localswell

It¹s probably not the best time of year to be singing the praises of
bennies or inlanders. By this point in the summer, we¹ve all had our fair
share of rude, preening a-holes, traffic jams and kook-filled shoulder-to-shoulder lineups. But there¹s one breed of inlander, whom I¹ve always thought deserves a lot more praise, a lot more props. They get no respect, but deserve tons.I’m talking about the inland dwelling surfer.In the hierarchy of hard core  they sit at the top. In the hierarchy of respect, they’re near the bottom. 

I’m not talking about bennies who emerge in May, flop around like broken-winged gulls for a few months and then fly back to Bergen County after Labor Day.

I’m talking about dedicated surfers, who are simply stuck living far from the ocean.  I’m talking about guys and maybe a few gals, who suffer long drives to get to the beach but still have enough stoke to keep doing it year after year. 

At one of my regular breaks, there are a handful of such guys, and their stories are ones of unrivaled dedication. There’s a guy who gets up at 4 am and drives from his home in Somerset County, surfs DP and then heads to work in Middlesex. There are mornings in March and February when I paddle out and he’s the first one there, the locals all still tucked in their beds. There’s another guy who lives in West Orange, drives down the night before he thinks a swell will arrive and sleeps in his van to catch it early. He somehow pulls this off with a wife and baby at home, too. It’s not just the domestic juggling and commute that make this tough. It’s just flat out tougher in the lineup when you¹re not a local. You could surf for 20 years like this and be one of the best rippers around, but when you paddle out, no one knows who you are.  In the xenophobic localized lineups, if you’re not local, you’re assumed to be a kook. Nobody’s gonna give you a break and you’re gonna have to fight strangers for waves – even if you’ve been surfing that same break for longer than they’ve been alive.

 I write about it, I guess, because I lived like this for a long time before I managed to settle in Monmouth County.  I remember what seems like a zillion pre-dawn drives from Middlesex and Hudson Counties in the pre-Internet surf report days, arriving at the beach only to find frigid blown out ankle slappers. Even after I’d been surfing the same break for 15 years, I’d paddle out and get looks like I was a stranger – because I was.

Thankfully, those days are long gone for me. But not for many. You seem them every swell, plying their cars across Route 195, down the Parkway, boards strapped to the roof as they cut through the predawn darkness, driven by a stoke that overcomes geography

So the next time you them pull up at your break, somebody you don’t recognize, don’t assume they’re some kook stranger. Give em a wave.  Give em some respect. They just might be more hard core than the locals.

Peace. BD.

*Note: this was first written in July, when the first sentence was more accurate than it is now, amid a flat spell.

You know,the surf sure has been pretty good around here lately. It’s been so good, in fact, that you might find yourself thinking that New Jersey is actually a good place to be a surfer. These swells we’re having now, like any good run of waves, can lull you into some sense that the Jersey Juice can be as sweet as whatever nectar ol’ Poseiden squeezes out in more exotic locales.  And then, you travel.  

And that is when you realize how much New Jersey surf sucks.

 It happens every time I travel. I get off the plane, sleepless, frenzied, in whatever surf trip destination I’ve chosen, and catch my first wave. And the first thing that always hits me is – wow. This is what it’s REALLY supposed to be like. Big waves. Long waves. Waves that hold up and peel and let you do things to them. Not just beachbreak sandbar waves that you mainly just outrun, but groundswells, waves you can live with for a while, play with, practice on, sit in barrels wide enough to lay out a picnic blanket and stop for lunch.

 I’m not saying that we should not be proud. Au contraire, Jersey surfers. Proud we should be. 

But what we in New Jersey should be proud of is not how good our surf gets. What we should be proud of is ourselves, how good we are despite it, and all how we surf on – despite of how truly bad it is here. It’s not just the finicky waves or our lack of reefs and points. It’s the crowds, the rat race, the soul-sucking lifestyle, the pollution, the beach badge laws, the cold, the flat spells, the all around suckitude of it all.

All of that is what creates the other main thought that pops into my head every time I’m sitting in a lineup in some other exotic locale.  And that’s how downright EASY it is to be a surfer in other places — places like Puerto Rico or California, or Carolina, or, or, you name it.  

Often when I’m there, I look around at the people in the water and wonder to myself: “how many of these people would still be in the water if they lived in Jersey?” 

Not many, I think.  And that’s why we should be proud. We should be proud that we surf through all the crap we surf through. 

 We should be proud every time we hear a California wuss call 55 degree water “cold.” We should be proud when people laugh at our bureaucratic beach badge laws, our lifeguard blackballs, our history of pollution. Our finicky surf, our hit and run swells, our wave-killing geography, our cold winters, our high property taxes and cost of living that keeps us working, working working when we should be surfing, surfing, surfing.  

