Nothing stokes me. Its gone. Such bitterness.
Hmm, seeing the sun for a change certainly helps bring back thoughts of waves and sessions gone past. Better yet the sessions and waves to come.
The other day I was walking along a path with some trees and had a quick water view. That coupled with the angle of the sun reminded me of waht it was like to be 12 years old skipping class and getting a ride with Mar to spot X. It was a dangerous thing really, me sitting out by the road waiting for the bus to come take me to school, all the way through Sandlake, then Hemlock and Beaver finally to end up in Cloverdale. Sometimes I would see cars pass by with boards on top and I would just know that they were getting some and I wasnt. So I learned to go wait a little early for the bus. Back then it was safe to have your board stashed in the bushes around the Cape, or when we got brave inside what was called the Patio, now the Pelican Pub. I would convince them to go back to the Cape and get my stuff.
Altough it has been a little over 20 years since those times I can recall as if it was yesterday what it was like to sit on the rocks changing, seeing the rip doing its thing, watching waves peel from past the peanut rock all the way through. Just to temp oneself if boredom on the rights came about was the fast lefts that often break there as well. Considering it was my first time surfing a rock reef kind of set up I was just focused on the task at hand. Being called into a a wave that was head high to me by someone who I looked up to and admired for his stoke was just enough to get me over the fear of it all. Up to that point I had only read about such things, the whole charging bit that the pros and such were doing in the mags. The wipeouts they would take. All of those words that would create these horrible images in my head were holding me back. I didnt want to get hurt. How would I explain it to my parents.
But getting called into that wave....
I certainly didnt rip it up. Not by a long shot. It was one of those days however that the waves maybe broke 100 yeards, all the way through. I mostly went just cruising along the line. My first real wave. Clear water, warm weather (was late Sept), and just the two of us out there. It was magic.
The thought of waves that will be that magical coming again keeps me stoked.
I have had great waves with just handfulls of people out, be it contest surfing for Windansea at San Miquel with just 3 others for hour long heats and 8' swell, or Simmons with only 3 others out there because it was gnarly, and of course those days breaking off the cape with just the few locals around, maybe 3 or 4 guys out. And usually if things go well, there is always something to pick up from it. A little fear, a bit of respect for others, and learning to deal with crowds and trying to become a better person.
All of this, the past, and the unknown about the present keeps me stoked. Sometimes it isnt always about the ride. Sometimes just waxing up the board has just as much to do with surfing than riding the wave.
"I have to overcome that safety mechanism that wants to rise up in me and to keep me from doing something that could kill me."
"Everything’s okay until it isn’t."