Maybe he just needed to prove to folks in the Pacific Northwest that he, a Florida transplant with four stints in Hawaii, could (I could have said ‘can’) slip, slide, and hit the nose.
I’m wondering what Mike is looking at. Maybe he’s checking a cut on his foot or something. I do know Mikel thinks booties obscure “the feel of the board.” So does numbness.
I stole this photo from Mike’s Facebook page. Not apologizing.
…in a different medium, tearing across waves of notes, sometimes floating, coaxing, bending, or dead-on hitting something pure; blending what could be chaos into melody. “Any time I’m playing my guitar,” he says, “I’m happy.”
A little intense looking? Maybe; and this isn’t even the expression he has when he’s holding that one insane and high note just a moment longer.
Different sort of surfing.
After discussions with several of my surfing friends, I have redacted the name of the surfer with whom I had an unfortunate incident recently, for which I have apologized. My Facebook page is tied into the realsurfers site, so, while some people check it out here, others keep up on Facebook.
I don’t really check the Facebook too often, but, evidently, comments have been building up. Thanks. Evidently, if I delete the un-redacted version of the post on Facebook, the comments also disappear. So, I’m leaving it, covering it up with this, hoping we’re all moving on.
Here’s a drawing of a bear in a barn. No intended message, no comment.
…the LONGBOARDING LOCAL, who, after a tough week (evidently), paddled out at a spot, a fickle point break, where he considers himself a local, with a fairly obvious and focused attitude that he was there to surf. I saw him paddle past me, mustache waxed, ready to rip, crowd be damned (okay, this is a judgement call by me, a guy whose motto is, ‘I’m here to surf.’)
DEFINITION- A Sociopath is someone who knows something he or she does is wrong, yet continues to do it. I’ve often thought all good surfers are sociopaths. This probably isn’t totally true, but what it takes to be good at anything is a certain competitive drive. To be good at surfing, an, admittedly, self-centered sport, increasingly, with more crowded conditions, takes a certain amount of aggressiveness. If I can stop just sort of confessing to being a sociopath, I will admit to being, at least in the water, aggressive.
John Peck, a legendary surfer, somewhat older than Erwin Dence, doing (and obviously enjoying) a bit of kneeboarding. Photo by Nathan Oldfields. Find it, if nowhere else, at mollusksurfshopscom
DISCLAIMER (Or maybe it’s a ‘claimer’) ONE- a) If you can’t walk to a spot in less than, say, forty-five minutes from your home, you’re not a local. b) If you pay to park, you’re not a local. c) Mitt Romney is a local at Windansea, Bob Dylan at Malibu. Or would be if they surfed. d) The guy who lives in his van is probably More Local than you. SO, we go to ever-expanding circles of Local-ness; the above-mentioned Longboarder Local being Local-er than I am, with me being Local-er than, well, lots of people. AND I have been a TRUE LOCAL several times; Pacific Beach, Encinitas; AND, some credit must be given for working in close proximity to surf. ADD Oceanside Pier to my local history; I worked two blocks and some railroad tracks away for over two years. OHHH, and add Lower Trestles; I worked up the hill, with a view of the place, and drove out on the beach every working day for ten months (an hour and a half lunchbreak, a third of it legal) in 1975.
SETTING THE SCENE- I was actually, after getting skunked (or unwilling to wait for a possible properly-aligned swell/tide/wind/crowd combination), the first one in the water on this particular afternoon. And it was working. So, yeah, hurry, gorge it up. BUT, too soon, others showed up. First it was two guys, friendly nods followed by the guy on the bigger board totally taking off in front of me. I didn’t freak out. I did, somewhat later, return the favor. SO, Even. THEN, more surfers showed up. ONE goofy-footer was totally ripping; down the line, under the lip, a few controlled freefalls. Everyone else was surfing. I, 65 year old guy with pretty screwed-up knees, was (and maybe this seems counter-intuitive) kneeboarding, taking off farther up the line, driving across. I was totally enjoying it. A longtime local, and the best kneeboarder on the Strait of Juan de Fuca who wears fins, someone who I first surfed this spot with (with as in, he was also out) in 1979, was catching some waves, always in the barrel. Hey, he was kneeboarding.
DISCLAIMER TWO- RELATIVE AGE OR LONGEVITY in the sport aren’t valid arguments for any kind of preferential treatment. They never have been. Having said that… DISCLAIMER THREE- THE DISPARITY in surfing equipment is an issue that contributes to tension in the surf zone. I have felt the frustration when I’m on a longboard and three A-holes on SUPs show up, their training in lakes and at Yoga Camp obvious. ADDENDUM to the disclaimer- I started on longboards in 1965, made the switch to shortboards; never rode another longboard until 1989, never rode an SUP until I was 60.