But we surf through it all. And THAT - that spirit -  is the real Jersey Juice. It’s not in the water. It’s running through our veins, bro. It’s in us. It is us. Be proud of that.

  

What’s the longest layoff you’ve had from surfing? Do you remember what it felt like when you first hit the water again?

 

It had been more than a month – a crazy, sleep deprived, identity questioning new baby new job month – when I finally grabbed the old 9’0’ from under my sister’s house over the July 4^th weekend. The second the lifeguards whistled their 6 o’clock farewell, I was running toward the water.

It was small, summer  afternoon windswell, but glassy enough and fun. The kind of day you watch from the beach and think you’ll get nothing, but when you get out, you are surprised by what a good longboard can do on small waves. Still, it wasn’t waves I caught that still stick with me from that session. It was just being there again, just being in the water, on a board.  

It was like I had been in a sensory deprivation chamber for eight weeks and suddenly was back, feeling and seeing again. I hadn’t thought about this much, but it struck me that minute I hit the water and started paddling out, how surfing so completely involves every sense you have. Is there another sport that does that? Is there another sport in which you are feeling so much – the water on your skin, the temperature, the motion and power of the ocean. Where you are actually tasting – (and yes, I find the ocean tastes varies from season to season and place to place) the medium in which you are performing? Any sport with such unique sounds – from the roar of the ocean to seagulls? Never mind any sport - is there any other activity - any art, any religious ritual, any pricey luxury spa treatment that can do all that?

 

The waves were fun that day. It was a classic midsummer, end of the day silly sesh with lots of groms and kooks and everyone having fun. I took to sitting on the board and finally sitting down during a few rides and doing some coffins. There are times to keep it light like that, and this was one of those times. It felt so good. It sounded good. It tasted good. And man, oh man, was it good.

Here’s a phrase I have heard quite a few people say, but have never, ever understood: “I used to surf.”

“You used to surf?” I think to myself whenever I hear somebody say it. “You mean you stopped?”

See, I simply cannot fathom how anyone could start surfing, then stop. Short of being forced to move inland or becoming too old or injured, I could never understand someone just giving it up. It’s way too addicting, like heroin, only good for you. And I have always scratched my head at the idea of someone just stopping. For me, it always seemed simply impossible, beyond the realm of possiblity.

Until this summer, that is. I find myself, now, for the first time, wracked by a self surf doubt crisis of epic proportions. I am wondering if this life I have built, in a large part with surfing at its core, is sustainable.

It is brought on by a perfect storm of factors, from the economic, to the personal, to the meteorological. Among them:

1. The baby. I mentioned in my previous post, written a few days after my second daughter was born in May, how the second child was going to make it tougher to get in the water. Things haven’t changed. That wasn’t so bad during June’s weeks long flat spell, when I felt like I wasn’t missing much. But this week it got good for five straight days and I was still unable to get out. Painful. Brutally painful. In New Jersey, you simply cannot afford to miss swells. Especially in June. That kind of stuff will kill your soul.

2. The job: I have a new position at work and my boss wants me to start earlier. So far, I have resisted. It would mean the end of dawn patrol. And weekday dawn patrols are the bread and butter of my surf schedule.

3. The commute: I work in Newark. I live in Red Bank. It’s a fairly long commute. I have a tiny fuel sipping Hyundai, but gas prices of four bucks a gallon are starting to take a toll on the family budget, which has gone from two incomes/two people to one income/four people in just two years. Also, the 8-10 hours I spend driving to work each week is essentially another day at the office, another full day away from the family. The long hours behind the wheel are also causing lots of back pain. I live where I do largely so I can surf, although there are also a ton other reasons (including cheaper home prices and ties we’ve made to our community). But if I’m not surfing anyway, what the hell am I doing?

So the push to move North, to become a benny, is strong, and growing. It would mean, essentially the end of surfing for me. I would become one of those pale kooks you see blowing drops for rusty timing weekend mornings in the summer.

And that’s if I’m lucky.

I’m hoping all this is just a phase. That the family will settle into a routine, the baby will sleep, my new work schedule will allow me to hit it at dusk, if not dawn.

And I’m thinking that maybe, maybe all this doubt is fueled by the fact that I haven’t surfed in so long. (it’s my longest no surf stint for me since 1998, when I was landlocked in the Andes). I’m clinging to the faith that all this doubt will be cured by the next wave I ride, that when it comes and I catch it, it will wipe all this clean and restore my resolve to keep surfing, no matter what life, or work, or greedy oil speculators can throw at me. Because if I ever hear myself say those words, “I used to surf”, well, it must might be the saddest words to ever come out of my mouth.

ps

Has anyone else been through this kind of thing? I’d love to hear some comments. I could use em..

