going and I said I was taking the right.  I descended, waited out the spillover foam and hacked into it a couple of times before I made the fatal error of taking too much weight off my front foot for the grand finale.  Still, a sick wave and one that made all that paddling worth it.



Since I'd traveled with the current, I knew Mike would be far.  I looked to the north, where I'd taken off, and couldn't see him.  I saw a guy WAY south of me, a good hundred yards and thought that it couldn't be Mike.  I took some more waves on the head while I thought about which way to go.  Then, I saw two amazing, close to double-overhead lefts roll through to my south.  I decided I would paddle over there to try and snag one.

Once there, I realized it was Mike who was south of me.  How the hell did he beat me down here when I was riding a wave and he was sitting?  Obviously it was a nasty N-S current, but one unlike any I'd ever experienced before.

I caught up to Mike and we alternated paddling for and pulling back some stomach-churning closeouts for about ten minutes.  Then...

Mike and I saw this massive wall of water.  He was about eight feet in front of me and about three feet north of me.  I saw him duckdive then do the subtlest of I'm-ditching-my-board shoulder twitches.  I hadn't ditched my board in a long time and had forgotten it was an option.  I watched the thick lip descend towards me and decided to ditch my board as well. I felt the wave detonate right above my head.  It felt as though I'd ducked under a depth charge!

Mike ended up closer to me than before the bomb went off, which is usually a sign that he got the worse (not necessarily worst!) of it.  We compared notes and wondered if our boards had made contact as they were dangerously close to one another.

We spent another ten, perhaps fifteen minutes trying to get in to some open-faced waves to no avail.  A second beastly wave, about the same size as the one described above reared on to its haunches, then feet.  It began feathering at the top.  I could hear Mike making some noises, the tone of which I interpreted to be, "We're screwed!" to which I replied, "Don't be a pussy!".

Unbeknownst to me, Mike had taken my advice and interpreted as my telling him NOT to ditch his board this time.  I got absolutely throttled by this wave, but I know it probably messed up Mike a little more than me because he was a couple of beats outside of me and closer to ground zero.  Not only that, but I had the luxury of being a couple of feet deeper than he was and away from the burden of the board. I could feel the tug of my leash on my ankle.  After about eight or ten seconds of ragdolling, I came up with a smile and facing the beach.  I made eye contact with Mike less than a second after surfacing and he said, "Look out!".  I whirled while simultaneously taking a breath and saw another wave explode sending me on the second leg of my journey towards the bottom.

There was no third wave of the set.  M-I-M said my board had tombstoned, which means it was standing straight up in the water from how deep I was.

Mike and I laughed at how smashed we got and made plans to go in, as it was getting too brutal out here.  If there were waves to go with the beatings, we would have gladly signed up.  But we can get punishment without pleasure with our wives at home (this is a test to see if my wife really does read this, as she claims she does).  And so we did...

November Wrap-Up

MD's 4

NoTePads 2

D Street 1

This surf month was hobbled bywayward weather and wee swells.

The wave of the month goes to the overhead steep right I got on the last session of the month.

The bail of the month goes to the wave I straightened out on, then claimed.  I jumped off my board and got smacked around.

Had it not been for the big uptick in swell at the tail end, this would've been a very disappointing month, but I will give it a C.

11.30.12 Booming MD's Solo Sesh

Mike and I had made arrangements to surf on this morning.  As I walked up to the lifeguard tower at 20th St, I checked my phone and I had received a message from Mike which said, and I quote "Prob out on surfing tomorrow".  I look up from my phone to look at the waves and I smiled broadly.  Missed-It-Mike was missing it yet again.

I saw two lefts reel through unridden and I went back to my car thinking, "Where is everyone?".

The paddle-out was uneventful with only one hairy duckdive in which I lucked into an air pocket and surfaced unscathed.

There were a lot of waves coming through and this reality was reinforced by both the rising swell and rising tide.  Picture a running back getting hit by one defensive lineman and then having a linebacker immediately add to the momentum.  The good news is the waves didn't seem to be affected by backwash that tends to happen in these conditions.

My first wave was a head-high left.  I hadn't stood up on a wave in ten days and was a bit wobbly on my pop-up, dragging my back foot a bit.  I recovered on the descent, but the wave was closing out by that point.  I kicked my board up and looked forward to my next shot.

I caught a right and did a drawn-out bottom turn, but again, the wave ended up finishing without my approval.

