random comments
snot rockets
zeke
war of the buildings
headylands
etiquette
bagel art
BVB posts
I cant tell you how many times per episode they use the words "passion" and "drive" and "committed", etc. total joke.
unfortunately, a lot of office types watch this and feel it is the way to succeed. suck up to the head honcho, praise his every move, dont disagree ever, etc.
i wish someone on that show would say "Donny (not 'Mr. Trump'), you are pathetic, you own half of New York but you are fat and your hair looks like shizit. With all that money, you should be taking your fat kids on endless surf trips in your jets and helicopter. Get a personal trainer you phat-phuck and get in shape, you have no excuse" also, "I challenge you to give a couple million bucks to doctors without borders, bitch!"
just my thoughts.... spread the love.
43rd, out.
Posted by: 43 at December 1, 2005 10:34 AM
Fun memory
January 12th 1994, a fun day at OB, I surfed twice. Two glorious 3 hour sessions in head-high glassy peaks and not even close to being crowded. My first session was way fun and my over active imagination recalls a slight cover up on one little nugget. i got out of the water well after sunset on my second session went home showered and met my girl (at the time) at the Warfield, smoked "hella" bowls and fell asleep half way through a classic Jerry and Grisman show. Just a memory that popped into my head.
Posted by: Mexi at December 5, 2005 04:18 PM
No joke, go for broke! Ho daddy!! Massive waves pounding the coast right now. California buoy at 18ft 17seconds!!! Large! All the “Do not swim it’s polluted here” signs were up along the beach last night. Maybe take your 10ft log out at Norismegma for a leisurely paddle. PSYCHE!! Man.. a few spots from Big Sur to the Russian River will be firing on all cylinders today. If you’re blessed with the ability and lack-of-work, have a great time, get shacked, enjoy it. If you’re underskilled, maybe just watch and soak it in from afar. No joke winter-in-norcal kinda day.
But.. sorrowfully.. like most of y’all, I made my way to the 9-5 this morning. Rode my bike through the damp, muddy park and then past Alamo Square. An uncanny succession of events earlier in the morning made me irritable and angry. I spilled my milk and cereal all over my couch after tripping on a juggling ball. My bike tire was flat and I had to walk to the gas station to pump it up. I forgot my keys and had to call my landlord to let me back in. A huge dollop of water splashed down on me as I slammed my door in frustration. It seemed that one thing after another went against me. The angrier I got, the more things seemed to plot to irritate. I started sprinting down the street and my chain ripped off. ARrggh!! I dismounted to fix the chain and in my aggressive movements cut my calf on the exposed crank!! Arggh!! So.. that’s how my morning progressed as I rode to work. Fuming with anger, I could feel my breathing grow heavy and deliberate. My muscles felt taught and enraged. A huge glob of phlegm built up in my nose as I rode my bike. I blew a snot-rocket and proceeded to smear it all over my arm!! ARGGGh!! Now I was really pissed. My other nostril was also chock-full of juice so I heaved another snot-rocket toward the ground. To my utter amazement the snot-rocket propelled from my nostril with vehement force and shattered the asphalt with a violent explosion! What the fuck!! Quickly I felt as if some inner demon took over my person and I soon started blowing snot-rockets in every direction. I shot one at a car and the thing exploded right next to me and went whirling through the air. I snot-rocketed this pigeon up in a tree and the whole tree exploded and sailed off into the distance. Suddenly I felt like some psychodelic Incredible Hulk as my body grew and bulged into this heaving, blood-red, muscular mutant. Only rags remained and my teeth grew into these wicked fangs. Soon I was downtown, ravaging the populous with my snot-rocket explosives. City Hall demolished. I was stomping and tearing and crushing and pummeling. Roaring with excessive rage!!! Arrgggh!!!! I picked this huge booger and hurled it down Market street. The thing exploded and huge crater was left in its wake. Arggh!!! Death!! Destruction!!!! Arggghhgh!! Soon much of downtown was ruined. Nothing but rubble and blood, dust and whimpering. But then the skies opened up and this beautiful, elegant pink flamingo came flying down and landed on my shoulder. It had some calming effect on me and I shrank back down to my normal self. Snot still oozed from my nose but now it just stung as I sniveled and wiped. I looked around me and took in the destruction meted out by my own hands. Total annihilation. I kept sniveling and soon began to cry. All this rage and violence. All this injustice and cruelty. From my own hands. I started to cry. I started to wail. My tears began streaming down. After a while I opened my eyes and was awestruck at what happened before me. As each of my tears hit the ground the destruction was rectified. Each tear seemed to return the ground/buildings/people around it back to their former shape. I continued crying, now both with sadness and happiness. I ran around the city, balling my eyes out, returning each block to its former self.
