Just for fun, Dec. 18, 2008

Eastside Surfblog past entries

12/18/08

What a great week of surf. We never have warm weather, cold water and a long period ground swell with no wind. The problem with a straight job is that I don’t get to go out during the winter. Too dark when I’m not working. But a do have a cadre of bros who taunt me with frequent reports. But, for once, I’m not complaining. Just glad to have a job, period. And especially grateful to have one I like. Hope the swell holds through the weekend.

I did manage to get out for about an hour, though. To balance everything I have to get done and squeeze in a session is quite a feat. Winter complicates it all on so many levels. Not the least of which is the gear involved. Having decided that gloves would feel toasty, it’s just another thing that comes in pairs that are useless as a single. While I was suiting up I was congratulating myself on the choreography of it all until I realized I forgot my leash. Luckily I had my longboard so it was no big deal. But the waves were head high and the fog was so thick that I started to think about what might happen if I fell. I could just imagine the conversation: 

me: “I forgot my leash and lost my board.”

Bro: “so what?”

me: “no, I LOST my board. I floated away in the fog.”

Bro: “so what.”

See, I have such sensitive and supportive friends.

Anyway, that didn’t happen but it did get me thinking about where I came from. What I mean is that when I learned to surf and for many years after that, there was no such thing as a leash. When you fell, you swam. And the bigger and colder it was, the more intimidating it became. Surfing was as much a test of courage and stamina as it was fun. As a matter of fact, it was way more about swimming in some pretty gnarly conditions than actually riding waves because the conditions which make waves here are less than ideal. The invention of the leash has changed all that. There’s not much of a penalty imposed on the learning curve. Now don’t get me wrong, this is not going to be a rant about how great the old days were. I love my leash. I kiss its pretty little Velcro head and promise to never forget it again. It’s just that’s the way it was. You really had to want it, to be a surfer. Sure you could show up with a board in the summer when it was waist high, but would you paddle out at Bert’s in overhead surf and 55 degree water with a northeast rip blowing?

Does anybody remember the old IOP pier (the big one with the dance hall and stuff on the beach end) and the big rope that someone threw off the end of the pier? Te pier went way out beyond the break and the rope trailed in the water for about 20 yards or so and had a knot in it about every 5 feet. When it was big, if you could make it out (or jump off the pier) you could paddle over to it and hang on to one of the knots to keep from being sucked down the beach. There would just be this whole chain of guys hanging on to the rope waiting for a set. Now that was a leash.

The other thing this whole leash thing brings to mind is the vigilante justice system that existed at the pier in those days. Around 1970 when I had progressed beyond beginner status into gromhood, there was a crew of older guys (they had driver’s licenses and facial hair) who had sort of pioneered the sport and they jealously guarded not only the spot, but the behavior of those of us who dared follow in their footsteps. And this behavior included things said and done both in the water and out. Basically, if you were going to claim surfer status, you had better make sure these guys approved. Because if they didn’t, and this is where no leash comes to mind, they would paddle over to you, dump you off of your board and paddle your board out to sea. And I mean, WAY out to sea. Like, can’t even see it any more, way out to sea. Then you had two choices. You swam way out to sea until you could find your board and paddle it in or you swam in. Which really wasn’t an option. Because if you swam in, you were pretty much done and the label would stick. And if any of your little grom friends tried to help you, they got dumped off, and their boards were out there with yours. So it was a pretty effective way of keeping us little turds in line. I must admit I do miss a lot about those days. Everyone knew their place and could concentrate on more important things like growing their hair really long.

Eastside Surfblog past entries

12/18/08

What a great week of surf. We never have warm weather, cold water and a long period ground swell with no wind. The problem with a straight job is that I don’t get to go out during the winter. Too dark when I’m not working. But a do have a cadre of bros who taunt me with frequent reports. But, for once, I’m not complaining. Just glad to have a job, period. And especially grateful to have one I like. Hope the swell holds through the weekend.

I did manage to get out for about an hour, though. To balance everything I have to get done and squeeze in a session is quite a feat. Winter complicates it all on so many levels. Not the least of which is the gear involved. Having decided that gloves would feel toasty, it’s just another thing that comes in pairs that are useless as a single. While I was suiting up I was congratulating myself on the choreography of it all until I realized I forgot my leash. Luckily I had my longboard so it was no big deal. But the waves were head high and the fog was so thick that I started to think about what might happen if I fell. I could just imagine the conversation:

me: “I forgot my leash and lost my board.”
Bro: “so what?”
me: “no, I LOST my board. I floated away in the fog.”
Bro: “so what.”

See, I have such sensitive and supportive friends.

Anyway, that didn’t happen but it did get me thinking about where I came from. What I mean is that when I learned to surf and for many years after that, there was no such thing as a leash. When you fell, you swam. And the bigger and colder it was, the more intimidating it became. Surfing was as much a test of courage and stamina as it was fun. As a matter of fact, it was way more about swimming in some pretty gnarly conditions than actually riding waves because the conditions which make waves here are less than ideal. The invention of the leash has changed all that. There’s not much of a penalty imposed on the learning curve. Now don’t get me wrong, this is not going to be a rant about how great the old days were. I love my leash. I kiss its pretty little Velcro head and promise to never forget it again. It’s just that’s the way it was. You really had to want it, to be a surfer. Sure you could show up with a board in the summer when it was waist high, but would you paddle out at Bert’s in overhead surf and 55 degree water with a northeast rip blowing?

Does anybody remember the old IOP pier (the big one with the dance hall and stuff on the beach end) and the big rope that someone threw off the end of the pier? Te pier went way out beyond the break and the rope trailed in the water for about 20 yards or so and had a knot in it about every 5 feet. When it was big, if you could make it out (or jump off the pier) you could paddle over to it and hang on to one of the knots to keep from being sucked down the beach. There would just be this whole chain of guys hanging on to the rope waiting for a set. Now that was a leash.

The other thing this whole leash thing brings to mind is the vigilante justice system that existed at the pier in those days. Around 1970 when I had progressed beyond beginner status into gromhood, there was a crew of older guys (they had driver’s licenses and facial hair) who had sort of pioneered the sport and they jealously guarded not only the spot, but the behavior of those of us who dared follow in their footsteps. And this behavior included things said and done both in the water and out. Basically, if you were going to claim surfer status, you had better make sure these guys approved. Because if they didn’t, and this is where no leash comes to mind, they would paddle over to you, dump you off of your board and paddle your board out to sea. And I mean, WAY out to sea. Like, can’t even see it any more, way out to sea. Then you had two choices. You swam way out to sea until you could find your board and paddle it in or you swam in. Which really wasn’t an option. Because if you swam in, you were pretty much done and the label would stick. And if any of your little grom friends tried to help you, they got dumped off, and their boards were out there with yours. So it was a pretty effective way of keeping us little turds in line. I must admit I do miss a lot about those days. Everyone knew their place and could concentrate on more important things like growing their hair really long.