I had another right come my way two minutes later.  It looked steep so I tucked into my barrel stance from the get-go.  I was in deep and high on it, one of the bigger backside barrels I've enjoyed in recent memory.  I angled down but ran into the ever-receding lip and slammed.  The footy was marred by swirling water, unfortunately.

One other guy paddled within twenty yards of me and we compared notes on the waves.  I remarked on how sick it was and he lamented as to how much better it would be sans closeouts.

The waves were beginning to get bigger, and for the first time in a long time, I began to long for a bigger board.

My next wave was a bigger version of my first right with the same result.  I Fosbury flopped over the back, hoping not to lose too much ground.

I caught an overhead left and it closed out about two seconds after I popped up, allowing for only a second of green face time before I pulled through the wave out the back.

Finally, an open face!  I caught a smaller-than-average right and bottom turned hard into it, but not as vertically as I would've liked.  The section of the wave I chose to snap on was too flat; had I gone vertically up the face, I would have had no problem.  I dug my trailing arm into the water but the only thing I was able to use as a pivot point on the wave was a weak spot.  I faded off the back.

The next wave was a little bigger, but with a similar result.  I dug both arms into the wave, but it was more of a cutback than a snap and I faded again.  I have to start descending and use the change in vertical positioning to accelerate into the roundhouse.

Less than a minute later, and on the same film clip, I caught a frothy left.  I did two of my most stylish pumps of all time with the third one projecting me over the nose of my board.  I had overestimated the slope of the wave and paid the price by endoing face first into the water.

It was at this point that I really started to feel my right arm pit getting raw from the constant paddling and friction.

I caught an overhead right that seemed to grow as I descended.  I straightened out and did a one-fist claim as I watched it detonate.  I jumped off my board and got annihilated underwater.  I came up for air and took a second wave on the set.  The third wave of the set was double-overhead, and I saw a fellow goofy-foot take off on it about fifteen yards north of me.  I cheered him on for about three seconds before I took another gulp of air and took one last one on the head.

Upon paddling back out, I spotted what seemed like a familiar face from long ago.  It was my old buddy Tyler Grant.  I hadn't seen him in close to ten years and the last time I'd seen him was out at this very break.  He was my best buddy when I came up to the US when my mom sent me up during La Ofensiva in El Salvador's Civil War and again in sixth grade.

We caught up a bit and I caught my wave of the day.  It caught me by surprise and I didn't have time to press the button, but I can assure you, I smacked it well twice, then bogged on the third hit as the wave closed out.

I got Tyler's email and he said we could go out for beers but as of this writing close to thirty hours later, I haven't received a response... :*-(

I got a lazy left and pumped on it, but it too quit on me and I ended up flamingoing, then endoing.

On the way back out, a monster wave came and I was determined not to let it separate me from my board.  I duckdived and the wave's power exploded between my body and my board.  I felt the board straining in my hands, a feeling I can't remember experiencing before.  I let the board go and wondered if I'd pressure-dinged the board.  After I was safely in deeper water, I checked, and saw an impression of my thumbs on the deck.

My pit rash was getting to be agonizing in my tight suit, so I bailed.

11.20.12 Disappointing MD's w/ M-I-M, but STILL BETTER THAN YESTERDAY!

After the previous day's debacle, Mike and I headed for more southern pastures.

The waves were bigger and less closed out, but their penchant for fattening up after the initial steep section was worrisome.

My first wave was a right that had promise.  While bottom-turning, I cut it short to a more horizontal trajectory due to the lack of steepness to it.  It was all for naught, as I got pushed off the back by the bulge of water.

Mike was paddling out after having caught one of his own (but a quality wave, relative to the conditions) and I saw an opportunity for stoking him out with a close-up view of a switch crab grab, a move no other surfer I've seen in person, in the magazines, or in surf videos has been able to (or, some would say, willing to) do.  I dropped almost straight down, but got into the barrel but didn't get far before I slammed.

No other waves come to mind, but I remember being bummed out about the lack of decent waves.  We are in fall, the absolute best season for waves because of the drop in crowds, frequent Santa Ana winds and crossed-up swells.  So far all we've had is the welcome drop in heads...

11.19.12 M-I-M and I hit up D Street

There was a combo swell in the water, so I made the call to hit up D Street.  Mike had a pep in his step due to his brand-spanking new 4/3 wetsuit.

We walked a bit south to try to avoid a small pack and paddled out around E Street.

My first wave was a middling right that allowed me to make it halfway through a bottom turn and nothing more before closing out.

My second wave allowed me to drop in, see just how hard it was going to close out, and kick my board up in the air before the wave rolled over me.

