Wake up in February

Winter has been dismal. After my brother and I went surfing a day after Christmas, the rains started. A lot of people are overjoyed that southern California has had the wettest winter in recent memory. But, for us surfers, it's been a shame. The water has been polluted and brown since Christmas. I stayed out of the water for nearly the entire month of January.

I surfed for three days in a row at the end of January, having waited a week since the last raindrop, only to be rewarded by a signs posted at the beach. Warning: Unsafe levels of Bacteria. Unfortunate, I saw the signs as I was leaving the water, having already drank that wonderful bacteria.

"Great." I thought. "Thanks for telling me. Or, better yet. Thanks for not telling me yesterday."

I stopped another surfer on his way down the sand, and pointed to the signs. He turned around and left.

"This sucks." he said.

Brett started writing me emails, complaining about the water. "I got in the car and drove to work listening to the radio describe how the rain tonight was going to further damage our road system. No one on the radio seemed at all sympathetic to the plight of the rational surfer who simply wants to surf and not get some life threatening bacterial infection."

The news has carried an surprising array of stories related to the rain causing potholes in roads. The local newspaper had a graphic explaining how rain absorption created potholes. Tire sales are up this year. Get your new tires now. Potholes can cause blow outs. If you are driving around on old tires, shame on you. You're going to have a blow out, crash, die, and probably kill a mini van full of innocent children. You bastard. Just spend the money. Buy tires.

When the rains died, we got two swells in two weeks. The first swell was from the west, and big. Too big, actually. Huntington Beach didn't take it well.

I went out at high tide before work on a Friday, only to be met by big walls of water with nowhere to turn. There were less than a handful of surfers in the water. After getting beat over the head by a few waves and swallowing a few mouthfuls of brown water, I got out.

The next days as the swell waned were better. I found myself out of surf shape, and needed some practice to get back into waves or get good bottom turns. I varied boards on the days that I surfed.

I had bought a 9'2" longboard in the week after Christmas. It sat in the garage unwaxed for almost a month. When I took it out, I was horribly inept. I had to try a few times to find a spot to lay where I didn't pearl the nose. One on my feet, I couldn't turn, let alone carve. I've never had a board that big before. It's going to take some getting used to. Best that I learn it now, though. I'd like to be reasonably competent on the thing by summer, when I'll be using it to steal knee high waves away from the endless minions of summer shortboard weekend surfers.

Slowly, familiar faces came out from their caves and could be seen at the beach. I saw Venice after the morning I got clobbered. I told her I would surf late on the upcoming Sunday, hoping to bump into her and Dan in the water. But, the rains came on Saturday. Brett and I saw Dan drive by on a mediocre morning. We chatted for the span of a traffic light. As February dawned, Chase re-appeared one morning. He pulled his car up to me as I was putting on my work clothes, and asked about the streak. I was sad to report that the streak was long since over, but glad to see his familiar face. The two friends who surfed seventeenth street nearly every day in late September also returned to the beach in February. I spoke to one of them in the water.

"We haven't surfed in like a month." he told me.

The first Wednesday in February was great. Tuesday had seen the arrival of a northwest swell, just a tad too big for Huntington Beach. Brett and I surfed a few closed out walls. I made quota and left. Wednesday, the size went down but the conditions improved.

The waves were head high to 1 foot overhead. The wind was 10 knots offshore. The water was a crisp 57 degrees. The air was 63 degrees, warm and dry. The tide at 3 feet and dropping to a low later in the morning. It was 6:30 a.m., twilight was blue and pink, with a few scattered purple amoeba clouds in the high ceiling.

The swell energy was clean. Waves came in well formed sets with long lulls between them. The peak set waves broke fast, pitching and spraying under the force of the wind. I took off on one wave to the left and got a short ride before the wave closed in front of me.

I missed two sets, struggling with position and take off speed. The dropping tide and the wind made the waves break later and with more power, an adjustment for me. As my watch alarm sounded the last wave call, I paddled into a wave, hopped to my feet and carved off to the right. The wave was fast, and foam lapped my back, attempting to swallow me in it's stampede. I corrected, and shifted through a few quick turns to get out in front of the break and into the pocket of the curl. I pushed up the face, towards the spraying tip of the wave. The wave pushed back. I pushed again. I rode it all the way to the inside break at the sand bar.

There was no use paddling back out. It was time to go to work. And, I wasn't likely to find a better wave than that. Besides, after a prolonged dormancy, the surfing bug was awake in February. I knew as a left the water that I would be back tomorrow.







I didn't make quota. number 1 was a bog left closeout.
but, number 2 was a right that stayed open for like a mile and a half... well, maybe a little less.
but it certainly wasn't worth paddling back out after that.