Water, Water Everywhere...

Los Angeles. Tuesday. As we sped up PCH from LAX toward Malibu for a voice-over session (details to come), I noticed something crazy... There were waves everywhere. Guys were bobbing in the lineup at what seemed like every bend in the road between Santa Monica and the 'Bu.

From the cliff-side house where the sound studio was, I had a perfect view of Malibu and the pier. Waves seemed to be rolling in with amazing consistency. We stayed in Santa Monica that night and over drinks I noticed big lines smashing the shore near the the boardwalk there.

Wednesday morning. Our call for the music video shoot was at 6am. This time we were in Marina Del Rey, and again, explosions of whitewater blasted above the rise of sand between the beach house where we were shooting and the Pacific. The day went really late, and as the sun set, I noticed guys catching windblown lefts off a jetty on the south side of the beach. Mist from the breakers chilled our extras during the golden hour.

The next morning I was beat. Got in a plane and flew back to Oregon. Mission accomplished. But zero waves surfed.

Jet Setting

I'm traveling a lot for work lately.
Salt Lake City last week and LA tomorrow...

Unfortunately, an early call makes surfing out of the question down there. Sorry for the lack of posts since the shit-storm resulting from my Labor Day pics. But I do have scientific evidence proving that most of you have no idea where those photos were taken.

I'll resume regular programming on Friday.

(That's Mt. Hood in the photo above...)

Labor Day

"Traditionally, Labor Day is celebrated by most Americans
as the symbolic end of the summer."
--Wikipedia

It was a wave-filled Labor Day today.
Bye-bye summer, welcome fall.

HALLOWED

Dear Surf Gods,

Thank you for serving up a bacchanal of hollow waves on Saturday morning. We checked the beach above first, noticed a growing crowd, and moved along. The next location was about twice as big and breaking twice as far out. As we paddled out into the glassy beachbreak, joining a friendly group of five guys, we counted our blessings.

The swell continued to build and clean up, and we joined in on the feast. I distinctively remember dropping into a perfect left and hearing OS yell, "PULL IN!"

I didn't...

But yay, the thought did cross mind that Oregon never gets waves like this, as I locked into the pocket, moving faster than I ever had on my round pintail. Guys were getting shacked. I threw myself over the ledge on some "head-and-a-half" rights. Can I get a witness?

I guess you could say it was a good day.

Amen.

One Beach, Many Faces

Finally made it back out again in Oregon on Saturday. It was really cool because my wife and el nino joined me (along with the rest of Portland). The air was incredibly warm, the waves were decent, and the water wasn't really that crowded. What I did realize is that after surfing in Mexico and sparingly in small surf before that, I'm really no longer in "Oregon surf shape."

Duckdove about 10 waves on the paddle out and got a crazy icecream headache (and I was wearing a 5 mil with hoodie). My arms burned like hell and my lungs screamed. It took like ten minutes to get the heart rate back down again so I could catch some waves. When I did finally snag a few, my pop-up was kind of off. I think I was still tired.

After spending about 2 hours at the south part of the cove, I went in and checked on the family. From the beach I could see that the north side was looking much cleaner and nobody was riding this one peak that was groomed by the offshore wind. I spent the next hour down there and had a much better time.

Afterward, a cool cat named Jed who I'd met at the Sissyfish Movie Night walked up and handed me the CD of his band, The Pink Widower. Check out "Let Me See" on the link. I'm digging it. Maybe an official Sissyfish music review to come?

Hopefully this weekend will give us some more gems with that hint of autumn. I've been doing push-ups and pull-ups all week to get ready.

Blame It on the Board (Again)

So I finally had the chance to read the article “The 40-year-old Barrel Virgin” on Surfline last week and was interested in the story on many levels:

1. Because at age 35 I haven’t gotten a legit, witnessed, in-n-out tube and...
2. Because I mostly ride what might be considered “retro” surfboards by the author.
3. Because three people have mentioned the article to me in the last week.

It’s no secret that I’ve only been surfing for 5 years and I’ve been chronicling my quest to get shacked on this blog, in the process getting comments from readers that I should try a tri-fin thruster to help me go slow enough to allow the lip to throw over my head. Someone even recently brought up the article in one of my blog posts a few weeks ago.

The story basically claims that “retro” boards are anything that diverges from the 3-fin potato chip-style surfboard professional surfers favor, stating that the design features of quads, keels, Bonzers and single fins are not only ill-suited to good waves (the kind that barrel), but are essentially just a passing fad.

Granted, it seems pretty obvious that this piece was written to ruffle feathers and instigate a war of words between “alternative” surf craft enthusiasts and “traditional” thruster advocates. Controversy equals traffic. Initially published in Water Magazine, Surfline's re-publication was definitely successful in that regard: They had to shut off comments on the story at over 200 responses, some of which were pretty inflammatory and others downright hilarious. The argument degenerated to jocks vs. hipsters, rockers vs. mods, Jets vs. Sharks.

Despite the fact that this kind of polarization of the surf community based on what people ride, or even wear, is one of the things I hate most about surf culture, I have a take on the sentiments expressed in the article and would be interested in hearing yours.