I got a look at another left and mustered up a drop, trim, and soul arch before jumping over the foam of the closeout.

At this point, the following Adele song crept into my head, but change the title and lyrics from "...Pavements" to "...Closeouts":



I caught a right and tucked into a crab grab.  I was ambitious in my trajectory, and swooped too far out onto the flats.  The lip comically smashed me on the head robbing me of my half-second of glory.  I came up laughing and paddled out to see if Mike was ready to go in.

State of the Blog Address

And now it's time...
for Eddie's mailbag:

"Wow, Eddie! How do you remember your sessions from nearly two weeks ago. You're like a surf Rain Man!  Please don't use my name if you use this comment." -Anonymous EddieSurfs.com fan

"Holy smokes dude, Vegas was SICK!  I still can't believe our wives bought the "business conference" line.  Hey, I got that stripper's info, she'll be in town next week.  I'll give you her number AFTER I'm done with her. Cool? Oh yeah, please omit any personally identifiable information in the off chance this leaves your inbox." -"Anonymous" EddieSurfs.com fan

"Hey stud! Good news, the HIV test came back negative, so be sure to come see me next time you're back in Vegas.  I'll probably need a new test by then, though. Hee hee! Oh hey, please don't reveal who this is.  I'd hate for your wife to find out about us.... MUAH! - Anonymous "Thunder from Down Under" Male Revue dancer who I swear I barely touched

Ok, so I haven't been able to surf because I've been busy with various endeavors.  I've been dreading posting because I was murky on the details after a few days.  Then a few days, turned into several, and here we are ten days later.

I fear I may be losing my mojo for writing up every single session as it can take a half-hour per session if you include video editing.  I'm flirting with doing a short paragraph for forgettable sessions and then really laying into the narrative on the special sessions or when I travel for surf.

I started this blog as a way of remembering my sessions.  The idea came to me when I was paddling out in Oceanside in July 2011.  I was thinking back to all of the sessions I've had over the years and how I wish I could remember them more clearly.  Another reason I went ahead with the blog was I thought it would be a good writing exercise.  I like to think I'm funny and a good writer.  As my biggest fan, I clamored for more, more regular content.

As a minor possible offshoot, I thought I could make some side money if it got big.  I knew it would never be enough money to live on.  First off, the surfing audience is TINY compared to say, celebrity gossip, fashion, or beer/booze blogs.  Also, the surf industry is in a tailspin, most recently evidenced by one of the biggest corporate benefactors, Nike, withdrawing financial support from surfing.

I'm also held back by my non-ripper status.  Surfers like to see two things when they look at surf media: Guys ripping and good waves.  I give them, usually, a guy on waves.

After more than fifteen months of not missing a single session, I've spent $21 on this blog, all on the domain name.  Thanks to my main man Missed-It-Mike, who bought a $700 dishwasher, I got $28 in Amazon money because he clicked through the link towards the top right corner of the blog.  This means I have made $7 after spending what I imagine to be one hundred hours on the blog.

Ok, so my hourly rate would make sweatshop laborers and convicts snicker derisively, but I can still claim "Professional Writer" on my business card, curriculum vitae, and go on speaking tours, right?

11.6.12 M-I-M and I visit NoTePads

Because of our experience days earlier, we decided to just suit up and paddle out.  Mike mentioned after we had suited up that the bridge was working again and we could've parked about as close to the beach as you can in California.  Oh well, it was a beautiful, albeit cold walk out to the breakers. 

We walked a good amount south before paddling out.  The waves were about chest-high on the sets and barreling.  Sounds good right?  Well, the whole story is that they were closing out and HARD. 

About halfway through the session, after getting barreled for the umpteenth time, I duckdived and turned my head sideways and these were, without a doubt, the longest closeouts I'd ever seen.  As M-I-M put it, the swell angle was directly pounding into the shore which, in turn, was angled directly at the swell.  The closeouts broke almost all at once in 100 yards in either direction. 

It was as though the direction of the shoreline and the angle of the swell were making sweet passionate love with no sandbar interference, leading to explosion after explosion.  I know I was turned on! 

Most of the barrels I got run together.  All of them were crab grabs, some switch.  None of them were made.  I recorded a dozen clips of me throwing myself over the ledge into impossible barrels just trying to get some tube time.  There were several I didn't film as some of the wedges came out of nowhere and I didn't have enough time to push the button down.  There were no real standouts, so I will spare you the footy.

There were a few where I noticed my board is angled too much toward the shore, and the lip would crash on the board, wiping me out.  I will have to note this in future crab grab attempts.

