Birthday road trip with the little brother.
Basicstuff will be making a comeback tomorrow. Hold on to your socks because all of our vintage wear will be at the incredible price of five dollarzz. We will also be featuring the handmade creations of The Wonderful Meg. Come by and say hi!
Slept in and made my way to Sapphire eventually for a rainy eve surf session. Silvery sky, and salty gray swell made for quite a lovely morning. Eli went left, I went right. The clouds rained daintily around us, sounding like the ringing noise that lingers after the high note on a xylophone has been hit. With the hiding sun, it was hard to tell what time it was when we got out, but we were hungry. After snagging some holiday toffee from the Lampkins and wishing the Currans a very merry Christmas, we headed for Ave A and Christina whipped up some tasty tuna melts on the balcony. So far, it has been a quaint and mirthfully whimsical sort of day. Who needs a white Christmas when you can get a surfy gray one?
The clouds were lingering still, spread thin and patchy over my head. It felt like muggy central California; morning dew had crept down the coast. I had circled the routine wave check for the north of the hill. Cove: Nope. RAT: Nope. Avenues: Don’t think so. Haggs: Humm… Small but empty. Some unconvincing, meek little swells peeled around the rock reflecting the soft cloudy sky. I walked back to the gazebo, just to make sure that some magic head high swell hadn’t materialized at RAT. The beach was still the same and while I was trying to will the waves to appear I heard a chunky sound that was some kind of collaboration between a rattle and a hum not to mention the squeaky parking job. This must have been the uncle of my old and equally loud car. From a distance I could see a plaid shirt, striped shorts and blond head step out of the old Vanagon (which I was surprised could support the hoard of boards it held inside and out).
I walked to the little tree that had been bent to a bench and saw him again, just standing there. His eyes were fixed out to sea.
“You gonna go out?” I asked.
“This little left pops up every once in a while.” As he turned to me I could see the excitement and glimmer in his burnt, green eyes.
“Yeah. I’ve been watching.”
“What’s this place called?”
“Haggertys,” I notified with an unworthy authority.
He told me how it is hard to keep all the spots lined up in his head but that he had been out here once before. That morning he had checked nearly every break from Bolsa Chica through Palos Verdes. I asked him where he was from and was surprised and somewhat impressed when he said New York. From the sounds of it, it sounded like he had been everywhere, had a myriad of unofficial addresses and surfed nearly every break in the states. He was telling me about his recent near death rock climbing experience when he interrupted himself. “Where is Redondo?”
I pointed. “There. Torrance. Redondo. Hermosa. It’s two minouts from here.” Apparently that was his next destination.
“So you ready to do this? Go grab your board.” He smiled.
I laughed and obediently I went to my car. When we met back at the top where you slide down to the water (I hesitate to call it a “trail”) he had two boards in hand. One was a pretty little fish with a beautiful quad set and marble design on the deck while the other board was quite the sight to be seen. This creature was once a soft top which now had a good two feet chopped off and someone had taken a sharpie to it chiseled on a shark mouth and some gruesome, buggy eyeballs. I was cordially introduced to this monster who he refereed to as “be-bop.” As it turned out, he riped on this thing (whatever that thing was). And with such style. This was the first New Yorker I had surfed with although he was truly a man of no land. He was so stoked to be on a wave, riding anything. In between sets we discussed his travels and ambitions. I have never seen someone that enjoyed the world so much. He reminded me of the pokey little puppy. Far from home but it didn’t matter. He was just going. Moving. Looking around. I wonder if he will ever find what he is looking for.
Saf: the collector of all things, most badass prone surfer, best known in the South Bay for legendary Christmas parties and always willing to share a cracker on the bench. Stay on his good side and your days will be well.
Taken from Liquid Salt Magazine.
A fun westish swell finally hit the South South bay and the Hirtzel/Curran crew hit up Torrance Ramp. I hadn’t been there in what seemed forever and even some other Sapphireites migrated south with us. It was so nice to see old friends and clean little faces.
Gettin’ fly in the Torrance parking lot this morning. Looks like wetsuits wont cut it for these guys.
Photocredit: Mike Avalon
Moving back into a familiar place and feeling strange. I have nearly nothing in my little black book and when there is something, I forget to go. It is as if I am on vacation, but Summer is seeping into fall and things are changing; I can smell it in the wind. Soon, I will have better things to do than burning on the sand or hunting for treasure in the local thrift stores and living in a garage might start to feel less like camp someday.
Sliding back into an old place is a strange feeling. Not bad, but strange like that old pair of pants you found in the back of the closet that you forgot about. Slide them on and they fit just like you remember but they still feel different somehow. It’s been lovely showing my San Diego friends around my city. From P.V. to the Hollywood hills, we had a grand shenaniganly time. But as I stomp these grounds again, I feel like am a familiar foreigner. I feel like a local-tourist.
It is wonderful to be home. Staycation some people call it. A road trip home, showing my San Diego friends the great South Bay tour, visiting dear old friends and hanging with my family (like my lovely sister pictured here). I can feel myself spreading out: I am not longer just from L.A. I am also not just from San Diego. Neither do I think my roots will stop there. I can feel life shifting, growing and extending. My flowers here are drying out, creating new seeds, almost ready to fly to someplace new. For now it is good to be home, in anticipation of the wind coming to carry me away.