Then I went to work.
SURRRRFF!!
zeke
In Through the Sea Plane
Zeke had been anticipating this trip for months. His friend Dr. Lane had it all hooked up out on Umnak Island. Dr. Lane worked as an emergency room physician on the small Alaskan spit of land, dealing mostly in the grisly results of drunken bar fights and fishing accidents. Zeke and Dr. Lane grew up surfing together in coastal Washington. Cold, wild, unpopulated. That's how they liked it. Dr. Lane eventually grew dissatisfied with the increased population density and moved to the great white north. His love for the raw, authentic lifestyle eventually led him further and further along the chain of islands stretching into the Bering Sea.
Dr. Lane virtually abandoned surfing for his first 5 years in Alaska. But a few months ago he flew his sea-plane to a remote island at the request of a local shaman who communicated with the police on Umnak island via a distress radio signal. The shaman described in his best broken English that he was in need of the aid of western medicine for a dying villager. Dr. Lane flew out there along with a police officer. In the air above the island he noticed the tell-tale signs of surfing nirvana. A finely sculpted point-break with gently wrapping spokes of swell funnelled along beautifully. Seductively peeling. Dr. Lane did a huge double-take, noted the location of the island, and then kept flying to his destination.
Months later Dr. Lane noticed the same configuration of weather and tide lining up as on the day he witnessed the mystery wave. He phoned his old surfing pal Zeke (whom he'd prepped months before) and told him to fly up asap.
Zeke arrived a day later and he and Dr. Lane quickly packed up their camping equipment, food, 6mil wetters, hood, lobster claws, 7mil booties, shotgun, hatchet, shortboards into the little sea-plane and took off for the island. A few hours later Dr. Lane began to smile. He and Zeke looked out the window, down toward the thickly-forested, mountainous island below, and saw the storied point, complete with rifling offshore-licked groundswell lines peeling along like clockwork. They slapped huge high fives, like 20 of them in a row. Then Dr. Lane circled around and landed in a little back-bay a mile or so from the point.
They pulled all the gear out of the plane onto a little inflatable raft and paddled to shore. They decided to make camp on the sheltered beach so they could keep an eye on the plane and so they wouldn't have to lug all their shit to the break. They then took the boards, wetsuits and shotgun and started bushwacking through the undergrowth. Excitement soon grew to consternation as they got lost in the rugged, steep ravines and ungainly vegetation. After about an hour they took a quick break to drink some water and get their bearings. Dr. Lane was sipping from his water bottle when he looked to his left and thought that he saw a shimmering object that quickly disappeared. Alarmed, he stood up and grabbed his gun. But nothing further came of it. They again began hiking in the direction of the wave and eventually came over a final rise and through a stand of gigantic Cedars saw stacked-up, overhead point-break perfection reeling along. HELL YES!
They surfed until they could surf no more. Countless marathon runs down the feathering, fast-pace walls. Epic high-speed rides and big chunky turns into the meat of the north pacific groundswell. Zeke even worked his way into some memorable shacks. However, it was getting dark, and they still had to hike back through the woods to their camp. And that's were the trouble began...