There were two waves I caught and was able to pump on a couple of times, but there was nowhere to go.

Mike and I marveled at how far south we were pushed by the longshore current and looked forward to our almost-hike back to our respective rides.

11.5.12 A Prophecy Fulfilled at MD's w/ M-I-M

I showed up about ten minutes early and watched the waves as I waited for my best surf buddy, Missed-It-Mike.  I really enjoy surfing with him and my showing up early really shows it.

Unfortunately, Mike didn't feel the same way, as he showed up twelve minutes late. 

I swallowed my sadness and internalized it, adding it to my ever-growing mountain of suppressed emotions.  My head doctor says one day I will have a nervous breakdown unless I surround myself with people who are positive influences in my life, but until I find them, M-I-M will have to do.

I explained to him that it was closing out A LOT, but we should still find some corners out there.  He uncharacteristically made the call for us to get out there, and did so quickly.

We walked out and hit the water just north of 20th Street.

My first wave was the best of the morning.  I tucked into a sick right barrel and went for a ways before the closeout reduced my chances for glory to chances-of-Gary-Johnson-winning-the-election numbers.  I succumbed to my fate and re-surfaced.

My next three waves were too similar.  Lefts on which I would take off and kick my board up in the air within three seconds of popping up, due to the waves' tendency to close out.

I caught a couple of rights where I had time for a mini-pump, but not much else.

We went in after about an hour, bummed.

11.3.12 M-I-M Right Back in the Swing of Things at NoTePads!

I told M-I-M about my tubular session on the previous day.  We checked it, but the waves were smaller and looked fatter.  The offshore was on it, too, which led to surfers being slower on the waves than usual.  We waffled and waffled and finally decided to check NoTePads, famous for its lack of crowds and nearby topography that funnels offshores right into the waves.

Because Del Mar and San Diego finally came to an agreement on fixing the ancient bridge that joins them on the 101, our way there was closed.  We were forced to set up on Carmel Valley Road and couldn't seem to get a good view of the waves.  We shot the shit and finally, I saw a set feather and was convinced there was something out there.

We walked through the parking area and under the bridge, then streaked south while wading through the estuary's outflow.  Eventually, I made the call as to where to paddle out.

We paddled out without incident.  I got into my first wave relatively quickly.  It was a pretty sweet crab grab on which I had to stall a bit as it took a second or two to throw out.  I got a nice view of the sun streaming through the lip, but not much else.  I can't remember why, but I bit it hard and got spun around underwater.

The GoPro decided to only work for six-second spurts and so I retired it for the session.

I got another right and the offshores got under my board, pushing me back.  Finally, gravity and my front foot's insistence in stepping on the gas won out, but my trophy was a dubious one.  It looked like what someone trying to do a backside floater with absolutely no speed would be doing.

Mike and I split several peaks during the session.  The best of these was one on which I went left and managed to get a couple of turns in before kicking out. 

Then, I got a smaller, barreling right and I tucked in.  I got chandeliered, but made it through, my first made crab grab since my trip to Panama a year ago this month.

Mike and I were out for almost two hours before we bailed.  I tried to convince Mike to stay out all day as we both had time, but he decided he wanted to go home to see his wife and son.

11.2.12 Solo Sesh to 20th St, MD's

I'd checked it here on Thursday and I left underwhelmed, and more noteworthy, with dry hair.

Missed-It-Mike was out of commission due to illness.

The forecasts said there would be a bump in the swell, and for once, they were right.  I was a bit concerned with the incoming tide, as I thought it would slow the waves down.

Once there, I saw bigger waves, but the vast majority appeared to close out

On my way to the water, I saw a guy pull in to a shoulder-high tube and go in there for a bit less than two seconds before getting clipped on the double-up.  I quickened my pace.  As I paddled out, he rode in prone and I tried to congratulate him on the wave.  Judging by the quizzical look on his face, I don't think he was able to make out what I was saying over the roar of the whitewash.

My first wave was ok.  I tucked in late into the tube for a crab grab but I didn't make it out.  I think what happened is I put too much weight on the front of the board and swept the fins out enough to scrub off my speed.  No matter, as I don't think it was makeable (I saw maybe two makeables all session).  As the waves get bigger, I'm hoping the barrels do too and I can do proper pig dogs.

Nearly twenty minutes after many paddle-fors/pullbacks, I caught a second wave.  It was also a tight right barrel.  I got a great view of the spinning cylinder, with the morning sun trying to power through the clouds, reflecting onto the face of the wave.  Suddenly, SLAM! My world turned gray as I churned under the surface of the wave, getting buffeted by the power of the wave.