SO, on the first wave I saw ridden by Longboarding Local, he was driving, hit a section, lost his board. Leashless, Longboard Local’s loose board came perilously close to hitting (she would later say ‘decapitating’) a woman who would, a little later, catch one of the waves of the day. Longboarding Local seemed angry that he had to rock dance his way in. OKAY, so it’s sort of badass to not wear a leash, but, in crowded conditions, PERHAPS sort of irresponsible.
NOW, I had actually gotten out of the water after two and a half hours or so, AND the surf had dropped, the crowd increased. BUT, my friend, who I’ve advised to deny any friendship, after surfing elsewhere, had moved to this spot, and claimed more sets were coming. I went back out. HE WAS RIGHT; after what was probably a 45 minute lull, a set approached, and I, inside, was paddling out. As were others. As was Longboarding Local. The woman Longboarding Local’s loose board had nearly decapitated took the first one. Someone else, possibly her boyfriend, was on the second. I turned for the third. Longboarding Local was, I swear (judge or judges), still paddling out when I turned and committed. BUT, deeper than I was, he turned and took off. I COULD HEAR YELLING (despite wearing earplugs and my right ear pretty much plugged, again, from the narrowing of the ear canals, that caused by bone growth, that exacerbated by surfing in cold water, that condition first diagnosed when I was 20) behind me, I could feel Longboarding Local’s presence. I pulled out as quickly as I could. These weren’t two person (or PARTY) waves. MAYBE Mr. Local would have made the wave. I’m certain he thought so. I caught the next one (yeah, guess there was another), cruised out of the possible-confrontation zone.
PADDLING back up the point, I couldn’t hear anything, but could see big arm gestures; L.L. making his case to my (although he doesn’t, as I’ve said, have to claim it) friend. WHEN I got even with my friend ______, he wasn’t entirely sympathetic to my explanation.
PRIORITY RULES (historically)- There was no ‘taking turns’ back when I, still thirteen years old, was learning to surf. A wave belonged to the surfer farthest out, closest to the peak. That was it. This was enforced through peer pressure and intimidation, real or imagined. IF YOU wanted to challenge the big dog, you moved closer to the peak, farther out. IF YOU waited for your turn, you got one, occasionally. IF YOU wanted all the waves to yourself, you pretty much weren’t out on a great day at a great spot. A LOT of surfing at a good spot (picture Swamis, late 1960s) consisted mostly of moving around, sharking the inside, waiting for a wave everyone missed of someone fell on. SCRAPPING. IT IS a classic situation where someone sits too far over, can’t make the first section. OR, someone goes for a wave, you don’t, and that person does not catch the wave. AGAIN, differences in equipment have made this more of an issue than in the past; THOUGH, not actually catching or blowing a wave that then goes unridden, particularly if done several times, will not make anyone popular.
PRIORITY RULES (current)- No matter how many times I’ve had this explained to me, I still don’t get it. If I get a set wave and you don’t; and you’re waiting on the shoulder; I shouldn’t paddle out past you, looking for the next set wave? I should allow you to opportunity to go for it, unchallenged? It’s your turn. MAYBE these new rules are the work of surfers who… okay, I’m not going on about ‘participation’ awards and such things… these rules are, at least partially, the result of increasingly crowded conditions. AND they’re really more a WISH LIST than something adhered to.
OKAY, I have tried going by the new priority etiquette. Really. I know how painful it is to not go for the one wave in a one wave set. I had a brief version of this discussion with _____, acknowledging I’d done L.L. wrong. “Well, you could apologize.” “I could.” I paddled up the point, got even with Local Longboarder, apologized. “I come here to get away from this shit,” he said, his arm gestures a bit refrained in comparison to earlier. “We all do,” I said. Not sure if L.L. heard me as I paddled away, but I did say I was leaving, he could have all my waves. I heard he settled down after I left. Great. Sorry, Longboarder Local. I owe you one.
ONE.
*I’ve actually had a bit of discussion about this incident; the kind of thing that happens, one would guess, thousands of times a day around the world. But, I chose to write about it. If part of my point is that Longboarding Local overreacted, it’s easy to say I have also. “Okay.” AND, some have told me my apology doesn’t seem truly sincere; AND, in fact, almost seems like I’m burning the guy again. “What?” Anyway, I have decided to delete his name. If you just loved the pre-redacted version so much you printed up a copy, please burn that. Really. I’m sincere, here. Truly.
