Small, dumpy, onshorish crudmuffins.
Crumbly, weak, peaky mini ramps.
Enough to have fun.
Enough for some down-the-liners.
Enough for some slo-mo lip connections.
Right-place at the right-time.
Summertime good-time junk session.
Sailboat jellyfish dying in droves.
Fog-eels morbidly creeping in.
Glowing red eyes and razor-sharp fangs.
You see them but you can't see them.
Their venom seeps through your pores.
A subtle dimensia overtakes SF surfer's collective consciousness.
Desire to kill rising!
Goth zombie surfers roam the streets at night.
Slashing and sleuthing, they hack and carve up meat.
Blood sucking, puss-mucking creatures of the night.
Marina chicks wooed by "reef scars" later found bitten and drooling.
A gurgling, moaning mass of the surfer-undead skateboard through the Mission.
Fog eels reach past their twin peaks barrier in the form of zombi-ized red-eyed, skin-dripping dawn-patrollers.
"Woodshedding" means to cloister yourself away for a period of intense practice. It generally refers to music but could be used for anything. I'm currently reading a book about John Coltrane (A Love Supreme, The Story of John Coltrane's Signature Album) and it's pretty inspiring. Coltrane's father, uncle and grandparents all died when he was 13. He became extremely shy and withdrawn as a teenager and would spend hours and hours of solitary time with his horn. Throughout his masterful years of gigging, recording and jamming, between 1940 and 1967, a consistent theme for Coltrane was his inner drive and ability to woodshed. After playing a three hour gig Miles talked about how Coltrane went immediately to his hotel room for a few more hours of practice. In the late 50's Coltrane got really into heroin and hard-alcohol. Miles eventually kicked him out of his band because Coltrane kept, "pulling that junkie shit." Soon after that Coltrane quit the smack cold turkey and experienced a powerful resurgence in his passion, focus and work ethic. He started playing sometimes 8 or 12 hours a day. Ravenous for musical knowledge, he consumed huge amounts of mathematical theory, world music, unusual tempos and rhythms, etc. He would simultaneously steer his own unique voice while critically observing and obsessively learning the voices and philosophies of many many others. Pushing and pushing for betterment. Striving for some spiritual, elegant, edge-tearing melodic expression. Like Miles, Coltrane never stayed satisfied with his current sound, but instead always sought evolution, growth and change. Pushing upward and outward, absorbing as much beauty and freshness as possible from the jazz and musical communities. Coltrane felt that inner fire. A true inspiration.
anyhoo.. i'm planning to woodshed this weekend. stoked!
Summertime goodies at local beaches today.
Waves for the hungry.
Utility rides on offer.
Scrubby summertime wonkishness.
Mixed swell creepy stealth bombs.
Southern hemi A-frames peaking and pile-driving.
Wind not very helpful.
Water-temp not frigid.
Chunklicious mounds here and there.
Better than the last few days.
Lerm saw barrels.
Lerm with a tasty left.
E charges on a beast and gets tossed.
Sucked up, over and down.
My friend Adrian took a creative drawing class then had a little show.
MWSF snapped a few photos of some lame-wad.
Blaster, you posted something about a place to rent in Kauai yesterday and told me to email you but you didn't leave an email address. Kick me an email at email@example.com if you've got the time. thanks my friend.
Onshore and crappy.
A few suckout sections if you're amping for surf.
Maybe some quick air-drop takeoffs into lurchy little quick-pits?
Waves on offer.
Nobody dawn-patrolling the north end around 6:45.
The last few days have been pretty full-on summer in the city.
Found a few down-the-liners over the weekend.
Lerm and I surfed some abysmal slop saturday afternoon.
Looks like a moderate 3ft 15second south is running, from 195 degrees.
There also looks to be a growing 6ft 8second windswell that might fill in over the next few days.
Checked out Mollusk surf shop. The dudes running the place were very friendly and good-vibed. Seems that they're keyed into the surf/skate/art world and are friendly with Thomas Campbell, Barry McGee, Andy Davis, John Trippe and other art-scene luminaries. They had some cool t-shirts and a bunch of retro fishes and single-fins. Worth a check-out if you enjoy classic boards and interesting surf shops.
Does anyone have info on a good house to rent for a week in Kauai at the end of Feb 2006? Preferably on Halanei Bay but i'm open to any advice or suggestions. It'll be 6 of us. THANKS!!
Good waves for the contest in Reunion (i wish they took more lineup shots and less closeups)
Drew Brophy art
Pretty teeny this morning.
Maybe with a bit of foam under your feet you could harness some wave energy?
Wind not too bad.
Low-tide, dumpy, waist-high windswell.
Nobody out through the north end as of 6:40.
