Was in San Blas, Mexico way back when. This guy had a brand new stick he brought down for the trip. We were all partying the first evening there at the Hotel Bucanero. He pulls out the board to show it off. Proceeds to stick the nose of the board into the high speed ceiling fan. This was one of those metal blade fans with guy wires to the corners of the room to keep it from flying off the ceiling and killing someone. Anyway, fan blade went from the rail to the stringer in point zero seconds. Poor guy…
Played football 1st two years of high school, didn’t like it much, never interested in watching it on TV. Late 1970’s lived in North County San Diego and found a new love for for the game… I would go to my Swami’s about 1/2 hour before game time and watch from the parking lot. As if a bell had rung, everyone would leave the water and come streaming up the stairs to their cars, like a kicked over ant colony, then drive away. By kick off time I got to surf to exhaustion in nearly empty waves. Great time of year for surf in that area too!
Dr. Strange, I have had similar experiences though the years but around here it is no longer. Super Bowl Sunday and New Year’s Day were the BEST time to hit prime breaks like Rincon, Malibu, et. al. It was guaranteed you would score enough waves to satiate. The lineups would be empty or darn near it. Sadly, critical mass has been reached and there seems to be no down times or grace periods ever. Always crowded by earlier standards. The forcasting services and web sites are indeed a double edged sword and the cuts keep getting deeper.
November 1997
Central America. The strong El Nino had prevented the wet season from doing its thing, and a road which is not supposed to be passable in the wet season, was, but there were some really bad spots and the 4x4 vehicle owner declared before attempting the road, that he did not want to drive out that day, regardless of the conditions, which turned out to be poor.
So we drove in, nearly getting stuck several times, surfed some junk, set up camp, and it started raining, and it did not stop for 5 days, all the while the surf never got above knee high. We went through all our food, and beer, and a quick hike up the road revealed there was absolutely no way we were driving out. So we abandoned camp, and hiked out and hitched rides to the nearest town. We filled our backpacks with non perishable food and firewater hitched back to the unpassable road and hiked back in, seeing several vehicles buried deep in the mud.
The Offshores had started during our walk in, and on our return to camp we were rather happy that nothing had been stolen, and disappointed that there was still a lack of swell.
But it was Knee high and offshore, so we paddled out, only to find it chest high and firing as a new swell filled in.
We had it to ourselves, just 3 of us, for 10 days before another vehicle somehow made it in, and we actually had to share waves with others
Offshore all day, every day, chest high to 1 foot overhead every day, barrelling rippable beachbreak.
Pure joy.
Joe Montana, Steve Young and the “Niners” during their hey day. I lived on 35th at Pleasure Point. You could here the hooting and boos all over the neighborhood. I figured out pretty quick that my favorite haunts were lineup empty during the game. Sewer Peak, 1st Peak, pretty much empty. Used to do Rincon every Turkey Day when I lived in Pissblow. Problem is Tblank that old guys like you, me and Dr. Strange like to talk too much about the good old days and the tight pants crew has figured our strategy. Not to mention the internet and surf cams. (Thanks Al Gore). These days you can watch the game on your iPhone while you’re sitting in the lineup. Those guys in the shack there at Rincon probably have a Big Screen under their Palapa. Lowel
“Pure joy”. Yup sounds like it to me. You did the opposite of “never drive away from good surf”.
Ish, yeah, critical mass for sure. I actually live in the Rockies now. Occasional rare visits to the coast and have found last couple times I didn’t even bother. Great times at beach of wee fishing village in Ecuador couple years ago. 5 dirt streets, couple restaurants, and that’s about all. Quality surf, warm water, supposedly no sharks nor crocs but I did keep my eyes peeled. I think I got spoiled growing up when I did. Can’t find it now but interview I read of some really "old timer’ from 40’s and 50’s interviewed while retired on boat in Sea Of Cortez said something that really sums it up for me: “I feel really blessed to have been born and lived when I did. And I will feel very fortunate to die when I do.” A bit dark maybe but these are the times we live in…
Did a hike out like that in Costa Rica. After a week on the coast got rained in. Started at 4am and hiked in the moonlight through knee deep mud for a couple of hours to get to the nearest bus stop in time for the bus to Lima. Found a tap to rinse off then the hair rising bus trip.
