2.23.14 I Shun Pier in favor of Condors

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

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

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

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

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

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

2.20.14 Super Butthurt at Tyson Street

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2.19.14 Beach Cruiser Extends my Range to Oceanside Harbor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2.18.14 Disappointing All-Encompassing Pier-Wisconsin

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1.27.14 Back in the Water after a Brief Respite

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1.24.14 Reversing the Trend: NoPi to SoPi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1.20.14 WNW Swell Fills in; I Drive South to Meet it

I hoped that yesterday's pounding of the sand in Del Mar would lead to a lot of it moving around and settling favorably, so as to provide peaky A-frames.  I shot down there, stopping to check only Pillbox out of sheer curiosity as to what it would do with this swell.  It sucked so I kept going. 

Dog Beach wasn't great, some of the waves looked fat, but there was some size.  I briefly considered pulling over and having a go, but changed my mind upon missing the turnoff.

20th Street had size and power but lacked makeable waves.  Every set wave just slammed down, if not all at once then damn close to it.

I drove back up north, wary of my wife's hard out at 9:40 for Baby Yoga class (eye roll).

I knew the farther north I went, the smaller and wimpier the waves would be so I was hoping one of the my first checks would be the call.  Seaside looked pretty good but the crowd there was massive.  Cardiff Reef was ok but the crowd was even worse (only three sweepers though). There was no need to check Pipes due to the sheer number of cars parked there.  D Street looked like a smaller version of 20th with not  a single surfer out (!).

I was going to check Beacons, but there was nowhere to park.  I made Grandview my do-or-die.  After watching everything but Gview proper (wasn't working and when waves jacked they were plundered by ravenous brobrahs) and decided to surf Avocado's.  Upon descending down the stairs with gear in tow, I briefly considered surfing the meaty but completely unpredictable and shifty rights to the north, but Avo's looked so good with that sun shining down.

I caught all three of my waves within the first ten minutes.

The first was a juicy left that felt bottom before it got to me, then seemed to fatten and flatten.  I pumped on it for a ways but there was nothing really there.  I was too high up to do anything worthwhile to the end section and caught slight air kicking out.

I paddled back out and immediately caught a right.  I was a little behind the peak and did a small hit/floater, which moved me up the wave, harnessing potential energy thanks to gravity, which then turned into kinetic energy.  I used that to do a nice hit at the top of the wave.  I then pumped a couple of times to get going some more and did another, less critical, hit.  In an attempt to see how much water I was throwing I turned my head and that was the end of me.

When I surfaced I was surprised at how close to the beach I was.

The third wave was a short right that didn't do much, and I kicked out right away hoping to snag another one to the shallow-land.

I spent the next forty minutes paddling out with the large crowd and trying to get in on some overhead beasts.  I gave up about three or four waves that I had good position on, but someone had better.  Also of note is that I surfed with a black guy for the first time in over a year, easily.

I went towards the inside at the end of the session as a few nugs were peeling away there but that lulled out and the mackers started up again outside of me.  I bailed so as to avoid yet another dressing down...

1.19.14 Steeply Angled Swell Results in Rare Trip Down South to MD's

I've lived in Oceanside for a hair more than six months now and today was my first time putting my board in the car for a session.  Given the "Aleutiany" angle of the swell, I knew Oside would be one of the worst places to surf in the county.

I ended up at my old haunt, Del Mar, after seeing a sick-but-too-fast right barrel almost perfectly at Dog Beach.  I checked 20th, which looked uninspiring, then circled back up to 27th and parked.  The City of Del Mar is known for its gestapo-like approach to parking enforcement and they installed meters at 29th to thwart dog owners who thought they could outsmart the city by parking south of Dog Beach.  This results in forcing dog owners to park at 27th (or on the north side of the appropriately named Border Avenue, which is Solana Beach territory).

I saw some hard-to-believe-I'm-in-California reelers come through in my fifteen minutes or so of watching the waves.  I had my doubts about my chances out there.  There were a lot of closeouts and it was 45 degrees out, not accounting for the rigid offshore winds shooting through the San Dieguito River valley.  I was debating whether to retreat into the warm confines of my ride but decided to go for it out there even though I didn't bring booties or gloves. 