I'm not exactly sure what happened yesterday but i rounded the corner of 45th and Lincoln on my bike, coming out of the park on my way home from work. I gazed to the right and the ocean didn't appear it's typical blown-out, miserable afternoon self. Hmmmm. Looked at the flag and it hung flaccid on its pole. hmmmm.. I road down for a check and sure enough things were working. Sprint to the house. suit up. out in the water with Brett and Paul, arty folk who dig the afternoon jams. Peaky, semi-glassy, headhigh, nonstop windswell wedges and ramps. I decided to try Brett's 5'9" Manny quad-finned fish. The waves were great but I ended up stepping off the back of that little square-feeling speck of a board almost every takeoff!! arggh! It was difficult to adjust to having so little board in front of the front foot. Eventually we traded boards and my personal session got much better. Very cool backdoor sections came through. Paul ripped some smooth, stylish top turns. I mostly bungled my waves but got up to the top on a few meatier ones and clicked the lip. There were so many damn waves coming through it was ridiculous. Many were a bit on the slow/mushy side but if you crammed yourself into the little power pockets that did exist you could find some speed and opportunity. I usually don't even consider the afternoon session in summer but sometimes it pays to keep a lookout.
Surfing two different boards, the 5'9" fish then a thin, 6'6", wide-nosed Mystic shortboard, i realized how partial i am to my own board. I don't know if it's good or bad but i feel WAY WAY more confident and capable on my 6'8" Coffey. It's got a little more foam and just feels so much more solid and fast than the two boards i rode yesterday. I guess it's also just whatever you're used to. I know that everyone says to ride a fish that's 6 inches shorter than your shortboard but i rode Bandini's 6'4" Skip Frey fish one time and really dug that.
anyhoo.. be on the lookout after work today for a repeat??
HUGE Cloudbreak - from sargesdailysurf.com
Gold Coast surf check
Fred P beats Kalani and Tom Curren in round one of the Reunion contest
The Fantomas are weird and dischordant but some of there shit hits nice and hard (interview with Mike Patton)
Buzzo of the Melvins (and Fantomas)
I'm out of the loop this morning.
The onshores were pushing and moving the trees outside my window, not usually a good sign.
A huge "come to Jesus" discussion happened last night with my band.
Being in a band is very much like being in a relationship.
Since my baja trip our lead singer has been pushing for her own creative vision while bullying or ignoring what the rest of us want.
Her songs are cool and we all want to contribute to them and foster them but we don't want to to bury the cooperative, collaberative experience of musical creation.
She wants to stop playing, stop jamming, and only focus on recording.
She wants to record via laying down an initial rhythm track of her making on a sequencer, then overdubbing each of the parts.
She wants to only focus on the five or six songs that she's brought to the table.
She doesn't want to play with the drummer that the bass player and i like and have been playing with so she brings in another drummer while our friend, who's paying rent for the studio, sits on the couch and listens.
When we play live, she wants every song to sound EXACTLY like the album.
She says that she's disapointed when a band or musician deviates from the recorded material.
She wants to create a marketable "product" that will get radio play and eventually sell records.
All of us would love to "make it" but her vision for how it gets accomplished seems slightly out-of-phase with reality.
She doesn't really want to learn or play the songs that the rest of us bring to the table, or at least she does so grudgingly.
SOOOO.. last night all this pent up frustration and differences of opinion came out in this hard-core, emotional, heated discussion.
Two different ways of approaching music.
Loose, fun, improvisatory, experimental, open, cooperative.
Rigid, fixed, dogmatic, profit-driven, digitized, hardened, controlled by one.
sorry to vent. it's been heavy.
Doug Strickland photos
Dingo pig-dog under the ledge
photos from the O'neil site
Tom's lady friend and her three sons
Heard it was shitty but wanted to surf.
Suited up and ran down just to get wet.
Looked not horrible from the beach.
Found a shallow sandbar with some action happening.
Lurching, wedging lefts sucking and working.
Head to shoulder-high.
Junky and kinda shitty.. but.. kinda good too (depending on frame of mind)
Got into a groove with the lefts.
Inside reform peaky steep drops.
Funky, idiosyncratic, squirty McSpeedies.
Pig-dog, let-go, bottom turn, up to the lip, carve some.
Body felt stiff from hours of computer and guitar.
Strange orange pontoon/raft/object floating 100 yards outside lineup.
No other takers in the general vicinity.
A ripper could find some chunks and caverns.
Good times hunting waves.
I love that windswell provides a constant flow of potential rideables as you sit looking toward sea.
Maybe this one? Maybe that one? No, the next one... Yup, that one!
With money and time it would be great to sculpt the body into a lean, sleek surfing machine:
Pilates and Yoga 2 or 3 times a week.
Personal trainer for strength and cardio development.
Healthy diet of fresh, organic fruits, veggies and nuts. Free range chicken and wild fish.
Personal Home theater with library of surf DVDs.
Trestles right out front with nobody around 'cept friends.
A constant onshore wind crumbles the already lackluster swell.
A few waist-high sections present themselves.
Most surfers takoff on closeouts and wipeout into the mush.