I got a look at a semi-open left less than five minutes later.  The speed with which the barrel proceeded surprised me and I attempted a late and unsuccessful standing island pull-out.

The next wave was akin (get it?) to the previous wave's female fraternal twin.  A little smaller and it revealed itself to me a few minutes later than its bigger brother.  I made it around the initial crashing section, but the wave closed out soon thereafter.

At this point the offshore winds picked up and got to the point where they were almost too strong.  On waves this size, and with such a small window to catch them, offshore winds over 5 knots can delay your descent and make it so you have no speed with which to catch up to the green water.

It'd been a half-hour or so since my last crab grab barrel and I began itching uncontrollably for my next taste.  I got in on one late and it was my longest barrel of the day.  The lip collapsed on my head and it marked the end of the tunnel for me.

I caught another right with the intent of doing a turn, but it shut down before I'd descended completely.  I bottom turned and bailed.

I was getting the feeling that today was going to be all about closeout barrels, so I stuffed myself into yet another tight right tube.  The wave coquettishly decided to JUST spill over at its peak, decimating my plans to get tucked in.  I let the board go and sank under the spilling wave.

My last wave was a pretty sick one.  I was late on it and barely air-dropped into the pit, re-engaged my fins and drove through a right barrel.  Unfortunately, I got caught up by the foam ball and tossed.

I'd had enough of the closeouts.






 

October Wrap-Up

D 3
MD's 2
Avocado's
Lowers

Not a great surf month...

I only had seven sessions and a lot of breaks in between.  It's the first full month of fall, so I hope the next weeks have some combo swell goodness in store for us.  The crowds will die down as the temperature drops, so I do have that to look forward to!

10.26.12 MD's Redux w/ M-I-M

Mike and I hadn't surfed in some time, thanks to the dismal conditions, including the first rain in a long time.  This led to a lot of runoff, which is to be avoided so as to prevent getting nodal infections.  After enough time passed, we were at the ready at the first sign of rideable surf.

The waves were about shoulder-high on the sets and we were excited to paddle out again after a solid break.

My first wave was a nice steep left but unfortunately, it shut down on me right away.

I had a good look at a right and I had a long drawn-out bottom turn around the spilling foam, but there was no section of gold at the end of the foam trail, so I turned the long b-turn into an exaggerated kick-out.

My last wave worth mentioning was a sick one on which I bonked it ok after pumping like a madman, hearing a bit of the whoosh! of my spray hitting the back of the wave.

10.19.12 MD's w/ M-I-M

We checked out D Street and it blew, so we headed south to try to catch more of the predominantly NW swell.  If MD's didn't work, we would hit up NoTePads as a last resort.  MD's was working far better than we expected, so we were out thar.

While suiting up, we couldn't believe our luck.  There was no one out at the peak we had our eye on.

My first wave was a left that was good for a couple of pumps before I was done, reminding me of my performance in other areas of life.

My next wave had a steeper and longer line to it.  I pumped a few times and timed my hit well, right into the frothy pre-explosion, throwing a good amount of spray, but once again leaning too far back to make it.

My third wave and left was a quick one which appeared to be throwing out a bit. I went for a rare for me closeout floater.  My style was sick, but style doesn't really matter if you don't pull the maneuver.  It appears I strayed too hard oceanside, when I should've been leaning a wee bit more shoreside.


I broke my streak of lefts with my next wave.  I leaned down into the face, straining to see past the early morning glare.  I should've kept my eyes shut, as there was nothing to see, unfortunately.

Back into the lefts! But it was just a closeout standing island pull-out, a freight train closeout barrel..

My last wave was disappointing.  A right came and it appeared to have a bit of a runway, but it chubbed up and dashed my hopes of a fast ride.  I half-heartedly pumped up to try and get some speed, but it was just too fat.

Unfortunately, our excitement at the beginning of the session appeared to be unfounded and our initial pre-stoke left us feeling hollow...

10.17.12 The "Couldn't Have Been Worse than Yesterday" Sesh: M-I-M and I hit up D Street again

Despite how disappointed we'd been with Neptune's decision in doling out rank waves for us the previous day, we decided to give Him another chance.

The waves were a bit bigger than the previous day and we were amped, having expected the waves to be similar.

My first wave was a four-foot drop that was neither a left nor a right.  If you guessed a closeout, you are correct!  I bailed under the foam after kicking my board out.

