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| 07/16/09 I sure hated to hear about the drownings we had last weekend. I feel helplessness, frustration and anger when people put themselves in situations that can lead to that. Especially on the end of Sullivan’s Island. There’s signs everywhere. Growing up here, it seems impossible that anyone would look at any inlet anywhere and think it looks like a nice swim. But people take chances in the water all the time around here, and you just don’t hear about it unless it goes really bad and someone dies. It’s usually young adults from somewhere else who just don’t know that the ocean isn’t their swimming pool. I read somewhere that the currents were especially strong last weekend because of an unusually high sea level. The scientist types in the article weren’t sure if it was a global warming thing or a normal cycle. Either way, there was a lot of water moving for such a light NE wind. I surfed the Washout on Saturday, lost track of where I was and let the current drag me onto the rocks. I ended up limping back to the car with all kinds of lovely barnacle cuts. Hydrogen peroxide is my friend. The father of one of my close friends passed away a few days ago and I spent a good bit of this week doing what friends do at those times. Basically, just being there. One of the things that you notice is that when someone passes, those of us left alive have to eat. It’s this sort of ritualistic buffet thing we all have going and, even though everyone is grieving, there’s a lot of comfort that comes from gathering around food. It’s sort of tribal, and being a surfer, I can relate to that. It got me thinking again about the tribal nature of surfing and how that all relates to the whole experience. If you have been surfing long enough, you belong in a tribe. You know who is in it and who isn’t. There are gatherings both planned and impromptu. One of the things that I miss from way back is that for some reason all of our gatherings used to involve a fire of some sort. I don’t know if it was the result of those ’60s beach movies where they always had one or just our desire to burn stuff. At one time, you could have a fire on the beach here and maybe when they banned that it sort of killed the thing. But back during the times I’m talking about, the biggest ritual was the burning of a surfboard. Lore has it that when the surf gets really flat and stays there, if you sacrifice a surfboard, the surf will get good again. Guys would save up an old surfboard for the purpose and, when we hit the doldrums, word would get out that there was a board sacrifice somewhere and the party would be on. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a surfboard burn, but looking back on it, it was like a giant toxic death flare. The thing burns really fast and hot, and it gives off this black smoke that most likely punches a hole in the ozone on its way to put a few new craters in the moon. If you’ve ever seen the old newsreels of the guys in the desert during WWII who were working on the first A-bomb and watched the thing blow up standing in the blast zone with only sunglasses as protection — well, that was, just add lots of hair and flip-flops. Not sure how well it worked on the surf; that part is kind of hazy. I do have a likely candidate stashed away in my garage just in case we get desperate. So if you read in the police blotter that me and Vinnie were recently arrested for arson, wax up and paddle out. We did it all for you. As for this weekend, it’s the next ESA contest and the whole focus will be on the annual “Gromfest”, wherein the lucky little rats get to surf a bunch of extra heats, win schwag from McKevlin’s and generally take over the place. Like they ever needed any help. Looks like there will be a SW wind blowing and the current will be a factor again. Waves should be in waist-high range. Perfect fodder for groms. |
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