…wash the grownup out of you.
I have seen a few grownups who surf. They probably shouldn’t. It just has to be too frustrating dealing with the snakings and the non-looks and the stink-eye, AND, all the while, trying to maintain some sort of ADULT-NESS.
If surfers try to, let’s say, exude a sense of COOLNESS, the sight waves, lined-up, peeling, even if nowhere close to perfect, can seriously damage the facade. Oh, you can maintain the posture, but the glint, the Mona Lisa expression… A great ride, that one section that you shouldn’t have made, but did; that one wave where your board suddenly leapt to light speed, that one cutback you made despite throwing in some extra oomph; Owwwwww! The coolness is gone.
KOOK OUT!
‘GIDDY’ is the word I’ve heard over and over by surfers who would otherwise pass as adults. “I was laughing the whole time.” “It was, it was… I can’t even tell you how…”
Yeah, we know. Cool it.
All right. I’ve been thinking of the time between surf sessions. I’m doing a little research based on some vague remembrance of a movie about composer Nicholai Andreyevich Rimski-Korsakov. You’re not surfing right now. Are you getting mentally prepared? Does the down time… yeah, thinking about it.
I should have, evidently, downloaded the photos Jeff sent me when I got them. My Go-pro didn’t seem to work when I wanted to take a photo of him and Big Dave. It was trying to hook up with my phone. This may also why my phone’s data was totally used up. That or my checking buoy reports way too often. Anyway, I haven’t much luck in sending photos to my e-mail.
SO, I stole some other photos from Jeff’s cloud dealeo. No, I didn’t subscribe.
Jeff is a longshoreman, working ports from Port Angeles to Aberdeen; working surf spots on the coast, on the Strait. That’s where I’ve run into him over the years. He came up here (I always ask older surfers, because most of us came from elsewhere) from the South Bay area of LA, and has that casual, classic longboard style; smooth two stroke takeoff-standup-bottom turn, working the wave, rides punctuated with an island pullout or, occasionally, a flip through the wave, just for fun.
So, this is Jeff’s shot of Tim Nolan (green jacket, Tim from, way back, Palos Verdes), with some other surfers, Jeffrey’s van/RV/lookout station in the background. Obviously it’s another one of those times when there might be waves, were waves, but no waves at the moment. Moments. Days. Months. “Is this a lull?” “No, man, it’s flat.”
I’ve been trying to get an image of how thick that line is for a couple of days; or even if this is the line I’m really concerned with. Maybe, probably, I’m a bit too sensitive to my own position, as I, um, mature… okay, we’ll just say ‘age,’ in the overall surfer lineup. Maybe? Definitely. Actually, I always have been.
When I first started board surfing, I’d sneak into the pack at Tamarack as if I belonged there, a big, kook smile on my 13, almost 14 year old face. Soon I was paddling, head down and blind, into a wave at Swamis that, undoubtedly, had someone on it, with me as an impediment to a great ride. I did stay in the lagoon section at pre-jetty extension at Doheny, an eye on the surfers out on the reef. I was learning, frequently thrashed by waves, but always happy to be out there.
It wasn’t too long a time before I tried, hard, to be one of the better surfers out on any given day. Competitive.
This hasn’t changed in fifty-two years. Hasn’t changed yet. Yet, though I’ve always pushed them, I’ve always known my limitations. At least I knew there are limitations. When I was a kook, I knew it. If I didn’t, other surfers told me. I was told to go (by one guy in particular, but also by consensus) to the Carlsbad Slough to practice knee paddling when I pearled on an outside wave, causing four or five surfers to scramble. I didn’t go, but moved away from the main peak. I was sent to the south peak at Grandview when I lost my board in a failed kickout, putting a ding in John Amsterdam’s brand new Dewey Weber Performer. I did go, looking longingly back at the rights.
It’s not me, though I did once have a VW bus (and hair)
Another lost board incident, with a near miss with some stinkbug-stanced kook Marine swimming after his borrowed-or-rented board found him standing on my board in the shallows. “You like this board,” he asked, threatening to break it into “a million pieces if I ever tried to hit him with it again.” He had two friends to back him up; I had my second brother down, Philip. “Okay.” Still, I paddled back out, ten feet away from him and his friends, brave look on my face.
I persisted. With the nearest waves twenty miles from Fallbrook, I always went out. South wind, north wind, white-caps, big or small. There were setbacks, times I just couldn’t connect, couldn’t get into the rhythm; days where trying to get out for another closeout seemed like more work than it was worth; but I was improving.
