By Morgan Sliff
This morning, the surf check game was strong.
The 11th street beach lot in Hermosa was alive and bustling at 7:30 a.m., the sound of crashing waves pulling eager surfers towards the shoreline. The gang and I walked out on the pier to witness the large, heavy, mostly-closeout sets rolling through, a little discouraged to make the paddle with our longboards. Fueled up on Brothers Burritos coffee, we hit the road for Redondo, pulling up shortly after on the Esplanade lookout spot. It was smaller and a bit shapelier, but Frank, Boris, and Jeff were understandably not feeling stoked on the beachbreak closeouts. Frank and Boris ditched the surf mission for breakfast, and I followed Jeff Phillips down to Torrance Beach to see if there was a glimmer of hope off in the distance.
Bigger. Worse. By that time it was 8:30, and I was stressing that I hadn’t gotten my feet wet yet, usually being in the water by 7ish. Jeff had ventured down the road to surf the beaches with me, and they simply weren’t providing. He had one last idea, and dragged a slightly scared Morgan up the hill to one of the reefbreaks.
We pulled up to a beautiful cliff and watched as the sets started rolling in with the quick drop in tide. Â Jeff kept trying to convince me to go out, and being an unfamiliar spot, I kept dodging the question and telling him I might go back to my safety zone, Sapphire in Redondo. Â After about 10 minutes of making the sale of why I needed to surf here, I suddenly had my suit on, broke out my shortboard, and decided not to wuss out in front of Jeff.
I slid down the slimy rock peppered steep trail sans booties (surfer foot protection), down the cliff to the heavily localized spot, happy to have a capable guide to lead the way. Â I jumped in and immediately felt awkward on my shortboard, having only ridden it once and being addicted to my magic longboard since I got it in September. Â We paddled out to to join two other guys, and were followed by a pack of about seven other surfers. Â It seemed like the instant I was out there, Jeff screamed with ferocity “GO MORGAN!” and I dropped down a steep set, made a turn, and got caught up in the wave, doing a cartwheel underwater and popping up to see jagged rocks not even 15 feet away from me. Â Sets started coming in, and in my vulnerable spot I dove under the walls of whitewater, barely keeping any distance between me and the rocks. Â I paddled back out, shaking my head at Jeff. Â Everyone switched off on a few more waves, and another set came in and I heard another scream from Jeff, and I hollered back jokingly “I’m going to die!” but still paddled into the heaving wave, air dropping down the face and landing, riding for a few seconds then getting caught in the foamball, rocks again in my near vicinity. Â Back out for more. Â The next one came, Jeff paddled by me and gave me a helpful shove, and I sailed down the line, finally carving and making the most of the wave, avoiding falling, rocks, and finally feeling like I was dialing my shortboard in.
I scurried back out with a huge grin, and everyone smiled back. Â I got a few more, some on my own and a few with Jeff’s help, and after clambering back up the muddy cliff I couldn’t wipe the ear to ear grin off my face all day.