----------------------
In Through the Sea Plane (Part II)
Zeke and Dr. Lane contemplated the end of their magical session on the remote Alaskan outer island. The early-autumn sun was beginning to set and they still had an hour hike through the woods back to their camp. They sat in the lineup and tried to absorb the beauty and grandness surrounding them. Verdant, green, thickly forested islands dotted the horizon. Some of the islands were actually giant mountains extending high into the sky. Cloud-scraping snow-capped peaks could be seen in the distance. The water, partially protected from the fury of the north Pacific, was tranquil and smooth. They looked at each other and said, "uno mas ola!" Dr. Lane caught a large, bulbous set wave and worked it all the way down the line. Zeke caught a smaller, steeper insider and pumped for speed while watching the black rocks zip only a foot or two beneath the surface of the water. They scrambled to the boulder-strewn beach, changed into their clothes and began the trek back to camp.
As they entered the forest, everything immediately became darker and more ominous. Zeke and Dr. Lane were filled with a sense of foreboding. Dr. Lane gripped his shotgun tightly. They continued in the direction they thought was correct, though the rugged, up-and-down nature-of the terrain made it difficult. They were constantly forced to zig-zag up and around cliffs and impenetrable tuffs of forest. Just as they rounded a particularly dense nettle of ferns Dr. Lane saw the glittering speck in his peripheral vision that he had seen, or thought he'd seen, on their morning walk to the surf. This time he didn't move so as not to lose sight of it. He continued to observe it out of the corner of his eye. It looked like a large, neon dragonfly. Dr. Lane slowly turned his head to get a better look. Yes, it was some large, glowing air-born insect. Zeke saw it too and the two of them just stood there, transfixed. The wings of the creature made an unusual, rhythmic vibration. It looked to have three blinking black eyes atop two-inch antennae. It also appeared to have a smirking mouth that wordlessly repeated the phrase, "beautiful wave." Zeke and Dr. Lane exchanged a quick glance and when they looked back to the creature it had disappeared.
The two friends continued walking toward camp without saying anything for a few minutes. Finally Zeke said, "that was real.?." Dr. Lane agreed. Visibility was low and they were beginning to stumble over branches and whatnot. They silently pushed forward, making slow progress, tense with fear and anxiety. What was that? Could we have both imagined the same thing? Are we in danger? Just then they stopped dead in their tracks as they heard that same buzzing vibration. They nervously looked around but didn't see anything. Suddenly they heard a branch crack and they both turned around frantically to behold the biggest white wolf they had ever seen. It stood in a little clearing about 50 feet away from them. Bigger than any dog or wolf they had ever seen or heard about. This creature glowed with the same neon intensity as the little dragonfly-thing. The only feature un-wolf-like about it was the three blinking eyes attached by antennae to the top of it's head. Zeke and Dr. Lane were horror-stricken. Dr. Lane couldn't even move to raise his shotgun. But. the wolf-thing didn't necessarily look as if it had malicious intent. It looked to be wordlessly mouthing the same phrase as the dragonfly, or something similar, "beautiful cave." it mouthed, "beautiful cave." Just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared. Zeke and Dr. Lane turned to each other in panic and were like, "What the fuck was that!?!" Now they were freaked. They had originally planned to stay the night and surf all the next day.. but.. now they were having second thoughts. But, first they had to make it back to the plane.
Now they were basically running through the forest, back to their camp. Bushwacking. Cut and sliced from thorns and branches they didn't have the patience to creep around. They finally made it back to the beach and saw that the plane was safely in the bay. Exhaustion, tension, panic and fear rippled through their minds and bodies. Flying at night through these islands and mountains is generally considered a very bad idea. Dr. Lane didn't want to do it. They decided to sleep in the plane and assess the situation in the morning. They packed their stuff on the inflatable raft and paddled back out to the plane. They loaded it in and then sat in the seats wide-awake and amazed at the seemingly supernatural things they had observed. They stayed up talking late into the night. Weighing various scenarios and replaying the events that had unfolded. Just as the sky began to lighten with dawn they started to doze off. If they would have been looking out the window they would have seen that the water all around their plane was glowing with that same whitesh neon glow. They were quickly roused by a rumbling and shaking. Oh shit!! They looked all around and then looked out the window and saw what looked like a gigantic whale the size of two football fields, glowing radiantly white, with three behemoth antennae eyes rising slowly out of the water.