I had a look at two or three waves on which I could have gotten barreled but had zero hope of making it.  If I'd been surfing with someone and they'd been paddling out I might have thrown myself over the ledge for their entertainment.  If there's no real reward, I'm not going to risk taking a fin to the noggin...

My first wave was a steep right.  I made it down and felt my nose dig just a wee bit, but was really focused on getting a snap.  The head-high wave shut down almost immediately and I kicked my board up into the air.  Just before I hit the water I felt the whitewash give me a nice solid slap to the back of the head.

For the next hour, I paddled for and pulled away from some really obvious closeouts and dodged clean-up sets thrown my way by the growing swell.  I almost bailed my board on a head-high banger, but managed to make it just under the tumult. 

Later in the session, I bailed on my board twice and saved myself the brutality of being slapped around in water that felt like death for eight or so seconds at a time.  I also had to wrestle my board underwater after taking a wave on the head and ended up getting spun around and surfacing to the sweet sensation of brain freeze.

I'd had enough of the exercise in frustration and took a wave in.  It predictably closed out right away and I belly-boarded back to the heated interior of my car.

1.18.14 Lots of Waiting, Even more Wading from TINY Middles to Oside Pier

We took an extended walk today and the waves looked small, but pretty fun.  After lunch on the pier at Ruby's, a first for me, I gasped at how yummy the waves looked.  We got home and I grabbed my board.

I was at the water about forty minutes later and the waves had disappeared.  Since it was so hot and I'd made the trek, I wasn't going home with dry hair so I walked about 3/8 of the way to the pier and "paddled" out where there wasn't anyone.  The water was refreshingly cold.  It was so cold that with the first rinse of water into my 3/2 I felt numb in my midsection.  Thank goodness I didn't trunk it like I thought about doing!

I caught a right within a minute of perching and got a half-pump in before attempting a backside 360 which didn't go nearly as well as I'd envisioned it in my head.  I got to about the 165 mark before the lip took over and I spilled onto the flat water.

Fifteen minutes and zero waves later, I decided to wade to the pier in an attempt to so harness any sort of swell the pier's bathymetry could pull in.  It took me about twenty minutes to half-wade/half paddle there and for my efforts, I got to sit with two other people and watch neither of them catch waves.  Twenty minutes later, I went in on a closeout.

Bummer.

1.10.14 Small NotSures with Surprise Bum Knee

When my wife is on a conference call for work, Chucho, Lucia and I go for a two-mile walk, a lot of it along the beach.

On yesterday's jaunt, I noticed the waves weren't half-bad.  I made silent plans to surf today and came through.

I got out there early enough to avoid tide issues and was bummed to see there just wasn't much of anything.

I caught a right and did a pump before mistiming the lip.  It surprised me with how quickly it threw.  Given how close I was too shore, that should've been readily apparent...

I grimaced as I flopped over the wasted section.  My right knee all of a sudden was killing me; a victim of a subtle wrenching?

I caught some little piddlers and the knee pain was still there.  I could pump through them, but I was jamming my knee up and down with no payoff.  I got a long left, relatively speaking, and got some speed going but was once again surprised by the timing of the wave and ended up attacking it sideways.  I flopped onto the trough of the wave and called it a day to not further injure my knee.

2013 Wrap-Up

Eighty-Two Session.  That's one every 4.45 days.  Since the birth of my daughter, I've surfed three times, and seeing as to her being 75 days old today, that throttled my average.

Before Lucia, I averaged one session every 3.67 days.  Last year, I averaged one session every 2.81 days. 

A few things that explain the discrepancy:

• There were no surf trips this year.  Last year, during one two-week stint to El Salvador, I surfed twenty times in twelve full days.  That'll up the average!
• I was busier at work, killing the chance for a few afternoon sessions.
• I bought a house.  This is a time-consuming process just on negotiation and investigation alone, not including moving and securing a tenant for the Cardiff pad.
• While parts of Summer/early Fall were ok, this year was pretty bad from a consistency standpoint.