First, the classification of boards with resin tints and fin configurations that aren’t a thruster setup as simply “retro” is a complete generalization that is mostly wrong. In my understanding, recent iterations of alternative surfboards, whether quad-fin or twinny, bonzers or eggs, are shapes that have evolved over the last 20 years to incorporate new design philosophies into the mix. Certainly, templates, contours and fin configurations engineered for speed and early entry into waves will require that surfers figure out a way to get back to the curl, whether it be to “brake” or stall by applying backfoot pressure, dragging a hand, or simply delaying or extending a longer bottom turn to position yourself under the throwing lip.

But once under the lip, speed becomes your friend again and it helps to be able to quickly outrace the foamball. This is where you see guys on traditional thrusters having to pump like hell to get out of the tube.

My understanding of these techniques comes from watching experienced waveriders on video (and not just in Sprout) and also from a lesson taught to me by a guy a met in Nicaragua who was getting numerous barrels on his Pavel-shaped Speed Dialer. His advice for getting tubes boiled down to two methods:

1. Drop in late and get up into the wave's sweet-spot immediately.
2. Drop into a wave that you see is going to throw ahead, bottom turn back up the face, then jacknife the board back at a downward angle in a quick pivot motion under the lip as it is throwing. It almost looked like he was "hooking" himself in the wall under the curtain.

Seemed to work for him.

The article makes it sound like a tri-fin has the perfect amount of drag via a center fin to place you into the greenroom without much additional skill or technique. Just drop into a hollow wave, bend your knees, and enjoy that sick liquid tunnel until you miraculously shoot out in an explosion of spit, shaking shakas over your head.

Perhaps the funniest thing about the article is that the author claims that he's been surfing with his retro-loving friend for "decades" and that the guy has never been shacked. Seems strange that the equipment is to blame, since the whole "retro revolution" in surfing only started about 5 years ago. What was his friend, with 20 years surfing under his belt, riding before?

But then again, upon reading the story a second time, with it's artificial dialogue (e.g. the annoying Chuck Norris quips) and exaggerations (organic pine tar glassing?) it became obvious that this is a work of fiction anyway and meant to be taken as such. A satire, if you will, on the emergence of hipster surfers... He almost got me fired up.

Now where's my thruster?

Mexican Blooper Fiesta

So here I am, still posting about Mexico because, frankly, I have no other material. Above is one of my many attempts to squeeze into a tiny toob. Hey, I may be wearing a lip sombrero, but my arm got totally shacked and my hand is still claiming it.

Stop, drop, and roll.

Our housekeeper hid the key to the front door, then left a big note on the front door telling us where the key was. Under the mat.

Oops. She wasn't going to make the section... uh... yeah. This serves a a permanent reminder not to get pissed when people accidentally drop in on me. The expression on her face says it all: "Oh no he di-in't!" Trust me, her wave count was still higher than anyone else out that day. My most embarrassing shot ever.

We drove about 50 miles and when we got out of our car, realized that the back straps had come undone on our boards. This is how we found them...

The "O" face.

Sailin' Away

Shiver Me Timbers

I'm leavin' my fam'ly
Leavin' all my friends
My body's at home
But my heart's in the wind
The clouds are like headlines
On a new front page sky
My tears are salt water
And the moon's full and high

And I know Martin Eden's
Gonna be proud of me
And many before me
Who've been called by the sea
To be up in the crow's nest
Singin' my say
Shiver me Timbers
'Cause I'm a-sailin' away

And the fog's liftin'
And the sand's shiftin'
I'm driftin' on out
Ol' Captain Ahab
He ain't got nothin' on me, now.
So swallow me, don't follow me
I'm trav'lin' alone
Blue water's my daughter
I'm gonna skip like a stone

So please call my missus
Tell her not to cry
'Cause my goodbye is written
By the moon in the sky
Hey and nobody knows me
I can't fathom my stayin'
Shiver me timbers
'Cause I'm a-sailin' away

And the fog's liftin'
And the sand's shiftin'
I'm driftin' on out
Ol' Captain Ahab
He ain't got nothin' on me
So come and swallow me, follow me
I'm trav'lin' alone
Blue water's my daughter
I'm gonna skip like a stone

And I'm leavin' my family
Leavin' all my friends
My body's at home
But my heart's in the wind
Where the clouds are like headlines
Upon a new front page sky
And shiver me timbers
'Cause I'm a-sailin' away.

--Tom Waits

I've sung this song to my son pretty much every night since he's been born. Always seems to put him right to sleep... I wonder what effect those lyrics might have on a developing mind?

You can hear Tom sing it below in one of his earliest recordings.

Wall Hangers

Gerry Lopez says that with surfing there are no prizes to bring home after a trip—no antlers to hang on the mantle to remind you of great sessions or amazing waves. He says that’s the reason why surf culture has developed such an amazing array of storytellers, because, “Sometimes the only thing as good as surfing is talking about it afterwards.”