Hey, this will have to be part one; I just have to go, and I don’t have the whole arc figured out. I’ll be sixty-six in August; I’m still as stoked (and as immature, emotionally) as ever; still want to be, during any given surf session, competitive. I do admit to having more handicaps than I’d like. I’ve adjusted. Bigger board, mostly.
I had two sessions this week; the first, at a mutant slab with a massive current. I was humbled. While I was thrashed and sucked, others were thrashed and got some great rides. I would love to say I wasn’t embarrassed as much as disappointed in myself. That’s what I’d love to say; the truth is, again, I’m still working that out. Possibly to make up for this, I went to a more user-friendly spot the next day. I didn’t suck.
just coming up. Photo by Jeffrey Vaughan.
Not really surprisingly, a couple of older surfers I’ve surfed with before showed up. When the waves went from almost flat to pretty darn good, one of them, as cool a surfer as one would meet, admitted that, when he sees great waves, “I just get giddy!”
This giddiness, something so profound that we can forget the posturing and coolness, is at the very heart of surfing. It’s something common to all real surfers. Maybe it takes a better wave to bring it out in some, but that bustable smile is there. We’re all, occasionally, humbled. The ocean always gets the last word. Not actually ready to be humble, yet, I’m persisting.
…somewhere. Usually somewhere else. I’m, luckily, pretty busy painting, today being the only day lately where rain isn’t threatening or falling. Since there are no swell forecasts that predict anything close, and I don’t have time to go to the coast, I googled/yahooed ‘no surf,’ got this image.
The cove is, evidently, now called ‘No Surf Beach,’ along Sunset Cliffs. I actually have a couple of stories about the spot. The first involves Stephen Penn and I, both twenty years old, freshly married and living in San Diego. Steve, formerly of Marin County, and his wife, formerly Dru Urner, formerly of Fallbrook, were living in Ocean Beach; Trish and I in Pacific Beach. Our daughter, Drucilla (born on earth day, April 22, 1980, before it was Earth Day- and, oddly enough, as I edit this, it’s again Earth Day- Happy Birthday), is actually named after Dru, a promise Trish made to Drucilla Urner, evidently in typing class back in high school.
It was 1972, and Steve and I went looking for waves. I had surfed Sunset Cliffs before, but at Luscombs, the point in the distance, and once at New Break (with Bucky Davis and Phillip Harper, walking in back in 1967- we had no problems with locals). When Steve and I arrived at the little parking area in the foreground, there were four or five surfers at the little peak. The tide was lower and the peak was closer to the foreground point. I thought these other surfers were less a problem than Steve did. “They’ll leave,” I said. “Just start catching waves.”
Now, I don’t want to sound all aggro about this, though I may have been a little more exuberant while trying to convince Stephen to go out. It was either here or Ocean Beach jetty. Surfing mostly Crystal Pier, mostly after work and on weekends, with strangers, since Trish and I got married in November 1971 had pushed me toward a sort of ghetto mentality. It wasn’t surfing Swamis beachbreak with friends. This was city surfing. No eye contact.
Yeah, still dealing with my wave lust, bad manners. I wasn’t, I insist, pushy, merely persistent, going for position when possible, always ready for waves someone missed or fell on.
Three hours or so later, with three or four different surfers sharing the lineup, with the tide filling in and the waves ending on the mossy ledge beyond the pinnacle rock, Steve and I were climbing back up the cliff. With almost all of my surfing done between/before/after school/work/other-seemingly-or-actually important-stuff, forty-five minutes to an hour an a half, with me mentally breaking it into fifteen minute ‘heats,’ this was one of the longest sessions I had surfed. I was exhausted.
Maybe it was the competition. I couldn’t get out of the water before Steve; and the waves kept coming. I have more to say on the whole waves vs. life subject, but … Oh, gotta get to some actually important stuff. If I get some work done, and the waves… you know… I’ll be ready.
Later. WAIT! Since there’s no waves in the local forecast, and not mentioning how Adam Wipeout scored, Mike could have but didn’t, and that I ran into Darrin, who scored on the coast, at Wal-Mart, and because I’m planning on going down to my Dad’s house (now my brother’s house) in Chinook, Washington, here’s a shot I stole from a forecast site.
…to my ego, I’m posting a few photos from a recent session. Yeah, I know there’s kind of a thing about taking photos of places that might be recognized, and I did tell the stealth photographer I wouldn’t reveal where or who. But I did thank him, despite asking for photos where I don’t look fat.