As Lucia gets older and more accustomed to sleeping through the night, my count should go up into 2014.

12.17.13 Final Sesh of the Year

I took advantage of Raquel and Lucia's restful night and gathered my gear.  The walk out to the water was uneventful, save for the disappointment I felt at seeing very little out there.

I paddled out just south of the staircase close to halfway between the pier and Wisconsin.  A set came and I duckdived through it without issue, though I felt a surprising surge of power.

I caught a right on which I pumped a couple of times, then laid into a roundhouse cutty.  I smacked the whitewash, then straightened out as the wave closed out.

I caught a left and pumped once, then went for a snap floater.  I came out of it awkwardly and late, but I stomped it.

The tide swelled to the point where the set waves were few and far between.  Those that did come were fat and would closeout upon jacking.  Over it.

11.29.13 Thanksgiving Swell 2013

When the swell reports become mainstream non ocean-going people chatter, you know you're going to be extremely disappointed.  By this I mean the crowds will be all over it.  Any time something is hyped, your chances for a letdown are greatly increased.

With a low floor, every ceiling seems higher...

After hearing reports of what we had in store, my enthusiasm was dampened by the deep morning high tide.  This would slow the waves down and make them work through more water, diluting their magnificence.

I rolled through what was once my morning commute.  My first glimpse of energy moving through water was about as early as it had ever been and I relished having decided to bring my step-up board, a thick 6'1" I've surfed maybe twice before.

I got to the water. To say what the ocean showed me was underwhelming would be being too kind...

There were lazy, can't-be-bothered-to-break, peaks scattered throughout.  Their faces would likely be unable or unwilling to allow me passage back towards shore.  The crowd count reflected that as there was nary a soul out between Wisconsin Street and Junior Seau's old house.

I trudged north and paddled out into  the south end of a blob of heads, hoping the current would redirect me to the north end of the next blob, right in position for the rights that gave you two seconds of glory before they jacked up and shut down.

It worked.  Within fifteen minutes, I caught my wave of the day, a solid and steep overhead right.  I had a scare on the takeoff as my front foot slipped off for a half-second before I was able to replant.  I compressed off the bottom and absolutely smashed the top off the wave.   I kicked out right after this and took  the next ones of the set on the head.

I was paddling with someone who had position and they were going.  I was beginning to back off and he pussed out and told me to go.  I slammed my chest toward my nose and stood up WAY too late.  The offshore took advantage of the aerodynamics offered by the wave and held my nose in place as my tail was running out of water.  I eventually stomped down but the shock of the air drop sent me tumbling backward.

Nothing else of note came.  I caught one left but my fins gave out on the bottom turn, a sure sign I'd put too much weight on my front foot, a no-no for b-turns.  I recovered, but the weight wobble had readjusted my trajectory to up and over, unfortunately.

11.4.13 Tip-Toeing back into the Lineup at NotSures

My daughter having dropped nearly three weeks prior, I was ready to see what my new relationship with surfing would be.  At times, we were acquaintances; at others, twice or thrice daily lovers. 

The new little woman in my life stood in the way of the seventeen year love affair that had been surfing.  Luckily for me the ocean, she had decided to go mostly flat, alleviating any yearning for years past.

I noticed an uptick in the buoy readings on the night of the second, and let my wife know about my intentions to revisit her partner in timeshare, the ocean.  She was supportive.

The ocean was supposed to be 3-4', but to call it 2-3' would have been generous.  It was a solid 2' with some power, but a 2' nonetheless.

As I was walking north on The Strand, I started talking to Bernie, a guy in his mid-40s on his way to surf for his second time ever.  He mentioned being frustrated on yesterday's attempt and after glancing at his board, I told him the trick with logs is to catch the wave early, paddling as efficiently as possible, and take off diagonally so as to minimize the slope. 

His eyes lit up with my gem of information and I wished him well.  I saw him about ten minutes later as I drifted south towards him and I hooted him onto a wave.  I didn't see what happened, but he didn't get far.