Shoredumpers on the inside. Gutless slow rollers toward sea.
Slim pickin's but doable if you need the wetness.
Loads of fisherman through the middle. Something must be runnin.
A gay friend got me thinking about what it's like to be homosexual. To feel a deep, resolute, primal sexual attraction to those of the same sex. Not a conscious choice but an obvious directive that you can't ignore or fake. Much of society fears and lashes out against you. Ridicule and scorn from many. The storybook familial dream of meeting your mate, procreating, and reering a family becomes near impossible. Why are humans gay? Does it blend in any way with Darwinian natural selection? Can all human characteristics be explained via evolutionary theory? Music? Do we, as a species, enjoy a level of civilization above and beyond the brutal dictates of reproduction, battle for resources, competition, survival? How many other species recreate?
This also brings up the taboo subject of gay surfers. Maybe 1 in 10 in the city? Are gay surfers fearful of being too open in surfy settings? Should they be? Are surfers, as a group, more homophobic than other cultures? If so, why? (Refer to SanFranpsycho for a painful, uneasy treatment of this theme)
When was the last time you carved a full turn?
When was the last time you hooted somebody into a wave?
When was the last time you got(gave) stinkeye?
When was the last time you felt surfed out?
When was the last time you got barrelled?
When was the last time you pulled back?
When was the last time you charged?
Peaky, wedgy, warbly.
Suckouts, closeouts, dredgers.
Glassy but frumpy.
Inner bar pounders.
A strange thing happened to me.
I took off on a sizeable right.
As I'm dropping in, Lerm hears a loud "Boom" and feels a powerful underwater vibration. He reasons that something struck my board as i was taking off on the wave, but i didn't feel anything. I rode the wave for about 25 yards and then kicked out and took the next wave on the head. Moments later i felt something hard and blunt punch into the side of my chest. At first i thought it was my board but then I noticed it tombstoning toward the beach. It wasn't my board. It felt like a soft log or something?? It spooked me big time. I thought whitey for a second but then concluded it was probably a sea-lion. When i paddled back out and told Lerm he told me about what he observed as i took off. WEIRD!! We were spooked but continued surfing for another 20 minutes. I felt relieved when finally bellying into the sand. ahhh land! safe, knowable land!
thanks to sharkbait and J for putting together the goon bash. The Krispy Kreme donut holes were rightious! Thanks also to Artifact for bringing those kites and for letting us try them out. I really enjoyed feeling the power of the wind. My back felt the soreness all weekend after that.
Patrick Trefz photos from surfermag (Looks like the Azores or Canaries or somewhere? any guesses?)
Serious, rumbling masses marching forth.
Muted kabooms and hellbent spitfire.
Not for the faint of heart this morning.
Overhead, lumbering A-frames.
Mostly burgering, but occasionally rifling.
Not many takers through the middle.
Light wind from the south.
Purdy, post-storm blue sky.
Some dog is having it's day right now.
Our leaders gorge themselves and pander to the business elite.
Two oilmen run the show.
How long will America remain at the top?
China, India, Europe, Japan.
Less warheads, more schools.
Less tax breaks for the top 1%.
Less cluster bombs, more jobs for the poor.
Less hate, more compassion.
Less short-sighted ecological looting.
More long-range technological innovation.
More science for the groms.
No Star Wars.
More surf shredding, less surf postering.
More flow, less blow.
More thwack, less tack.
Don't forget the Goon surf contest/bbq tomorrow in front of sharkbait's house. Begins at 10am i do believe.
(photos from allaboutsurf.com)
Craig Fineman photo
Tony Garcia photo
Gilley photo of Mike Todd
Outlook seemed bleak
SW onshores whipping.
Sea-surface not horrible.
I opted out so don't have the first-hand knowledge.
Duckdives in warm water ain't so bad.
Wetsuit hoods actually do prevent ice-cream headache.
There will always be another wave.
Cultivate your style.
Improvement comes from hard work, determination.
That's a line from a Buckethead song.
Maybe reality is just a projection within each of our individual minds.
All existence just a fantasy created within our thinking selves.
How can you prove otherwise?
Brain in a vat.
ORrrrr.. maybe there are little dust-mite-sized surfers who float in corners of the air waiting for sets of sound waves to wrap around their favorite bend of land. Cylindrical sound barrels of Rock and Roll.
Roads strewn with the town's garbage.
A dog nearly attacks Lerm while we check a wave near a military outpost.
A tense scene as Lerm stares down the snarling canine, yelling at it, "NO!"
I try to yell him into the car but a Federale comes and calls the mutt off just in time.
We're a bit rattled but also laughing hysterically.
Check out a remote, dusty, desert fishing town that feels like the setting for a Stephen King twisted horror.
Maybe the sand and dust congeal into blob-like overlords after dark and keep the townspeople enslaved?
Maybe the huge Osprey birds shit toxic poo that warp the minds of the townspeople into violent killing cyborgs?