My second wave was a right which at first glance, didn't look like much.  I stayed with it, and salivated when I realized the wave was going to steepen.  I glided up and milked the newfound energy in the wave.  The speed I was able to generate surprised me.  I did one pump and then one mini-pump.  I rose back up the face of the wave and was again surprised by how fast I was going.  This caused me to "misjudge" where on the wave I was going to hit it and ended up overshooting my normal target.  I ended up turning and sliding probably one fin out and ALMOST pulling it.  I ended up falling forward and that was that...

When my next wave, another right, rolled around, I was excited on my prospects of killing it.  Surely I was now prepared for the quick double-burst of speed, right?  Well, I never got my chance, as the lip crashed in front of my board, robbing me of crucial speed and turning my dreams of flying down the line into my living nightmare of flubbing into the foam.

My next wave was a welcome left, but it was just a quick turn into a floater on which I faded out the back.

I caught my second left of the day and managed to pump some speed out of the flat-ish wave.  I battled the curl for supremacy, but ended up yielding the wave to a guy coming on the much sicker-looking right.  I waved him on like the true bro that I am.

BOOM! Third left in a row, and I was on it.  I pumped down the nice steep face and thought the wave was going to close out, but realized about two seconds before pulling out the back that it was going to barrel.  I set up and leaned way forward, but the wave smacked me hard and pushed my open hand into the GoPro, causing me to lose to lose my balance.  I did get a sick view of the tunnel though!

My fourth left in a row was a steep and quick one.  I pumped down all the way, micro-pumped where the water goes from horizontal to slightly-sloped.  This allowed me enough speed to go up and SMASH the lip.  All of the glory came early in the maneuver, especially when you consider that I didn't land it.  I threw buckets of spray but leaned too far back and flailed backwards.

My last wave was anti-climactic.  It closed out and I pulled through it.  Mike and I went in, amped.

10.16.12 D St. w/ Missed-It-Mike

Forgive me dear readers, I have really been lagging.  If you know me personally, and for your sake I hope you don't, you'll know that I am all about streaks and numbers.  Usually I can quote how long it's been since my last soda, or the last time I made a barrel (September 21st, still counting it!).

These streakophile tendencies can be really annoying, but they do have some upside.  Take, for example the ninety-two day streak during which I was able to stay firmly planted in monogamy starting in March 2009, a streak I probably will not be breaking until my plumbing (and wanton feelings) begins to fail me.

One day of not updating the blog, turns into two, then three and all of a sudden I have a streak going.  Yes, it's strange, OCD, whatever you want to call it, but you can also blame it for my having tabulated EVERY session I've had for the last fourteen months.

Couple the above with an uptick in my workload as of late, and you have a veritable orgy of procrastination excuses.

On this day, I surfed lackluster D Street w/ none other than M-I-M.  I don't remember much about the session, so I'll just go off the GoPro footy that I still had on my cam.

The waves were small and it was one of those days where it was tough to convince oneself to paddle out.  I beat Mike to the viewpoint, and when he showed, I ran up to him yelling, "Don't even check, bro, just suit up and let's go".  Since Mike has known me for over a decade, he knew to be suspicious.  My initial yet fraudulent enthusiasm may have had an effect though, as he ended up joining me for a surf.

My first wave was a crab-grab.  There were two reaches on this wave.  The first, was my left hand reaching for my outside rail.  The second was me thinking there was a barrel.  The lip curled over just a wee bit.

On my second wave, I looked as I was popping up and realized there was no left.  I stood up and dug in to my heelside rail a bit so as to go right, quickly realized there was even less of a right and tried to go left again.  The lip cascaded oh so gently and I bailed, having nowhere to go.

My next wave was a left that had some promise.  The pumping I did on the wave led to an eventual and disappointing fade.  I had nothing to show for my ride except for my paddle back out.

My fourth wave was yet another left that was so quick the only thing I had to show for it was a pretty sick-looking sailor dive out the back.  Mike was not a fan of it, but his hate has fueled me towards excellence in the past, so I welcomed his venom.

My last wave was one on which I had to pump gingerly so as not to blow it and have the wave pass me by.  This fear turned out to be a non-issue because all the wave had for a finishing section was a weak spillover of its foam.  I took the opportunity to bonk it weakly, rode away clean and did an exaggerated pump for the onlookers on the beach, of which I counted zero during my paddle-out.

Mike had to go in to go to work and I was disgusted by the conditions.  We went in, knowing tomorrow's look couldn't be much worse.