A left came and I was on it. It quickly shut down.

Another left came within five minutes and I was aggressive in my pumps.  I finally caught up to the juicy steep section on the inside and thrashed it, sliding my tail around nicely but with no shot of making it unfortunately...

Bernie bailed after having been out there for less than fifteen minutes.  The guy had either a sliver of a surf window or was getting super frustrated.

I should have joined him for the walk back, as no other memorable waves came...

October Wrap-Up

NotSures 3
Tyson 1
Wisconsin 1

Only five sessions this month.  I blame my newborn daughter.

10.12.13 Head High Waves with Offshore Winds at South Wisconsin

I made my way down there and the waves were better than anticipated.  The crowds were out in full force.  As a result, I went south at Wisconsin to get away from the in-plain-sight convenience peaks.

After an uneventful paddle-out, I perched and was rewarded with my first wave within eight minutes or so.  It was steep and everyone was watching, including a guy in front of me who saw the fire and pulled back.  I didn't want to go but I pretty much had to given the guy pulling back and having all eyes on me.

I airdropped down and pearled almost instantly.  Oof.

After waiting an hour for a wave that didn't close out, I caught one on which I was able to pump down the line and not much more.  The saving grace was the super pump I did in the critical section of the wave.  I was able to cover a lot of ground.

There was a shouting match after a young guy shamelessly burned an older dude and the older dude let him have it.  Deliciously.

10.6.13 Swell and Crowd Holds at Tyson

It was a cold day in the water.  I think we're going through our first drop in temperature of the season, and the offshore winds typically push the clouds out into the ocean.  This means the sun's energy is radiated into space, since there is no blanket of clouds to hold in the heat.

I decided to paddle out even though the waves were still small (as expected) and the crowd was out in force (also as expected).  There are times when the cold will make the stoke meter will point ever-so-gingerly to the red (HA!), meaning I won't paddle out. 

This is due to the scores of winter sessions I've endured during which I rue the moment I decided to get out of my comfy surf check gear and slip on my wetsuit.  The plus side of the equation, is the precipitous drop in head count. 

The reason for all this "I was cold" hubaloo is to illustrate how much of a pussy I felt when a girl paddled out in one of those I'm-wearing-a-fullsuit-but-my-asscheeks-are-out wetsuits.

I didn't catch any waves, save for some forgettable near-shorebreak racy waves/closeouts, in the first hour.

Eventually, I got a look at a double-up and tucked into the tube.  I'm happy to say I was in the right spot of the wave and the barrel spun around me for over a second before I reached my destiny toward the sand.

My teeth were chattering out of control and I was over it after about seventy-five minutes.

10.5.13 Weekend Crowd Descends like Maggots to Smaller NotSures

The crowd was evident right away.  I saw the blackheads on the otherwise smooth ocean surface before I saw the waves.

The winds were still great, so the waves were at their maximum potential given the swell they had to work with.

I caught a left within ten minutes of paddling out, but it closed out right away.

I caught a right and was blinded by the morning sun as I bottom turned.  I went mostly by feel and snapped too late, my fins released over the shoulder and I tumbled.

I caught a zippy left and pumped a couple of times.  I was FLYING down the line.  I spotted my chance, just past the spilling lip, and I did something I can't remember happening since 2003 La Bocanita.  I snapped so suddenly I kicked my fins out of the water.  I'd like to say I spun it halfway around and rode it out fakie, then engaged my fins to spin out of it.  In reality, I'd made it ninety degrees and slumped forward.

The combination of swelling crowd and scarcity of waves (thanks to the high tide) sapped my stoke for the day.  I packed it in.

10.4.13 Good-Sized, Mostly Closing Out, NotSures

I could see the waves from the coffee shop, so I knew I'd be surfing. 

Most of the waves were, as Aaron would say "big stinkin' closeout"s (he's Christian so his vocabulary has been limited by Jesus Himself.

I got out there right on the north end of the big vacant lot where the townhomes are going in.

I got a couple of ok lefts and lost out on a sick set right due to a guy with shaggy hair on a thin old school shortboard.