Cram in a final point break dawn patrol.
Get caught on the reef on my way in after the session and puncture 3 big gashes into the bottom of my board.
We're frickin audi!
Start driving south.
Out of the wind.
Driving driving driving driving.
Through the mountains.
Past many homemade alters to loved ones who had plunged to their doom.
Little crosses with pictures and plastic flowers and maybe an empty beer bottle.
Goats, donkeys and cows cross our path.
Many decrepit, rusted, gutted overturned vehicles strewn about.
Sleep in a town near the Sea of Cortez.
Hot. Fucking hot hot!
Internet to moms and CJ.
Back down toward the relative civilization of Todos Santos.
Arrive at the beach an hour before dark.
Gorgeous white-sand beach with a protective headland to the north.
Groomed, peaky, head-high A-frames peeling seductively all over the jaunt!!
We thought it would be blown out nastiness but daamnn...
Many fun, racy beach-break goodies.
Lerm gets covered up on "one of the best waves of my life."
MWSF gets a solid one.
Sand-bottom mellowness after a few weeks of unforgiving sharp reef.
Surf till we can't see.
Set up the tents as daylight totally fades.
Brilliant desert star-scape.
We need a fire.
Lerm and I cruise around and miraculously forage some wood.
Bats swoop down and chomp the insects attracted to our camping light.
Get the fire going.
"Buenos Tardes, Amigo.
Hello, my good friend.
Cinco de Mayo's on Tuesday
And I hope, we'd see each other again."
Wake up and surf the dawnie, but it's not as good as the evening before.
Take a solo jaunt around the corner and dump one in the sand, then swim in the ocean no wetty!
Last night Cabo revelry.
Squid Roe cheeseball weirdness.
Celebrate SkyWalker's birthday in style.
Thanks Bruce and CK for warning me about the possible Tsunami last night. With no radio, TV or internet in my house it was the only news that CJ and i had and we promptly left for higher ground! thanks for looking out fellas!!!
Broccoli head (bagel painting)
Illustrations by Bagel's friend Dice
Lee Ballard painting
Driving through central Baja.
Brown, rugged vertical mountains.
Scores of vultures sit atop towering cacti.
The heat threatens and closes in.
The Sea of Cortez shines, an azure blue.
Cactus forests fill the valleys.
Little towns sprout up where fresh water exists.
Verdant date-palm oases.
Classic Mexican squares.
Fish taco upon fish taco.
We run into some gringos drunk and looking for the party.
They're taking the public bus down to Cabo.
They missed it the night before and slept on the side of the street near a "snake hole."
A day later we're snaking down the washboard road, kicking up a fountain of dust in our wake.
A few wrong turns and missed turnoffs but we're fairly confident it's the right camino now.
Mountains turn to flatlands and low hills.
The desert gets more dry, more windy.
Less green, more brown.
Harsh, parched, life-sucking grainy emptiness.
Driving and rattling and shaking and burning down the road.
But finally we make it to the Pacific.
The offshore wind in evidence.
Where's the wave?
What's the swell look like?
Holy shit look at that wave!
Wind whipping plumes of spindrift high in the air.
Rick Griffin-style cavernous barrels march like machines along the reef.
Perfect rifling barrels.
Symmetric beautiful barrels.
Sculpted, chisled, lip-cracking barrels.
But, wait, isn't that dry reef 6 inches below the surface?
Exposed boulders right where you'd want to be.
Gnarly, jagged, barnacle-encrusted lava rock jutting out all over the place.
Talk to some folks camped 100 meters away and they say it needs more swell.
We set up camp
Wind blowing like gang-busters, smearing the sea-surface smooth.
After a few hours the wind begins to smear our psyches.
Is it even possible to camp here in a tent?
Fucking mega super gale-force wind!
Grab a quick reef-wave session before we retreat to a fisherman's bungalow setup 10km away.
Spend the next few days surfing a nice, high-performance righthand reef.
This area is kinda like Santa Cruz, with a bunch of reefs and points that turn on at different times.
Get up at dawn.
Find the spot.
Surf with the handful of people camped out around there.
Usually 2 or 3 heads in the lineup.
Come in after a few hours.
Fuel up on granola bars and raison bran.
Grab another session before the wind begins to go crazy.
Grind on some legendary fish and shrimp tacos.
On our last day we drove around attempting to locate this lowkey right point.
Never found it but wound up staring at that perfect barrel wave again.
This time it was working. Sort-of.
Still shallow. Still scary. But doable.
Two guys we'd befriended were out there charging.
Offshores going bananas.
They'd twist their way down the drops and then slot into the tube.
A few wipeouts resulted in them standing in ankle-deep water as walls of whitewater descended.
But damn.. they were scoring serious barrel time.
At first I was like, "no way I'm going out there. It's so shallow and consequential." But over the next 10 minutes it just dawned on me that I was, in fact, definitely going out there.
Suited up and paddled out just as they came in.