10.8.12 Lowers Mid-Day Session w/ TJ

It was TJ's (Forrest's roommate) birthday and as he had chosen a car-less lifestyle, I had the opportunity of making his birthday for him by taking him up to Lowers.  We parked at about 10:15 and walked pretty much along the old trail.  I suited up at the car and barefooted it to see if I'm still the man I once was.

TJ swore it wouldn't be crowded.  A few years ago in one of the surf mags, I remember Shane Beschen talking about surfing Lowers during the second shift: when the morning guys were bailing and the lunchtime guys hadn't yet arrived.  He claimed it was the most uncrowded.  But when we rounded the corner of the dirt path, my spirits sank, counting too many heads in the water.  TJ had worn his civilian clothes for the walk and I asked him if it was cool if I didn't wait for him and just paddled out.  He had no problem with it, so out I went.

The wade-to-paddle transition was oh so smooth.  Compared to Punta Roca's 8/10 in sketchiness, this is a generous 2.5.  During my paddle-out, I saw the one girl in the line-up catch a left and get snaked two seconds later.  I thought for a second maybe Missed-It-Mike had taken the day off of work and sneaked up here without telling me, but no, the snaker in question was of a lighter complexion.

I decided to take the grom Wardo approach and sit inside of the beastly pack, two dozen strong. I paddled out and caught my first left after more than twenty minutes of sitting, paddling and pulling back countless times.  It was probably the second strongest wave of the day, but it was so gutless.  I did a weak slash and a weaker bonk and kicked out.  The good news is I got my first wave of the day out of the way.

Lowers is an amazing wave.  It's also located near highly populated areas with high concentrations of surfers.  This leads to massive crowds for comparably few waves.  Having photogs and videogs (I'm coining it!) on the beach further intensifies the madness, creating a frenzy that is perhaps only rivaled by Rincon near Santa Barbara along the length of the west coast of the country.  This is why there are often four guys paddling for waves.

My choice to sit on the inside created perhaps a half-dozen close calls.  On two or three of these, I braced for impact during my duckdive, but impact thankfully never came.

I had initially planned to surf the shorter and comparatively crappier left, but I scuttled that plan quickly due to the thick blanket of non-discriminating bodies.  Since the Lowers right is so much longer, steeper and better, I thought I'd beat the system by focusing on the lefts.  However, the unexpected goodwill I encountered there, with many surfers yelling out which direction they were going, led to many a split peak (note to self: create and copyright recipe for Split Peak Soup for upcoming surfer-themed restaurant).

After another twenty minutes or so, I caught a right that had somehow passed everyone by.  I did a baby turn on it, but it too was gutless.

I sat with TJ for about fifteen minutes before deciding I'd had enough.  I paddled into the pack and just sat there, hoping to get lucky.  When a set comes, it does drain the foam off the rabid crowd, leading to opportunity if another wave sneaks up behind a set and many of the frothers are still kicking out.  I caught a decent right and I really laid into my bottom turn, so much so that I managed to dig a rail and lose a lot of my speed as I headed up the face.  I hit the wave and there was little to push back from.  Since I had no speed, there wasn't much I could do to turn my snap into a carve and so I faded off the back.

I caught one other forgettable wave and called it quits after close to 2.5 hours of being out there.

I waited for TJ to come in and he showed me the Trestles shortcut, which shaves about eight or so minutes off the walk and gives you the impression of being somewhere other than the massive metropolis that is the vast majority of SoCal.

10.6.12 Avocado's with Missed-It-Mike

D Street was fun the previous day, but on a Saturday I would only surf there if it was to pay off a bet.  We checked my somewhat secret shorebreak spot and it wasn't working.  We decided to check Avocado's (no need to check Grandview on a Satruday) and we saw something decent, so down the steps we went.


On my first wave of the day, I caught a left on which I pumped quickly.  I went up for a hit, and reflecting on the inner monologue pep talk I'd given myself on the ride over, made an effort to stay over my board more.  I hit it with a diagonal trajectory and did a better job than I normally do on the hit.  I ALMOST pulled it, but God had other plans for me at that time, presumably for me to roll around in the whitewash, sans board.

I had a lot of middling waves on which I'd pump and get no reward for my efforts, including a screamer that I went forever on only to have it mush over.

The crowds were steadily building and the foam-to-rider ratio was reaching critical levels.  I was in position and paddled hard for the wave of the day when a guy on a log to my inside decided he didn't want to mess up his hair by duckdiving out of my way.  I pulled back, bummed.  The guy apologized and I told him not to worry about it, but deep down, I was bummed.

