dreaming of yesterday

General Discussion
1

woke up this morning from a dream where I was once again a young grom, shivering around the packing crate fed fire after a NorCal session, staying as close to the flames as I could, slowly rotating like a roasting turkey on the rotisserie.

Around the fire a rainbow of Birdwell trunks riding below first generation O’Neil vests, above hard earned and proudly displayed surfers knots.  On the board log a line-up of green tinted Yater bumps, an O’neil bump, a wide nosed gaily colored HO, a gray Olson, a clear DK, a black Cat, a red johnny Rice, and my Wardy.

Outside a peak was split, Flash cross stepping to the nose on the left, Quanz stepping up on the right.

Took an extra cup of coffee to shake off the time travel and get on with the day.

Boards come and go, designs ebb and flow, trips are made, memories stored, mates are found, families raised, careers launched and completed, young hard warriors slowly age and soften, a tumbling downstream journey through life.

The constant in that journey for a surfer is the space within that’s just for them and the Dance…and when our time comes, in our last minutes we’ll think of the loved ones we hold so dear, and still be remembering those waves and rides that stay with us forever…

and that’s pretty bitchin…

 

 

 

 

2

Nice.

3

Quance , I worked for his dad

got a ride after work on saturdays to the beach

and sundays before dawn.I could hear

the ford F100 long bed from two blocks away

in the still pre dawn air.

kept my board in guptill’s side yard

when I was hitch hiking all I had to do

was get to sloat on the bus

three transfers on the bus

from visitation valley.

 

pete’s dogs sydney and semour

were pissing on the boards and log

in the shadow of pete’s seawall…

oofie and schlitz ran the beach patrol

 

down the beach at seidlers

the burn barrel made vertical heat

and the porch always had paper refuse

to burn,alex would drop off burnables

llike cedar shingles,learning fire building

serves me til this very day.

…ambrose…

today

training a cat 

to come to a whistle

and appreciate a good rub

and pound on the sides…

 

4

Always gets to me that most of my best memories were made in or around he ocean.  Still unlike humans the ocean has no memory, and changes form instantly.  Just trying to master its many moods has been the lifes work of many men.  That’s probably why its described as a woman so much in literature.  Beach fires in the winter, what a luxury it once was, the smell of driftwood burning is so different than dried seaweed, or an old tire burning on an empty beach.

5

pete’s dogs sydney and semour

were pissing on the boards and log

in the shadow of pete’s seawall…

the burn barrel made vertical heat

and the porch always had paper refuse

to burn,alex would drop off burnables

llike cedar shingles

 

Alex was a true gentleman, always of good cheer…

Visions of Ambrose, forward speed trim back deep, beavertail flapping behind…

boards with hundreds of perfect little parrafin bumps, a couple hours work with a fresh box and a candle to keep the wax warm…

hitting the shower after a multi session day, the pain rush of the water first hitting open ulcerations on the surfer knots…

I find myself thinking more of those days, understanding much of the beauty was in the simplicity.  Much less about the background noise, much more about the simple act of surfing…but then again, some things never change…

 My son, now in his mid 30’s, a senior designer at Google, married, a gorgeous new daughter, a die hard OB surfer… when we talk during the week, it’s a few minutes about family and work, the rest about surfing, surfboards, fins, waves, sessions…

in the tribe for life…

 

6

When I was a grom in the early 60’s our moms would take turns dropping us off at Huntington Cliffs in the morning, and another mom would pick us up in the afternoon. We had to surf by the start of the cliffs where there was a waterpipe that had hot water coming out of it from the oil wells across Coast Hwy, because we didn’t have wetsuits and that hot water would get you so overheated that you could surf for 30-40 minutes before you had to get out and warm up again. Our mom’s hated that so much because the water had an oily residue and a real nasty stank to it. Tar all over everything. Well, here it is 50 years later and I still surf with some of those guys and we still talk stories about those days. Yes, a life filled with surfing with friends is a life fulfilled.

7

Going south past “tin can” beach, PCH rises, and “The Cliffs” begin a couple hundred yards south of there was “Shit Pipe”  which never broke like Pipeline, but was in front of an effluent dirty smelly oil pipeline.  I remember how slippery the clay would get after a good winters rain, that was a long time ago, before the meters, and the no parking like it is today along that stretch of highway.  Now some people call it “Dog Beach.”  but when I was a kid I tried my best to imitate Corky and David there.