Surfing San Pedrito
By Russ Mease
The tug on my ankle was more aggressive than in previous wipeouts. I knew immediately that I was being dragged by not just my own board, but by another and its owner, all linked up with me at the tail end. The five long seconds of being pulled towards the shore, face-up under the churning surf, was long enough for my face to flush with embarrassment and regret. I had done the kook thing, I had dropped-in on another surfer’s wave, his silhouette still flashing before my mind’s eye as the scene replayed in slow motion.
He appeared in my peripheral as the nose of my eight foot Odysea soft-top teetered just beneath the lip of the wave, my hands in the cobra position, back arched, ready to stand-up on my board. It might have been a perfectly timed take-off, but his sudden appearance interrupted my flow and instead of popping onto my feet I briefly hesitated, slid onto my knees with my eyes still gazing down toward his vapor trail snaking in front of the nose of my board, and my body quickly followed, diving over the falls and taking head-on the most turbulent and energized part of the wave. All I could do was cover my head with my forearms, relax my body and allow that wave to rag doll me and release me after its energy was spent.
“Your leash got tangled with my board,” his only words to me, swimming up and tossing my leash off his board. That was all it took to untangle our two boards; and then him hopping up and paddling away with a side glance. “Sorry man, that was my fault,” with the awkward, “I apologize,” thrown in for extra emphasis in case he didn’t understand that I was definitely not THAT person.
But I was that person. I was the only beginner on a big soft-top at a non-beginner beach. “Cerritos would be better,” I was warned from a friend back home. “You might be ok,” he followed up, “if it’s not too big. Sharp rocks tho. Wear booties…and watch for rips and currents. Surf when the wave is breaking slow, and not fast and throwing a lip. Or just go to Cerritos with all the other gringos.” All really good advice I knew, but still my booties and wetsuit were in the van; the water being too warm for my only wetsuit, a 3/2 I had picked up in Huntington Beach three months earlier; and I just couldn’t seem to find any slow breaking waves that were not also close to shore and breaking near rocks, which I was keen to stay far away from. It was fast and steep everywhere out back, but I was willing to take some falls for the experience. Also, had my friend been to Cerritos recently?! That place is a zoo.
At first I stayed way down the line on the outside of the main breaking sets, waiting for occasional swells that broke farther down. These were right breaking waves, and I was all the way right, away from the crowded lineups, where I had the space to work on some basics like recognizing the swells as they appeared on the horizon, practicing pivoting the board, and keeping enough space around me for inevitable kook moves when a swell came through that I thought looked make-able. I had managed to catch two or three per session, angling slightly from the pop-up, and riding them either straight down the face, or even getting the angle sharp enough to keep alongside the whitewater as it broke next to me, but I was not yet able to keep a high line and ride out in front of the pocket. Most times, however, I would paddle too slow and the wave would stand up beneath me as I slid off the backside. Still other times I was too far in front and my tail would lift too fast, pushing my nose into the steepening part of the wave, tumbling me head-over-heels into the surf.
After a period of time on the outside, I slowly, hesitantly paddled in closer to the group, popping up to seated to occasionally scan the horizon for incoming swells, my hand held in front of my face to screen my eyes from the setting sun and its reflection on the water. When I would glance to my right, into the pocket of the forming wave, I was in prime position to watch as several short-boarders paddled into position and with others dropping back, the one positioned best taking three or four quick strokes near the lip before moving to their feet in one fluid motion, snaking up and down along the green face of the wave with the whitewater twisting and foaming behind them. The sun was low and shadows were long with oranges and deep reds refracting through the waves. These waves typically flattened out by the time they got out to where I was sitting, so I pushed closer to the group.
Soon a few surfers were posting up on my left side, having just paddled out from the shore, and were now floating near me. Did they not see the big green soft-top between my legs? I briefly thought about warning them, or apologizing in advance, having some kind of precognitive insight into how this was about to unfold. Too late though, a swell was coming right towards me and there was no time to explain, only time to swing around and paddle for my dream wave.