I got my revenge on what appeared to be a sick left.  It was pretty big, about head-and-a-half and I was on it.  It was a steep drop, and the biggest wave I've caught on this board.  Shaggy was paddling hard for it.  I whistled and he kept paddling.  I started yelling and he pulled back.

Within two seconds of his pulling back, a fifteen+-yard slab detonates in front of me, closing out the wave.

I surface after dealing with the decaying drama and Shaggy is staring through me.  I look at the foam trail to confirm what I saw on the wave, a LONG straight line of foam where the thing closed out, that was completely unmakeable.  I mean COMPLETELY unmakeable.

I see him shaking his head as I'm paddling out.  I keep paddling out.  He throws his hands up in a WTF manner. 

Since he was being such a little bitch, I felt the need to calm him down. 

I matter-of-factly explain, "The wave closed out completely and I kicked my board out".

He says, "If you're not going to make the wave, don't call people off of it".

Because that's what everyone does, "Gee, I don't think I will make this wave, despite being on the wave with speed already. You go ahead.  Take the pumping area of the wave and use that real estate for dropping in right next to the closeout.  I'll watch from back here while I eat your spray and we risk getting boards and bodies tangled in the bedlam".

I say, "Nobody could've made that wave".

"I could've made it", he seethes.

I couldn't contain myself. I broke into a wide smile, and exclaimed, "Yeah OK bro!", as I paddled back towards where I'd caught that beast.  I heard him murmuring something to his buddy but wasn't all that interested in what it was.  Probably discussing the government shutdown or something...

I caught an ok right in front of his buddy and slayed it with a pretty sick snap.  In retrospect, it would have been kind of funny to jump off my board right by him and say, "Man, that thing just SLAMMED shut!".  It would have pissed Shaggy off hard.

I caught one in after that wave.

10.1.13 Tricky and Hollow Not Sures: Four Waves = Four Slams

Well the surf gods are certainly smiling on Oside after a long sabbatical.  Another combo swell day graced with offshore winds was upon us.

I got out there in between Tyson and Wisconsin, a spot I will now refer to as Not Sures. 

It was pretty consistent out there and thankfully there weren't too many heads.  It was good-sized surf, but not big enough to keep the crowds away.  The upcoming peak of the high tide weighed heavily on my mind, meaning any surf would be fleeting and getting fat as the session progressed.

I paddled out to an empty-ish wedge that didn't seem to be getting the attention it deserved.

I had that antsy feeling of Gotta-Catch-A-Wave, The-Tide's-Going-Up and the frustration that goes with it.  I felt like a dog in heat and all the fine bitches were either too far away or, to a lesser extent, had some other rabid dog on them.

Eventually I saw my opening.

I started the session off with a right and gashed it pretty well a couple of times.

I then caught a left that went nowhere.

After sitting for about ten minutes and feeling my wave lust reach a fever pitch, I went on this right that seemed unmakeable.  I barely got into it and tucked into a crab grab and was instantly blinded by the morning sun blasting me in the barrel.  I remember squinting and/or closing my left eye, watching the falling lip spin just in front of me and then BOOM.  I went up into the wall and slammed. I went over the falls IN the barrel, which some would say is an art form.

I gathered my wits and equipment and paddled back out.

I saw a sick right break about thirty yards north and only the left was being taken advantage of.  I got in position, perched, and within a minute I was rewarded for my foresight.

I dropped down into this meaty right and crab-grabbed yet again.  I remember (just after I put my knee down) thinking I probably had enough time to do a proper pig dog.  In about a second after stomping down, I was enveloped by a throaty, frothy barrel.  It was HUGE, probably as big a right barrel as I've ever gotten outside of the tropics.  I didn't have to worry about running out of room from side to side, and the thick layer of frothy cream kept the sun out of my eyes, both directly and through the reflective powers of the water.

I was in there a solid amount of time before I saw the right join the left into a horrendous closeout about five yards (?) in front of me.  I made an executive decision and tried to pull through the wall and out the back.  Bad idea.  My board got stuck in the wave and I was weightless, heaved up by the wave in its dying breath.  I felt my board graze my feet and I could almost feel my nuts getting crushed by my board. 