This is absolutely a true story; I left Calif. about six months after Iniki had hit Kauai. I had heard the stories about rebuilding, all the work and the lack of skilled labor. I was sick and tired of bleeding the turnup and pulling gold teeth to get money out of developers in Calif. So I packed it up went over there and talked my way into the Painters Local. That in itself is quite a story. There was a shortage of housing on the Island, but after a week or so of sleeping in a van I had shipped over; I managed to rent a room in the home of a couple. Other than a few shingles their home had escaped the wrath of Iniki. Across the canyon rim in the same neighborhood others were completely destroyed. Can’t remember their names but they were out of So.Bay Redono originally. The husband had been a sports writer for the “Daily Breeze”. They left the Mainland life behind for the Garden Isle. I was alone at the time. The wife and kids followed about three months later. The owner of the house had an occasional dinner party. One nite he invited me upstairs for dinner and knowing my love of surfing and Surfboards he let me know that Greg Liddell and wife would be in attendance. It was a fun dinner. Liddell and I swapped stories. He told me that they had camped out for a couple of months on the North Shore before coming to Kauai. They had dogs in Quarantine and faithfully went to visit them everyday. After Quarantine they headed to Kauai. Their intended destination. I started telling Greg stories about my early days and connections to Ventura County. I told him about ditching school and driving to Ventura and sleeping on the ground at Stanley’s etc. We were landlocked Valley surfers, but not the SF Valley like Liddell. We were Bako surfers from the San Joaquin. He thought it was highlarious that we would pack a 57 Bel Air with six heavy longboards and six high school age surfers, drive as fast as we could on 126 to do a couple of days of 8 to 5 at the Cliff House or Oil Piers… But the one story that really got him was when I told him about “bombing” people and cars with Oranges. Sometimes there would be two car loads over there coming back late in the day. A friend of mine who was a very good surfer had a van with leopard skin curtains. An old Dodge Panel Truck that looked just like the one that Terrence of South Africa drove in the movie Endless Summer. We would stop at an Orange grove in Fillmore or Santa Paula and steal a couple of shopping bags full of Oranges. Then all the way back to Bako we’d be hanging out the windows throwing them at each other’s vehicles. 126, I-5 all the way to Bako or until we ran out of Oranges. Occasionally we’d bomb a hitchhiker or an oncoming car. Luckily we never killed anybody and never ran into the CHP. On another trip with four heavy 9’6 boards atop the Bel Air we got into a race with a carload of “Greasers” on I-5. I backed out of it at 95 mph. Quite a testament to Chevy’s 283 and Aloha Racks. As I said previously Liddell thought these stories were highlarious. He looked at me very seriously and said; You should write a book. I mean it man. You should”. Haven’ t got around to it yet and haven’t seen Liddell since. Lowel
Yeah, I hear you Lowel. Can’t expect things not to change over time. What burns me though is that it no longer needs to be “earned”. Meaning, simply go o a damn school that someone apropriates a local spot and turns it into their personal moneymaker. Surf Pimps. Here’s the rant; used to be you had to learn the weather, cloud patterns and flow, the coast, swell direction and take the beatings learning to stand. Guys would give tips but it wasn’t handed over as if you deserved it. It was always there, but you had to figure it out on your own. This process culled the less dedicated. and then you gained respect for doing the work and got some waves passed to you.For crying out loud, Mandos’ in Ventura is a full blown spot with dozens of kuks and hodads there everyday.A lot of these clowns think they are akin to the Hawaiian Beach Boys setting up camp at a spot thst isn’t a surf break. This place is for rehabbng (sp?) after an injury or to teach your kids and grandkids the water. Because you have the gear and even go out all the time,doesn’t make you a surfer in my view. If you don’t know what you are specifically riding and why, then you don’t get it. It has become too easy for the masses to access without working it out and learning the ins and outs. End of old fart rant.
I did have Aloha racks w/ three 9+ footers explode off the roof on I 5 somewhere along Capistrano. Took an hour or more to go pick them up and a day 1/2 to patch all the damage but really, a testimonial to double 10zo Volan glass on that high density foam.