4.30.14 A Lot Smaller at North Tyson, then North Pinnies

I didn't bother checking reports this morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was pretty crowded out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4.23.14 Not As Good As It Looked at North Tyson

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

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

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

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

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

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

4.21.14 Unexpected Onshore Leads to Crisis of Faith

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4.18.14 First One Out at S. Pier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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







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

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

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

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

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

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

I went in after about a half-hour.

4.13.14 A No-Go Negated at South Mavs

This will be a short one.

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

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

4.11.14 Jockeying for Position at North Condors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No other memorable waves came and I went in.

4.9.14 A No-Go Denied at South Mavs

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

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

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

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

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

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

4.7.14 Closeouts Galore at Tyson

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

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

4.6.14 Bigger, Better Pinnies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4.4.14 Small Low-Tide Tyson

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

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

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

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

3.19.14 Complete Sea Change from Previous Session

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

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

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

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

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

3.18.14 Stormy and Big N. Tyson to S. Winnies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3.17.14 Mostly S. Pier Rights

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

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

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

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

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

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

It got really crowded towards the pier.  I bailed.

3.7.14 South Winnies to North Pinnies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3.5.14 Better (?) South Tyson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I bailed shortly thereafter.

3.4.14 Quick Mish to S. Jetty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3.3.14 Post-Storm Pier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2.23.14 I Shun Pier in favor of Condors

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

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

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

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

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

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

2.20.14 Super Butthurt at Tyson Street

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2.19.14 Beach Cruiser Extends my Range to Oceanside Harbor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2.18.14 Disappointing All-Encompassing Pier-Wisconsin

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1.27.14 Back in the Water after a Brief Respite

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1.24.14 Reversing the Trend: NoPi to SoPi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.