Miraculously I came up unscathed and my board was right next to me.  I took a huge gasp of air and paddled back out.

I'd had enough of this crab-grab BS and swore next right I would pig dog that ish.  I chose a late drop with very little setup time and my rail stuck in the wave.  My board went over the falls and I followed shortly thereafter.  Oof.

I'd gotten swept down to Wisconsin about ten minutes later. I caught a right and bottom turned, putting too much pressure on my front foot.  My fins released and I ended up doing what felt like digging your frontside rail on a snowboard.  The liquid state of the water made it much more palatable, though, compared to its frosty counterpart.

The waves then stopped breaking outside and it was shorebreak closeouts only.  I caught one in and headed home.

September Wrap-Up

Seventeen sessions.  17!  This may be an EddieSurfs.com record.

I have decided after ten seconds of deliberation I will not be posting where I surf on these wrap-ups, as it's the same stretch of beach.  If I go to Harbor or (gasp!) venture south in my car, I will make a note of it, but until then, nah.

September was a bookend month.  It was good at the beginning and end, but pretty lame in the middle.  There was surf for a lot of the month, but the conditions were not good for most of the month. 

October is going to be a juicy month, judging by the storm activity currently forming.  If the baby comes this month (scheduled for 24th), my session count will suffer unless I can sneak out.

9.28.13 Let-Down from Yesterday's Build-Up

Yes, I knew the waves would be smaller, and surely stories of yesterday's conditions would have spread throughout the coast.  My expectations were definitely tempered.

Unfortunately, all of this prepping was not enough to make me ready for what awaited me.  At first glance, I didn't see much.  The conditions were almost exactly the same, except for the obvious tidal differences a day later.  The offshore wind was still there, but without yesterday's intensity.

I gave the ocean the benefit of the doubt considering how it provided for me yesterday.

The crowd was thicker than yesterday's session-opening count, but still manageable.  I got out there with almost a dry hair paddle-out but was foiled by the last wave standing in my way of daylight.  As the wave hit me, I sensed a decrease in energy from yesterday's session.  As I waited for my first wave, I noticed there was no current.  This meant the NW swell that had top billing yesterday had faded into obscurity.

Yesterday's consistency had faded.  Today looked like yesterday, but the inconsistency eliminated my chances for deja vu.

My first wave was super steep.  I stopped paddling to give myself a shot at making it, then lunged forward once the initial push. I was late.  Extremely late.  I stomped down and immediately pearled.

The waiting continued long after I'd perched.  I kept seeing waves  reel off to my south, so I sporadically paddled down that way.

Towards the end of my tenure in the Pacific, I caught a wave on which I was able to stand and go down the line.  It was a bit iffy, so instead of pumping I decided to keep my weight over my front foot.  Eventually, I had my shot and I went pretty close to vertical on it, which all but cements my chances of making the turn.  Let's just say I held my breath during the turn and about five seconds after it...

I went in shortly thereafter.

9.27.13 Best Surf in Easily Six Months; Best Barrel since Panama

On the 25th, my wife and I went into Kaiser for the umpteenth medical check-up on our soon-to-arrive daughter.  They had a sign for flu shots and my wife recommended I get one.  I did so and thought nothing of it.

The next day my shoulder was KILLING me.  The morning of this session, it stung pretty bad still.  I decided given the surf and conditions, it was something I would have to suffer through.  I windmilled my arm to test my paddling motion and the accompanying pain.  It was rough, but not so bad that I would wince each time.

On the way to the beach I happened upon an entire In N Out meal's packaging laying in the street, complete with strawberry shake remnants.  I scooped it up, along with some other assorted litter, in an attempt to appease the God I worship, King Neptune (with a minor for Aeolus, the keeper of winds, which generate swells).

My first glimpse of the ocean revealed groomed chop, evidence the howling offshores had effected their will upon the water's surface.  Since it was offshore, it was good chop.  I think if the winds had been five knots stronger, it would have been unsurfable.