Shared the lineup with our friend Jeff who's driving from San Diego to Nicaragua.
Waited for the big ones.
Took off on a slab as the offshores threatened to blind.
Struggled for the pocket and then sat right in the narrel.
Slotted for a second then dove off into a closeout barrel.
Felt the reef with my hands.
No harm done.
Waiting for the good ones.
Jeff taking off on mediocre waves and getting slammed into the reef.
But also finding some pits.
Slank into few more solid, healthy, grinding funnels.
Brief moments with the conical view.
Manic energy and adrenaline coursing through.
High off the atmosphere of the wave.
Serious, remote, intense, powerful and beautiful.
Came in after only a few rides as conditions began to fade.
Could barely sleep that night as the excitement continued to surge.
i received some photos of Christian at Mavs but i'm not sure if i'm allowed to post? anyone know the deal?
don't know how J knew this, but we actually did post up at this spot
Driving north from Cabo
Oppressive desert heat.
Vultures descend on coyote carcass.
Heat wave mirages shimmer and fool.
Federales shake us down.
We slip by undetected.
Traffic comes to a standstill and we sit for hours on
A local guy listens to our itinerary and doubts the
ability of the rental station wagon to manage the
forthcoming washboard roads.
3 hours later we drive past the jackknifed 18-wheeler
and high-tail it to the dirt road turnoff.
Daylight fades and we race down the dusty track.
A road-runner sprints ahead.
A spooky lighthouse and the sound of waves.
Set up camp under a blanket of stars.
Beers after a long day.
A scorpion runs out from under a Tecate can.
Solo point break rides in the morning.
Fat workable shoulders.
kinda onshorish as this is more a wintertime spot.
MWSF gets stabbed by urchins.
Post-session self surgery.
Pelican skulls litter the arroyo.
5 fishing shacks make up the only community for miles.
Fishermen request cokes and cervesas.
The wind and sun beat us up, beat us down.
Between the dawn patrol and afternoon slopfest it's
all about hunkering down in the shade.
Guitars and Yahtzee.
Owner of the land approaches with machete drawn.
$2 a head to sleep on his property.
Farking deep no joke desert.
Bad-ass death, thorns and stingers.
Cup-o-Noodles and crackers and peanut butter.
Sandy crunchy bites.
Madmax Beyond Thunderdome.
Cobblestone reef goodies.
Super-remote possibilities to the south.
After two days we're audi.
Right point break offshore realities lie ahead.
a huge shout out to Kaiser for keeping the blog running these last two weeks! Thanks man. I look forward to reading all the posts and comments!
Cabo wedding resort
tiny right point sunrise
Thomas Cambell art bomb
fill er up
Sea Hawk with nest of seaweed
A couple dream setups to fuel your day and set you up for the weekend:
-Glassy head high, 80 degree lefts that break for 3 miles, with hot members of the opposite sex sitting on hovering platforms, cheering you on and removing articles of clothing to celebrate your every move, throwing cool water on you to cool you off?
-Maybe a warm water Mavericks-esque break, but instead of rock reef it breaks over a Nerf reef? How about if the reef is some sort of semi-permeable Nerf material, if the wave pushes you down with enough force you actually break THRU the material and enter a long hallway, and just walk your way back to the beach and paddle out again?
-HUGE Wave pool in your backyard somewhere a few miles outside of Whistler. 80 degree water temps, full on baseball style lighting system, perfect 100 yard long a-frame. Ride all day, surf all night.
A reminder (or first notice for some of you) of a fun little event Sharkbait and I are putting together. Trying to get all the niceness regulars, semi-regulars, and good natured lurkers to roll for our first (possibly annual) "Goon Squad Surf Bash".
The 5 W's for you
Who: sharkbait, j, and YOU
What: Goon Squad Surf Bash
When: June 18th (with slight chance of getting pushed to the 25th)
Where: an undisclosed location within spitting distance (assuming it's offshore, the onshore winds just throw that loogie back in your face) of mid OB, with full on panoramic deck (aka the judges scaffolding)
Why: the premise is simple: a bunch of people and a bunch of beer/food (potluck) coming together in celebration of the crappy springtime surf! Let's get together, put names with faces, go out and make complete asses of ourselves, and dammit have fun doing it!
Oh, for you hardcore serious types we'll have "contests", although we've yet to finalize the details on those. Probably some sort of water wing aided bodysurfing contest, hopefully we can dig up a few foamies for some joust, and whatever else we figure out, with prizes going to the winners of course.
If interested hit up sharkbait (firstname.lastname@example.org) or myself (email@example.com) with your name/email address/niceness handle and we'll evite the final details to you next week.
Anyways, this is my last post as the substitute's substitute. Consider me the annoying emergency warning beep with full vertical color bars on your TV screen, on Monday we'll be returning you to your regularly scheduled program already in progress.
Clear day in OR
Archaeologists discover first photo ever of a surfer getting tubed
Who says you need a boat to barefoot?