war of the buildings
My bike ride to work began very peaceful and beautiful. The ocean looked incredible. It cast a deep, rich, blue, mesmerizing hue. The onshores powered me eastward toward the city. Through the forested park. Past the bums in the Panhandle. Up the hill to Alamo Square, where i saw the Olsen Twins and also Bobby Bouseleil from Charlie Manson's gang. Bobby was trying to herd the Olsen twins back to the Spahn movie ranch in the desert. But.. anyway.. then down the hill toward city hall. That's when things started getting freaky.
I noticed that the dome atop city hall looked to be moving and shaking. Thinking it was an earthquake, i pulled off the road and got off my bike. But the ground didn't seem to be moving, just the building. Suddenly the dome rose up about 100 yards and turned around. The patterns of the building took on a decidedly face-like appearance and seemed to smile. But moments later i saw the smile turn to a grimace. I then saw the Asian Art museum whip out a giant samurai sword from it's bowels and plunge it into the gut of City Hall. We're talking a sword the size of a football field. I couldn't really believe what i was seeing but nevertheless there it was. The wound on the side of City Hall started bleeding people and it was then that i realized that humans, the life-blood of the buildings, were at stake in this apparent war between the good buildings and bad buildings of SF.
Over the next 30 minutes I watched SFMOMA, the Transamerica Pyramid, the Marriot, The Ferry Building, Pac-Bell Park and the Legion of Honor gather together on the eastern edge of Golden Gate Park, right around hippy hill. I also watched Hastings Law School, Candlestick, Crazy Horse Gentleman's Club, The Hustler Club, the DPT (Department of Parking and Transportation) building, and the entire Marina neighborhood all gather in the heart of darkness in the Tenderloin. Soon an all-out-battle was happening. The Hustler Club and Crazy Horse had their huge slime guns and were dousing the SFMOMA and Legion of Honor with amassed munitions of discharged sperm and other disgusting body juices left over from years of sin. I thought i could overhear Crazy Horse yell, "take that you sorry excuses for high art!" But then the Transamerica Pyramid removed its pointy cap and thrust it into the chest of the two houses of ill repute. They were toast.
Meanwhile Pac-Bell and Candlestick were squaring off hard-core. Candlestick was trying to freeze Pac Bell with it's arrows of freezing wind.. but eventually Pac-Bell broke it's Coca Cola bottle in half and used it as a slashing dagger, rending Candlestick into a criss-crossed mash of forgotten fame. Hastings Law school, small but mighty, was being very sneaky with it's strategy. It was trying to use its political clout to get the electricity and water shut off in each of the good-guy buildings. But the Ferry Building saw Hastings being sneaky and started firing gourmet olive pits and overpriced sandwiches all over Hastings. Hastings was done.
SOo.. this battle royal went on for a few hours before The Golden Gate Bridge came over and plopped down between the two sides. It told of a greater battle brewing, one between the various cities of the nation. The conservative cities of Houston, Dallas, Oklahoma City and Topeka had launched a sneak attack on Chicago in an effort to get control of the middle of the country. New York and Boston sent out an urgent message to San Fran and Seattle to help.
The warring sides of SF looked at each other and said, "Let's do this!"
headylands
At the bottom of the Marin Headlands the coast is peppered with bends and points. The potential for a rideable wave seems high. Could the right swell/tide/wind produce a little right point? Bay Area surfers have been asking that question for decades. Access might be tough.. but.. with north winds blowing offshore and the majesty of the Golden Gate as your backdrop it seems worth an investigation. That's at least what i've casually pondered each time i drove across the bridge. Never noticed anything peeling though.. That is until I received a message last night from a guy I hardly know named Rack. I don't know if that's his real name but it's what everyone calls him. I guess he reads the surf report and is a fan of all the random characters and whatnot. He emailed and told me about a Marin County wave that would probably be working in the morning. I was skeptical but figured I'd check it out with him. We met at 5am in the parking lot near the Golden Gate bridge and he drove me across. He had one of those windowless white vans with random tools and rubber and huge metal plates strewn through the back. He talked excitedly and had a wild gleam in his eye. He also had a giant scar running from the bottom of his right eye all the way down his cheek to the top of his neck. He saw me looking at it and told me matter-of-factly that he'd gotten the scar as a Navy Seal twenty years earlier. A mission in Nicaragua went wrong and a piece of shrapnel from an explosion ripped through his face, nearly killing him. "Daaaamn!" I said.