I had to go in after about forty-five minutes due to a client appointment in Vista, which ended up cancelling due to illness.  Bah...!

10.5.12 Back in the Rubber Again at D St w/ Missed-It-Mike; September Wrap-Up

It appears my illness was awaiting my departure from El Salvador to kick into high gear.  Sunday night, we flew to Miami to rendezvous with my cousin Rodolfo, whom I hadn't seen since 1996, and meet his new wife.  They graciously allowed us to stay with them for the night while we dealt with the overnight layover our miles program made us go through.  During that night, I had a bitch of a time going more than five minutes without sneezing and I was deathly afraid of making Rodolfo or Rocio sick.

Then Monday morning, we flew from Miami to Dallas, during which I made the fateful decision to partake in American Airlines' Quesadilla breakfast option, a decision I wouldn't regret until the Dallas-LAX leg of our journey.  I spent that flight in the twilight between sleep and brain-pounding dizziness, which, during our descent into the man-made haze of LA, reached its breaking point.  I snapped off my seatbelt and Raquel protested, telling me they weren't going to let me in the bathroom.  Thanks to my years of practice of ignoring her, I deftly sidestepped her attempt at hock-blocking me.  The two flight attendants were strapped in and one squawked, "Sir...!" to which I calmly, matter-of-factly replied, "I am going to throw up".  Stunned for a beat, the flight attendant said, "OK, but hurry up".

I did my business and was disappointed in breaking my no-puke streak of more than five years and also in only partial relief from the nausea.

That night was nasty.  I spent it wrapped up in bed while watching the MNF game.  Tuesday was a lot better and I managed to get myself into the gym, but I wasn't ready to hit the water yet.  I met up w/ Missed-It-Mike in Oside on Thursday but it looked terrible.

We decided to try our luck at D Street the next day, which leads us to:

On my first wave I had what I am calling my pop-up of the year.  I stomped down on my front foot, then rose up for a hard pump and barely beat the pitching lip.  It quickly caught up with me and the wave closed out.

My first wave was a left with a tiny barrel.  I did my best to switch crab-grab into it.  I was able to get my head in, but my shoulder took some liquid trauma, after which my barrel clock had less than a second left on it.

My second wave was a mirror image of my first.  Mike was in a better spot for it, just south of the sectioning lip.  I yelled for him to go while I tried my luck backdooring the section.  Unfortunately, I never quite got into it all the way, took the high line, and slid the fins out in the barrel.  This amounted to an underwhelming score from the cliff-top judges.

My third wave was a quick one, and I knew it would be as I prepared to pop up.  I stomped down and arced up to the lip for a an off-the-lip/slash which Mike said looked sick from the back but not all that sick on video.

The waves had been pretty weak thus far.  Which is why my next wave was such a surprise...

A waist-high left approached and I paddled for it, somewhat gently.  I was afraid of overshooting it.  Once I'd ceased paddling it, I knew I was in for a bit of a doozy.  I grabbed my rail for my third crab-grab of the session.  I watched, slack-jawed, as the barrel threw out like a microscopic version of Teahupoo.  I got tumbled and then pummeled, but it was worth it for that second-and-a-half of awe.

My next wave was one that was on the small side, but I saw it was about to link up with some juice thanks to another wave piggy-backing the section in front of me.  I descended, pumped once, and the speed section I'd envisioned failed to materialized.  I went up for a hit on the weak section before me, and made it, but didn't descend for lack of push.

My next wave was a left on which I was never able to catch up to the open face.

Another wave, another pop-up, another quick pump to nothingness.  This wave gave me a lot to reflect on regarding the vast differences between ES and CA waves.


September Wrap-Up

A pretty good surf month overall, thanks to my trip down south.  I had a couple of really interesting waves the week before my trip.  I'm getting REALLY close to having filmed a real barrel that I successfully exit.  If I get a wee bit more help from the waves in throwing out and letting me out, I will get there!

Wisconsin 3
Punta Roca 2
La Bocana 2
Tyson 2
Pine Ave 2
Medios 1
Loopholes 1
S. Jetty 1

Wave of the month:  Without question, the double-overhead macker at Punta Roca.  Wow!  I still remember that wave fondly, perhaps like you would a former lover.  Not that I would know, I was a virgin when I met my wife and she still calls me that from time to time (in her defense, it IS to make me try harder).

Bail of the month: This would have to be that frothy beast that enveloped me in its aerated arms and hugged me tight, for about five seconds of old-fashioned pounding.