Looks gray and ominous on the cams this morn'. Probably better than it looks out there, but certainly not convincing enough to coax oneself out of a warm cotton burrito.....especially given the tornados, opposable thumbed sharks and lightning storms of yesterday.
I've got a 10am meeting so have to get this done quick, stream of consciousness coming at you. A recent copy of Business Week's cover proclaimed how blogs will change your business!! Your business needs a blog!!! Blogs are the next big thing!! The article went into depth about how companies need to leverage the power of blogs and the affinity groups/loyalty they create to profit. In fact, some companies already have blogs out there that where the blogger occasionally touts their product(s), their great experiences with, etc. Non-visual product placement for the web I suppose. What if e's site and all it encompasses is really just part of the master plan courtesy of the great retail minds at Wyzokwa? Did they have the foresight to partner up and hire a bay area surf advocate? The surf community here is small enough that it would be a fairly cost effective plan. Hire your prototypical guitar playing, marijuana dabbling, footbag playing surfer. Make sure he's down to earth, realizes his strengths and weaknesses and communicates well with a keyboard. Make sure he never has any retail allegiance so that the master scheme never becomes obvious. Give him a platform and stay out of his way, as his good vibes and rose colored glasses help grow your bottom line. The more frequently the bay area surfs, the more gear that gets worn out, the more product that needs to be purchased. More product purchased = volume buying discounts = higher profit margins at the retail shop level. Would we be smart enough to see thru it? Would we care? Would knowing our community was started with capitalistic intentions change all the niceness it's brought?
Quick comment/thought out there for all the parents as I've had a lot of thought provoking conversations with friends who are either new parents, expecting, or expecting a second. As a parent, what is the one thing you want your kids to look back on when you're gone and say "________ is what I took away from my parents" As a parent what is the one thing you'd like to see your kids do that would validate all the hard work and make it successful??
Alright, meeting time, will post some pics later.
I have to apologize as I've been slacking this week. Usually I'm semi-insomniac, fall asleep solidly from about midnight til 4:30 than toss and turn the rest of the morning - which of course makes it easier to get up and check the surf in lieu of throwing a pillow over your head and hoping for 15 minutes of sleep. This week though I've been out like a light, alarm rings at 8am and I could go another couple of hours. Sooo, no first hand accounts. It was drizzling at my house this AM though, assuming (well, the little lie I tell myself in case it wasn't) it was raining and windy at the beach again. Lightning storms, of course. Hail the size of basketballs. Maybe a tornado circling around Taraval? Probably a lot of overgrown mutant sharks patrolling the polluted lineup...opposable thumbs on the end of their fins so they can hold you and eat you like a chicken wing...
I've got surf blue balls, have only been in a handful of times since my trip to Hawaii last month. Hit it during a great south swell streak, with insane water temps, it's taken a lot to entice me out since than.
What if you woke up this morning knowing it was your last session in at least a year, maybe ever? How did EGP feel pulling up to his home spot on his last day in the bay area? Would your turn signal's 'click click click' resonate in your head, everything moving in a Matrix-esque slow motion, or would the entire day be over and done so quickly that you'd look back and realized you were unable to recall any one particular moment or sensory experience? How different would you look at the beach? Would the weather be partly cloudy or partly sunny? The smell of the wax as you open up a fresh bar, the coarse sound it makes as it meets up with your old wax and forms fresh stomping grounds for your feet. Wiping out on purpose over and over again just to savor the feeling of being at the ocean's mercy, feeling the waves pull your body one way while your face dredges the sand. Cupping your hands and drinking in the salt water so you don't forget it's briny taste. How would you feel when you got out, what would it feel like taking your last view of the Pacific for who knows how long??
Mmmm.....(yes I'm goofy)
Cool mermaid design by Bryan Bates
Would you get in?
...what the f....
'j, it's your dad!'
gazes at clock, 5:17am
"umm....it's a bit early, what's up?"
"it's 5:17am, i don't remember my own name. no."
'c'mon, she's the old lady that lives next to your grandpa, with the little schnauzer 'manfred'. you used to climb in the apple tree in her backyard'
"oooh, yeah, nice lady from what i remember. sure glad you called me at 5am to talk about our family's neighbors?"
'she died today'
"oh, that's too bad. didn't really know her though, probably could have emailed me at...saaay....10am or so to tell me."
'listen, apparently she took a liking to you, you're one of her beneficiaries'
(yup, that last comment knocked the sleep out of my bleary eyes)
hesitantly "ooook, what did she leave me??"
'you know that old vw you used to drool over in high school?'
"the '71 westfalia?!?!"
'yes. that's now yours. also....well, are you sitting down?'
"after that last comment i'm sitting and my sphincter has a death lock on the couch, why?"