Twenty minutes later, after driving around some of the backroads near Chronkite, Rack suddenly lurched the van off onto this wide, unpaved bike-path. Silently we bumped down the path, around a few corners and then he pulled over and parked the van. It was still dark so i couldn't really see where we were. He said, "We can walk down from here." So we grabbed our boards and suits and began walking down this steep goat-path. Rack led and used ropes that he had anchored there years ago to descend the steep cliff. It was sketchy.
We finally get to the bottom and I can see Fort Point and Lands End across the way. The city lights still glimmering in the first hints of dawn. Beautiful. We walk across a small beach and then around a few corners. He tells me we have to swim from here so we don the wetsuits and paddle around another headland. When we round the corner I see it. A small, wedgy right peeling close to the wall at the NW end of this little pocket beach. It looks like the left that the long-haired guy Caffey surfs in Stoney Baloney, only this is a right. Glassy, inconsistent, punchy, shallow, fast.
We surf it for an hour or so before the tide starts to kill it. Then we paddle back and head up the cliff to the van.
Rack tells me on the way home not to worry about secrecy as the wave only works a few times a year.
etiquette
Lineup dynamics.
Reflections on surfing tight, crowded reefs, points and peaks:
Survey the scene and don't rush to the main takeoff spot.
Paddle out by yourself or stagger if with friends.
Know who's who, or make a good guess.
Ease yourself into the flow.
Position yourself for inside scraps and leftovers? maybe.
Set up wide and outside for the bombs?
Jostle with the local boys in the hopes of getting a few gems?
Who are the locals?
You can generally just tell.
And you're not one of them. (unless you're one of them).
If you work your way into a nice wave and kill it, you get respect.
Deep barrels and charging get respect.
Insane takeoffs get respect.
Taking off deep with panache gets respect.
Mellow, non-hassling lineup demeanor gets respect. (or at least tolerance).
Biffing take-offs puts you at the end of the line.
Kooking out or displaying poor style - end of the line.
Aggressive jockeying tactics - end of the line (and serious stinkeye).
If you spoil the flow of the lineup by inexperienced/kooky
positioning/paddling/anything - that's bad.
Stay out of the way.
Don't drop in.
Stay out of the way.
Don't drop in.
Don't shoulder-hop unless you think there is a real chance someone deeper will fall or not make it.
Try to have fun and project good vibes.
It's easy to start taking it too seriously.
Have patience. Don't over-yearn for waves.
Look for alternative opportunities.
Another spot way down the line where nobody is sitting?
Maybe sit way inside and take the big sets on the head but pickup the wedgy little scraps?
Let the pack froth for the first 2 or 3 waves of a set while positioning yourself for the hopeful 4th or 5th wave?
Know who in the lineup is going to make waves and who might not. Position accordingly.
Know your abilities.
If you charge, then fucking charge charging chargeables.
If you're not so chargy.. then sit down the line or don't paddle out.
Be patient. Let other people catch waves.
Chill.
Stay out of the way.
Don't drop in.
When you see a chance. Take it. Don't hesitate. GO!
Paddle hard and commit. Don't hesitate. GO!
Enjoy your rides.
Savor them.
Paddle back out slowly.
Look for opportunities down the line.
Re-scope the lineup while paddling back out.
Sometimes you can nab 2 or 3 waves in succession on your way back out.
Dudes in the lineup are looking out to sea, not down the line.
