El Porto Washing Machine

Surf Report:  2-4 feet dumpers with a few shoulders

Atmosphere:  The most beautiful sunset

Water: Cold

Winds: On shore

Dais sent me a message saying that he was going to paddle out tonight.  I really felt like staying home and resting up, but man, I took one look out of my office overlooking Century City, and seeing the sun shining down warmly, I had to go too.  I was a bit hesitant because I still had some mucus stuck in my sinuses, so I wanted my sinus to dry out, but shit, Dais is going?  I gotta go too!

My boss leaves kind of early, so I left kind of early.  Good thing he doesn’t read this blog.  Or does he?  It is tax season, and I shouldn’t be leaving early, but one of the other tax partners said, “You should never work 7 days a week.  That’s just crazy.  You have to get your rest and fun time.  Your productivity will fall.”  So, this was my chance to have some fun time in order to increase productivity at work!

I get home, get changed, grab some quarters, and try to find my dad’s camera.  I knew the sunset would be amazing, and I wanted to take a picture of it.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t find it.  Oh well.  Hurry up!  Get out of your house.  Dais was already half way to Porto by the time I left my house.

I get a call saying that he’s pulling into the parking lot.  He texts me that he will be south of the bathrooms, and that Biz will be there too.  I pull into the parking lot and snag the first spot I see, in front of 45^th.  I take a look around, and see close outs after close outs after close outs.  In my mind, I would see these nice small shoulders form, and the section flatten out.  Then it reforms on the inside and dumps onto the shore-pound.  I decide to take out my fish.

The sky was just enigmatically beautiful.  The sunset was a mix of purple and orange, an emotion of Mother Nature I have only seen on screensavers.  The horizon was getting dimmer and dimmer as I stretched, trying not to rush through my routine even though the sun seemed to drop lower and lower, faster as the seconds ticked by.  I took a piss in my wetsuit while stretching, trying to relax myself. 

I try to time my paddle out right, but I soon realized that maybe I should have just gone to Venice High’s swimming pool instead today.  Just one after the other, I duck dived a close out wave.  I could feel the power of the Ocean just pushing me back, every single time.  Mary Jane felt heavy under me to duck dive.  After riding my thruster, I feel this board is way too big!  That’s unfair.  So it seemed like one of those days, where all I was doing was duck diving.  Paddle twice, duck dive.  Paddle again, duck dive.  Paddle paddle paddle.  Duck dive.  Look over to another surfer, and he’s caught on the inside too.  Paddle paddle paddle.  Duck dive.  I heard a wave crashing behind the white water wall that I was able to see.  Great.  Duck dive.  Half paddle, duck dive.  I hear another one crash beyond the white water. 

This duck dive marathon happened for a good ten minutes.  I had thirty minutes in the meter, stretched for five, and duck dived for ten.  Awesome, I thought.  In between duck dives, I can see the orange purple sky get more vibrant with a swirl of colors that Vincent Van Gogh would have drawn a masterpiece to.  Every time I resurfaced, the sky would burn another mental picture in my head’s hard drive. 

I finally see a lull and gun for the horizon.  There was a beautiful psychedelic orange swirling with the purple, dark sky as some spotty clouds created shadows on the distant horizon.  The line up was calm and quiet.  It was a stark contrast from the inside turmoil of white water rushing to kick you out of the water.  If Porto had a velvet rope, then that white water was surely the velvet rope, bouncer with a clipboard with the guest list, and heavy industrial door made of steel.  I then see Dais.  I guess his name was on the guest list. 

We chit chat about the shore pound and the line up, and try to psyche ourselves up for one good wave.  We saw these guys south of us tearing up a left.  There was a right that broke to the north of us that seemed rippable but no one was on it.  The outside sets weren’t really on the outside, but kind of rolled through and cleaned up the whole line up.  It was just classic Dump Rider Crew conditions.  I tried to paddle for some waves, but I came up empty.  I tried to paddle for the right on the north of us, but came up empty.  Dais went for a few rights, but didn’t like what he saw so he pulled out too.  I don’t blame him.  It was difficult getting anything out there. 

I had to paddle in.  I didn’t want a ticket from the Meter Nazis of El Porto.  I went for an inside reform, and ate shit on six inches of water.  Oh well, I thought.  As long as I tried!  I said a big Mahalo’s to the Ocean, and said, “Man, I got ma ass KICKED today!” out loud, talking to Her as I respectfully bowed out of the stage.  I felt that the sunset was totally worth the paddle out. 

Dais pretty much had a similar experience, so I wasn’t too unhappy with the session.  Matt showed up on his way of running some errands to say what’s up.  I was telling him about the new swell coming in for this weekend. 

He asked me whether or not we should stay local.  I tell him, “You know how this place gets when its overhead….” 

We contemplate for a second.  We both raise our eyebrows in synch. 

“Trestles.”

Dais, Randall (fresh off of work), Biz and I go to Tacomiendo on Gateway afterwards.  Dais had a gargantuan burrito, Randall had two shrimp tacos, Biz got the carne asada torta with extra guacamole (that was good stuff) and I got the meat ball soup and beans.  Nothing like some Mexican food after a surf session in Porto.