'she also left you $5 million dollars. your grandpa says old berle was a college friend of william boeing and gave him some money early on. had quite a stake from what i understand'
"barely, i think i just passed out. if this is one of your practical jokes dad tell me now, because i will come at you with the wrath of God/allah/buddah/BVB/the brigade if you called me at 5am to fuck with me like this"
'dead serious, however...there's a catch. apparently old berle liked the sparkle of youth and energy she saw in your eyes when you talked of roadtrippin' for surf.'
*memory flashback to '97 road trip from WA to mex*
'she put a stipulation in the will. to receive the $5 mil you have to take the bus and travel for at least one year before you can touch the money'
"quit my job and travel in my dream car for $5 million dollars? you're kidding me?"
and than my alarm clock went off. no wind today for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe a couple clean little ones coming thru. maybe one of you closet longboarders had a leisurely knee paddle out, one stroke and up, just miiiiiilkin' a cleanmicroface? maybe bird got out on his fish, straight line speed generation, saving everything for one final turn, seeing how much force you can put into the rail and still hold on? maybe everyone just slept in?
this one's for friendly
this one's for me
more mexi greatness, i love how the birds frame the top of the shot
somewhere north of lindy
All I've seen/felt/heard over the past few days is wind wind wind. I'm guessing those who live within eyeshot of the beach were able to score a few mini-sessions as mother nature caught her breath inbetween blows. For the rest of us, take solace in knowing that somewhere in the world, right now...
-a perfect, glassy wave is reeling off unridden at a left point
-a young kid just got pushed into his first wave, stood up and screamed while the rest of the lineup watched inbetween sets, killing all vibe in the water
-a large amount of grains are sitting in hot water, beginning the process of becoming your favorite beer
-a teenage kid who was inspired by (insert favorite artist here) just purchased his first guitar and will eventually change music history
-a ridiculously well built, attractive young woman wearing kaiser's favorite outfit for women is laying out on the beach watching an overweight, hairy guy surf like a kook and thinking too herself how hot he is (ok, this one is pure fantasy and added just to make myself feel better)
-sands are shifting unbeknownst to us, creating the next great sandbar that will light up our summer and we'll talk about for the next 10 years
Tomorrow morning at this time, I will be 30,000 feet up headed to warm water and head high + surf!
Today, however, I am sitting in my office watching trees blow in the wind yet again. Surfpulse called the surf poor/fair this morning so likely there was something out there. I woke up at 3:00 a.m. in the morning to the sound of metal on metal as a construction van absolutely demolished a Ford Explorer in front of my house. Van had to of been barrelling down the street at 40 mph, downhill, drunk - SMACK! Then the drunk bastard tried to drive away. Little did he know he was dragging his front bumper, a 20 foot ladder, a Ford Explorer and only had 3 wheels to boot! Unreal. Guy got out and in his broken native language tried to tell the neighbors his "friend" was driving. Somehow, 5 minutes later, he slipped down the street and ran away.
He will get his! Sooooo, after laughing my ass off and then dealing with the SFPD (laughing my ass off), I wasn't having any surf this morning. 10 ft @ 8 secs, 20 kts winds at the SF Bouy. Winds locally look about the same as ever other day this week. Go fishing, have a ball.......
Some Tavvy Shots:
Today's Profile: Tom Carroll
Australian Tom Carroll, a stand-out new-schooler of the late 1970s was destined to become a pioneer in the sport’s professional evolution -- both in the water and on the dotted line. A small guy with huge power, a diligent competitor with a prankster’s soul, the picture of health with a sack full of afflictions, the two-time World Champion has reached the pinnacle of the sport and true legend status.
Winner of the Australian Junior Title in 1978 and the Pro Juniors in ’77 and ’80, Tom was ready for anything, so he joined the IPS World Tour in ’79 at age 18. The world looked to be his oyster... until he took a bad fall at a Sydney pub and ripped apart a knee. His doctors told him it would be wise to abandon all thoughts of a professional surfing career.
Only intense training and plenty of good luck could overcome a supposed career-ending setback. Undaunted, Tom Carroll embarked on a conditioning regimen that not only resurrected his own surfing career, it created the benchmark for fitness in the sport. Carroll scorched through the 1980s, winning big, losing big, and hurting big. Tom ended the 4-year reign of fellow Australian Mark Richards, roaring back to beat one of his Queensland idols to the 1983 ASP World Title.
Carroll also proved himself to be a man of strong principles, protesting South Africa’s policy of Apartheid and boycotting that leg of the tour. In Hawai'i, Carroll was redefining power surfing with insanely late takeoffs, outrageous snaps, and the boldest possible positioning. Despite three serious injuries early in the year, he won the ’87 Pipe Masters – now wearing a helmet – just a day after learning of his sister’s death in an auto wreck.
In 1989, he signed a five-year contract with Quiksilver making him surfing’s first Million-Dollar Man. Still living in Newport where it all began, his work for Quik ensures he still enjoys plenty of dredging reef-pass barrels and idyllic voyages.