The main takeoff is not always the best.
People glom where other people are. Take chances and try new micro-areas.
Charge.
Stay out of the way.
Don't drop in.
Have fun!
Fuck yeah - fuck Short Point!
Hey fuckers its BVD's up your ass crack pipe back with your late tuesday morning surf report! Sorry for the delay but I was Downtown dealing with Bryant Street matters - *ucking cops talkin' about assault on a photog! No witness...
Charges dropped.
Surfed 7 sessions yesterday. 90 per hour winds and downed trees couldn't stop me from hitting all the south wind spots!
Rockaway, Linda Marvin's, Moron's Point, inside 'Cracker-Barrells', two sessions three sessions- all ripping killer hard offshore stand-up tubey waves. Size was so so - like 5 feet, then 3 then 7 at other spots! Lotta cool cats sitting in their Pathfinders and Ford trucks. Hooded Nor Cal sweatshirts and coats seemingly unable to make a move - inert in the pouring rain! - They seemed content watching me get waves like in the first photo on today's blog. Ride On E!
* Hey - a shout out here! --- Sorry I missed the 7am call at the Fort - I hate that faux bowl closeout but it would have been groovy to meet some of these anonomous smart ass' from E's looney website. Today is a mix of rain sun wind and clouds with a high degree of more depressing wind rain and sun - chance of happiness later.
SERIOUSLY - it's almost whipping easterlies at the bridge lookout - look for a decreasing swell as the high pressure builds in and we all know what that means!
Alright - there you have it. Oh shit - sorry - I forgot -. I am on the fence about the in-van/suv phone line surf report dealy. Dodge say's it can hook me up with a Satellite feed but then Honda wants to put me in a new Element with what looks to me like a satelite wave tracking system...
Happy surfing and good vibes - hug a tree a friend - your wife, your bro - LATES (hi Ragnar)
Posted by: Un-Conditional Wave Whore at February 28, 2006 12:30 PM
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head butt ...dude brah why rain on the parade of the locals? Post up yon man pile - run a pic of yer mug - maybe a pick of yer alleged surfing prowess - you bashing lips? Are you on the porn machine jerking off to fantasy flap like Brian whilst parousing niceness? Tsk tsk tsk. You need to get on some surf bro! Fucking A surflinesurferwaternorcaltsjsurfingmagmolluskfaceddude where's the pics????
Too ez 4 U to poke fun anon.
Where are all the players?
The names have been changed to protect the guilty.
FU Ataritollah!
Posted by: Malibu Merl at February 28, 2006 07:05 PM
Today's blog reads like a BayWatch episode. You either have big hairy balls or you don't. Just ask Mitch. Oh and thanks for publishing and naming pics of the beach and especially a particular hard-to access point break in SB. Keep up the good work E and friends - YOU SUCK!
Posted by: Rapestah at December 1, 2005 03:34 PM
Oh Boy! Lani's! Yippppiieeeeeee 'I love Lani's!' Its my fave island wave - yippiedippydo!
It's pretty EZ getting waves?! Yep.
How about a deal where all us groovy niceness peeps meet at Sloat parking lot on Sunday and in group paddle out together. Korewin can talk the talk and Dennis can pull E, J, Bagel, Hackey, Sackey and Trout out beyond the harrowing breakers! OH MY HOW SCARY!!!!!! Confidence! Big Balls Confidence!
Bruce can handle all the video and isolated closeups of all us boy's ripping, dipping and diving. Aftewards our circle jerk can ensue...
Posted by: Arm Chair Maverick's Surf Coach at December 1, 2005 04:13 PM
Nice exposure E. You and your clan will never be accepted here. Your boys have now been identified by wetsuits and boards and a hazing is in the offing. Do you pay cash or give weed or both to your followers?
This guy above 'a namer' sounds like your typical mispelling 24 year old Oxnard tranny; all puffed up and full of himself after " two years of surfing OB pretty hard." Typical fodder on another day of niceness choke.
Posted by: Local 415 at December 7, 2005 05:21 PM