Wisconsin proper was fat and slow as usual. I walked down the beach until I found some juicy hollow waves.  There was definitely a refraction to the swell visible, a sign the NW swell was the predominant, while the SW swell was the one submitting.  It was interesting having strong 3-5+' windswell, but having it look like groundswell thanks to it being groomed by the offshore winds.  The only hint that it was still windswell was how close together the waves were, definitely less than ten seconds apart mid-set.

I paddled out north of the juiciness with the intent of being swept down into the goodness.  My first wave was a pretty steep left.  I caught it and raced the initial section.  Once I spotted my opening, I lunged up and snapped.  I was in the critical part of the wave and was left in a delicate squatting position.  I descended again and buried my rail in a slash before the wave passed me by.  Good one.

A few more heads paddled out, and I was no longer alone.

I caught a right and was immediately blinded by the just risen morning sun.  The second half of my bottom turn was by feel.  I went past my target and snapped fins-free, but so much so that a surfer of my caliber cannot recover.

I caught a left which was really steep.  My back foot almost came off the back of my board, saved by the foam frame of the very back of my tail pad.  I readjusted, then pumped somewhat laterally.  The lip crashed down on my board and I marveled at my luck in coming out of that with some speed.  I did a tiny pump when I saw my chance, then the second premature section came down, this time JUST shy of my inside rail. 

This made my board flip up and over and the rail SLAMMED into my left shin leaving me in the most painful state in the water since I smacked my head in Panama almost two years ago.  Usually the cold water numbs the pain, but I was in excruciating pain.  The rail hit me in the lower shin, where there's no meat to dull the collision between bone and epoxy. 

I went so far as to check if there was potentially consequential damage, but I was intact.  All I have to show for it is a nice chindondo there.

I caught a couple of closeout lefts and stopped fighting the current as more heads populated where I'd been sitting.

After about a half-hour of nothing noteworthy, I had a line on a left that looked like it was going to close out.  It was one of the bigger waves of the day and I went for it.  I dropped about halfway down the face, then came up with the intention of kicking out.  Instead, I slammed back down on my front foot and ended up backdooring a barrel.  I had my arms and hands extended in front of me and was immediately enveloped in a crystalline light show.  I was in a great position and would have made it if it had let me out in the first two seconds.  My board was most likely swept away from me by the foam ball and I dropped down into the trough without warning. 

I came up with that eerie feeling you get when you think you've broken your board as I didn't feel much of anything tugging on my ankle.  I was relieved to find my board in one piece.  I didn't notice that the aqua trauma had torn my leash off my leg right away, probably because I was woozy from the barrel and the slam.

I put my leash back on and paddled out.  Nothing much else came and I was done, due in part to a breakfast appointment in Encinitas.

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

It started with a dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

WEIRD.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9.23.13 Combo Swell Action at South Wisconsin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9.15.13 Foggy and Wedgy Sunday Morning at South Wisconsin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9.14.13 Shifty but Better than Yesterday!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I caught three waves.

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

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

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

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

9.13.13 Frustration Sets in as Swell Increases at Wisconsin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9.12.13 Good-Sized but STEEP South Swell Rolls Through

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9.9.13 The Bad Streak Continues

I made an amateur mistake this morning.

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

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

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

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

Swell is on the way, though...!

9.7.13 Saturday Morning: Epic Skimboarding Conditions, Dismal Surfing Conditions

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

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

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

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

9.6.13 Beat The Heat PM Trunk It SESSION at Michigan

The waves were bad.  I knew this.

The air was hot.  I knew this.

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

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

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

9.5.13 Practicing my Fades at Michigan

Not too much to report on this one...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talk Story

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

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

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

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

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

My God, did that feel incredible.

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

Back to the day's session...

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

I eventually went in after deciding I was over it.

9.3.13 Yet Another Michigan PM SESSION

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honorable Mentions

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

On to the surf...

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

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

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

August Wrap-Up

Wisconsin 9
Pier
Tyson
Minnesota 3






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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I also did a solid floater.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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