I have to disagree with Gerry a little there. I’d say that surfing does have its version of antlers, and to keep that analogy going, Mr. Pipe is a big game hunter. Photographs and videos of surf trips are undeniably the deer heads we hang on our walls to bring back memories of our surfaris, from the harrowing drives down half-dry riverbeds to the rich colors of suspect street foods to, of course, the waves that we all go on these crazy quests to catch. And Gerry Lopez has collected some of the most iconic and prized images of the sport of kings—tangible, true souvenirs from a life well-spent. That’s not to say “talkin’ story” isn’t great as well, or that memories of certain waves won’t stay with you in the first person for the rest of your life, but man, it’s nice to have snapshots to go along with the words and reflections.

As I mentioned in the last post, we surfed with Ed from Quality Peoples a few days in Mex and, aside from being an all-around great surf chum, he also recorded our adventures on film. Like any good photojournalist, he takes pictures without being intrusive or making a big deal of it. He just gets his share of waves, then, when you least expect it, pulls out a camera and snaps away for a few minutes. The quality of his images are incredible, as you can see from the pics here and on his blog and photostream, really capturing the experience of surfing with friends in foreign lands.

So this post goes out to Ed, a true marksman and sharp-shooter when it comes to helping a band of motley surf dogs score some quality antlers for the mantle. Your blog, your designs, your photos—hell, your LIFE—is an inspiration. Looking forward to surfing together again, wherever that may be.

All images above copyright 2008 Ed Fladung, Quality Peoples.

La C*leta

Some great surf the last couple days, leaving not much time for drawing, but I found about fifteen minutes this afternoon to do a quickie computer sketch. It's been so great to hang with Ed from the Quality Peeps blog down here. He's probably the most talented designer/photog out there in surf blogland and I was honored that he took an hour from surfing La C*leta two days ago to snap some shots of OS, Gee and Me. Check his blog to see the results...

This trip has been a blast. Surfed a crazy little beach break this morning that I was sure would either break the board or the body, but somehow emerged unscathed -- if you don't count the mosquito bites.

Faraway, So Close

Our boat guy, "Freddy," loved taking pictures with my telephoto and it turned out that he had a really good eye. It didn't hurt that he surfed this area for eight years and knew the waves like the back of his hand. He claims that he gave up surfing five years ago because he "had enough waves." With consistency and perfect shape like the waves we've been getting, I could almost believe him.

Here's Freddy...

Priceless...

It took some time and effort (and a little extra dinero) but we finally scored a nice day at this Mexican point on Saturday... Mellow takeoffs, glassy conditions, hollow sections inside, and, best of all, all by our selves for two hours....

Down in the Funky Rivermouth

Went back out to the Rivermouth yesterday and scored again big-time. Can't really judge the size of these waves by the pictures, but if you look at the tire tracks on the beach above, it gives you an idea: shoulder to head-high with some punch. Inside the "boca" started to fire while we were out there and we took our chances paddling to the other side to catch some of the grinding, hollow rights. Caught some very, very memorable waves. Got worked a few times too.

We noticed the water was feeling a little greasy and wondered if the rains had unleashed some nasty runoff upstream. There was all kinds of wildlife out there, big fish, birds, and a school of rays that swam through the face of a wave as I hauled ass down the line.

Our questions of whether or not the water was dirty were answered this morning when OS woke up with a sore throat and cold symptoms. Our boardshorts stunk even after two washings today. We've renamed the break "Croc Pisses."

I think that if you ask OS, though, he'll say it was worth it. On the drive home he told me it was one of the best sessions of his life.

Surf's Where You Find It

Sometimes it's at the bottom of a Michelada (Beer + Lime Juice + Salt + Worcestershire Sauce), as it was the last couple days -- as we endured a rare flat spell in San Pancho, Mex -- and sometimes it's actually out there, just requiring a little more "gasolina" and conviction to uncover.

I've been out of town, which (along with a rental house that doesn't have internet) has really slowed my blogging down. We really thought that were were going to get skunked (again, for some) in Nayarit, but found a rivermouth that magnified the miniature swell and organized the waves into sweet, shoulder-high lines. When OS and I rounded a bend on a muddy, rocky road this morning we looked across an amazing, rock and palm-lined river and saw firing lefts and rights, staggered like laced fingers. We literally screamed at the tops of our lungs and rubbed our eyes like we were waking from a dream.

Needless to say, it was mirage-like, much like a cold beverage to thirsty men crawling across a ridiculously humid, crab-infested desert, filled with mosquitos that seem to bite no matter what third-world pharmacy spray they apply no matter what time of day it is. It was good. It was wet. And it was ever so refreshing.

More posts when I actually remember to bring a camera, but until then, cheers!

A Couple Goofies

I got a chance to meet Gerry Lopez a few weeks ago and it was really cool. I enjoyed the talk he gave at the Patagonia store, especially the end of it, when a little girl in the audience asked him if he's ever drowned before. His response was classic:

"Just hold your breath. You'll always end up floating in the end..."

I also got my goofyfoot hero to give a shout out to Sissyfish. Not a bad endorsement. I just finished his book, Surf Is Where You Find It. It rules too.