Guess he didn’t have any of those.
Anyway, I know the waves were actually bigger later. Pretty sure. There’s nothing at all in the forecast for the Strait, so, guess I’d better concentrate on work. OR go to the coast.
Yeah; also working on actually standing up on this board. I’m blaming the oversized booties. No, I can’t explain the odd paddle positioning; more concentrated on my own positioning on the wave. Obviously shoulder high for a fat guy. Yeah, yeah…prrrrrtttt.
ONE: I was filling my friend Keith Darrock in on some of the details as I made my way back home, focusing, probably, for a moment, on how I’d almost said something to a surfer who paddled for a couple of set waves he didn’t catch. Now, although I do have a reputation for being too vocal in the water, it’s not for calling people out (more like over exuberance). I may have given the surfer in question a disparaging look that might, easily, be translated to, “you’ll have to assume, sir, that the next time we’re going for a set wave, I won’t back off.”
That didn’t happen. Fortunately. When I got to the beach I discovered the surfer in question is Arnold (sorry I don’t know his last name), one of the early pioneers of surfing on the Strait, an important member of the Olympic Peninsula Surfrider chapter (as am I), and a close friend and surfing partner of the first surfer I met up here, Daryl Wood.
Daryl Wood, left, Arnold, other Surfrider Olympic Peninsula Chapter members on assignment
“I feel like,” I told Keith, “when I get back on the beach, I should apologize to everyone else who was in the water with me.” “You probably should,” Keith said. I did apologize to Arnold for “any offensive thing I might have done,” once he peeled off his hood, once the guy who was riding with him mentioned his name. This, weirdly, coincided with Concrete Pete, freshly back in the Northwest after an extended stint in Cabo and Southern California, gave me a big hug.
Unusual. I don’t think of myself as being a hug magnet. Now, I did once give Concrete Pete credit for getting the wave of the day on a very small (normal, if normal isn’t flat) day. I wasn’t lying. I really wanted that wave. Arnold said he was only offended I hadn’t given him a hug. Really? Okay.
TWO: If Tim Nolan hadn’t already gotten out of the water, I would have been the fourth oldest surfer in the lineup. Tim is about four years older than I am. As long as he’s still surfing, I have years left in my career. In fact, when I first ran into Tim, over ten years ago; Tim, from Palos Verdes, originally; me from San Diego’s North County; he told me my best years were yet to come.
A legend on the Strait, Tim Nolan. Google “Tim Nolan and the Wave of the Day” for more. It’s somewhere in the realsurfers.net archives. Still dominates.
I’ll have to say I continue to be surprised by how much I get out of surfing; how a dark and moving line at the horizon can be so… so many things, really; from thrilling to frightening.
Yeah, I know; if you’re nineteen and you see three surfers out, each over sixty, you’re thinking, ‘easy pickings.’ I thought the same thing.
Big Dave, two years ago, taking a rare break
THREE: BIG DAVE, a fifteen year old ‘Crystal Pier Rat’ when I moved to Pacific Beach, San Diego, when I was twenty; is one of my surfing heroes. He’s now fifty-nine, and the last time I surfed with him, he was in the water when I arrived. I surfed for about two and a half hours (Dave actually wears a watch in the water, a practice I gave up), got out, got some coffee, rested a a bit, then went out for “Five more.” That became fifteen or so.
Two things here: Good waves are rare; one should maximize the experience. Big Dave and I both catch a lot of waves.
So, wanting to truly maximize my time, with the waves (super unusual) refusing to stop rolling in, I hung out on the beach a while before changing into my real world (painting) clothes. I wanted to take a new photo of Dave.
Somewhere in this time, Tim Nolan returned, just as Dave went streaking across another wave. “There’s Big Dave,” Tim said, “Owning it.” Yeah. When I left, five hours after I arrived, Big Dave was still in the water. I should mention, I was exhausted. That’s why Dave’s moved up a few notches on my list of heroes.
AND, and we have some discussions in the water. Often I’m paddling out when he’s on a wave, and vice versa. “Grab a rail,” he’ll say, “do some side-slipping.” “Yeah, I’ll say, when I see some of those sections, I’ll just drop down (Adam Wipeout would call this ‘barrel- dodging’). Maybe I’m scared.” “Don’t be scared.” “Oh, okay.” “Stay up high; that’s how you make those sections.” “Yeah. Right.”
On my most memorable wave on a memorable day, I stayed high on the wave into a section I was sure I wouldn’t make. I could sort of see Dave down the line, paddling out. I held the high line. Thanks, Dave.
Real Surfers 