Another beautiful day in the bay! Too bad the winds are blowing straight in our faces. Drive south I say! DRIVE SOUTH! Not sure what you will find but at least the wind won't be blowing in your grill making your face chapped.
HB - Korwin just called me. He is back in Cali as of this morning.
Daily Profile - "The Bertlemann Slide"
Larry Bertlemann was point man for the advance guard that ushered in surfing’s New School paradigm. It was Larry’s way of thinking that broke through the free-flowing, speed line surfing of the ’60s. It was Larry’s vision of surfing – and of celebrity – that sent shock waves through the status quo. His life reflected, quite literally, his adopted motto and slogan, "Anything is Possible."
Larry Bertlemann was the seminal influence on surfers in his immediate circle, who rode at the same spots. He was the guy that started making the moves that everyone on the South Shore was soon doing – Mark Liddell, Buttons Kaluhiokalani, Michael Ho, and Dane Kealoha – as hot a local crew as you could imagine. And the one MOST in motion was the Afro-headed sultan of swivel, the titan of torque, the "Rubber Man," the first pioneer of the space age – Bertlemann. He was so groundbreaking that, when he started boosting airs in the 1970s, the move was called a Laerial.
Larry started a chain reaction. As an influencer of future generations, he may be unparalleled in surfing history – first the core group of Honolulu Town kids, then on the North Shore by winning the 1974 Duke. Larry’s approach was reflected in the flash of color and attitude in the mid '80s and in the new lines being drawn by a succession of great surfers, from Martin Potter and Tom Carroll to Christian Fletcher and Matt Archbold, and by extension Kelly Slater and today’s New Schoolers. There is no question, Larry was the seed.
Larry's inspiration displayed on pavement!
Some more pics by Mexi! Love the shots.
Listening the Sproat CD this morning, falling asleep at my desk after a long night out. House of Prime Rib sitting heavy in the gut......
Looks like the winds aren't too bad near shore - 5-10 mph out of the NNW. A few more degrees north and we would be all set with some clean, crappy windswell. I didn't check it this morning. I wasn't moving for small windswell at 6:00 a.m. But, I bet there were some waves to be had. Looks like a little more swell tomorrow but some strong NW winds offshore near the bouy. Check the winds at the SF bouy....
Massive Shark Caught Off Washington Coast
While the ocean vessel 'Dawn Raider' was commercial fishing for dogfish, this Great White was hooked in the mouth but only resisted slightly for 15 minutes before it came up alongside the boat to have a look; long enough for one of the crew members to slip a rope around it's tail !!!
And that's when the shit hit the fan!!
The Shark took off towing the 42 foot fishing boat backwards through the water at about 7 Knots. Just like in JAWS, the boat was taking on water over the stern and the crew watched in horror as the shark would actually jump completely out of the water at times. This went on for an hour before the shark finally drowned.
She weighed in at 1035 LBS. It is suspected she followed a weak El Nino current into local waters in search of food. Although mid 60 deg. water is considered ideal for these sharks, the larger ones can tolerate water in the low 50s.
Check the look on the guys face with the dope chain:
Kelly Slater is a pimp. Yeap, a pimp. Leading the ratings after a clutch win at the Globe Fiji event. I didn't see the semifinals or the final yesterday but it looks like Slater was the man AGAIN!
Daily Profile: Wayne Lynch
The fellow you see here has never been a world champion. He hasn’t been on a TV show about fake lifeguards. His face is unknown in mainstream celebrity circles.
Yet if you’ve been involved with surfing for very long, you’ll have certainly heard his name.
That’s because this man from the southern coast of Australia represents much of what’s good about surfing…much of what’s good about the tribe.
The soul of surfing is about confronting nature and ourselves in a head-on kind of way, then applying these discoveries to our lives on land. About developing an understanding of cycles and an appreciation for process—not just the goal. These are lessons Wayne Lynch teaches by example.
Lynch entered the public eye as a mere boy in the mid-’60s. He gained a reputation as a progressive, experimental surfer who did things going backside that no one else could do. A handful of Australian surfers took him under their wing, and hauled him along on their travels, with the resulting films inspiring viewers worldwide. Subsequent decades found him dropping from sight for years at a time, only to reappear briefly for the odd contest win.
Today, his life orbits around handcrafted boards, family and friends, and time well spent in the ocean. In an age that ladles praise on unseasoned teenaged competitors, surfers still collectively revere this fisherman’s son, now well into his middle age. Granted, much of this admiration comes from what we've learned in the media. From the ’60s on, he’s been recorded as a mystic cipher, turning his back to the hoopla and his face to the breeze. It’s not that simple. But while he is in fact a sociable and engaging fellow, his penchant for dropping out for years at a time hasn’t hindered the myths.
Lynch’s contemporary influence is alive and kicking. As keen a surfer and shaper as you’re likely to find in any age group, new generations of wave riders—both professional and rank-and-file—are absorbing what he has on offer…