Peace, BD.

I love the Localswell forum, including all the trash talking that goes on between various sectors of the surfing community. It’s not my bag these days, but it reminds of when I was younger and more inclined to be dogmatic about things – longboarders vs. shortboarders, surfers vs. boogie boarders.

It’s not what I want this blog to be however. I’m trying not to make this just a trail of invectives against this group or that. But recent news has highlighted one group of people on the water who absolutely deserve my utter disdain and will continue to get it no matter how gray and equanimous I become: jet skiers.

To put it simply, they suck. How bad? Well, there’s more proof here this week, with news about the dolphin pod in the Shrewsbury River. Animal activists are worried about the dolphins partly because boaters, and yes, jet skiers, continue to get so close, endangering the dolphins.

I was not surprised at all to read it. There are tons of things I hate about personal water craft. They’re noisy. They’re annoying. But also because of all the craft on the water – from fishing boats to boogie boards to inflatable rafts, they’re simply the most oafish and least fun craft on the water. It takes no skill whatsoever to drive one. And, I am convinced, it takes a true cretin to enjoy doing so.

I have tried them periodically over the years, most recently a couple of years ago when my buddy was housesitting in Oceanport and told me to take the one in his aunt’s yard for a spin. I had surfed that whole morning in Bay Head. It was one of those June days, hot air, cold water, foggy, the Jersey ocean still shaking off its winter greyness. But the drops were fun, the walls glassy and head high and I surfed until my arms turned spaghetti.

So it was striking hours later when I sat on the PWC and took it for a ride. First I went fast straight. Then I went fast on a turn. And then, well, I realized, that’s about all the thing does. It goes fast. It goes straight. It turns. Oh yeah, and it spews smoke in my face.

Compared to the surfboard I had been on, trimming and carving along the waves, the thing felt like I had hopped off a graceful thoroughbred and saddled up on a hippo. It was bulky, loud and dopey. There was no skill required. After ten minutes of this inanity, I was bored and thinking about lunch.

Here’s the difference: When you surf, you are harnessing, literally, a wave of energy born hundreds or thousands of miles away. Using your years of experience and practice and conditioning, you work to put yourself in precisely that spot where that long traveled wave will release its energy, it’s most kinetic point before it disperses back into oblivion. If done right, it is graceful beyond words.

When you ride a jet ski, you press a button, make a loud noise and go “Weeeee!”

So I’m not surprised the jet skiers are bothering the dolphins. It’s a frustrating experience driving a PWC, and a boring one, too. It does so little, and requires even less. Nothing, really, than a mind small enough to delight in the inanity of such pursuits.

    

     Well four days later and still suffering no end in site.  All we have now are hopes dreams and memories of swells past.  But this really isn’t all that uncommon for us this time of year.  Then why as I said before was it less flat in years past when we were younger?  There were just a lot more swells back then.  No? Really?  Still not buying it?  Well think back to your favorite times on the beach growing up.  In my memory no matter what time of year it was, there were always waves.  I couldn’t wait for my mom or dad to get me to the beach because I remember there were always waves for me to ride.  No matter when we got there something ride able was rolling in.  I hit the beach and before anyone else had unpacked I had stormed the water like the marines stormed the beaches of Normandy. This can’t be a coincidence!  How could it be that there were so many more swells back then then there are today.  I don’t remember the last good swell and yet reflecting on growing up at the beach I can’t picture times without waves.  So what happened to our endless summer swells?  We grew up………

        

          This will be an installment posting( going to put parts up at a time but it will make a complete posting)

          As I lazily wandered through the forums on Localswell one in particular piqued my interest.  end of flat spell.  I looked through it because like every other New Jersey native I am awaiting the arrival of something in the ocean to get excited about aside from throngs of tourists.  Well I am not that thrilled about them either to be fair, but it at least gave me something to look at for a while.  It seems as though we have been a bit wave starved lately, and not a record drought, but long enough to be antsy about when the next swell is coming.  According to the posting and several “reliable” websites there were going to be waves on Tuesday.  Thank god!   Should I call out of work, extend my long weekend?  We all waited and hoped. Then today came and went without much relief and the wait continued.  Any true Garden Stater knows that patience is a virtue when waiting for waves but I cant help starting to get the “we aren’t getting any waves any times soon jitters.”  After getting skunked for a few weeks one of the most frequently uttered phrases in New Jersey surfing is often not to far behind.  “It wasn’t like this when I was younger.  Why are there so many less swells now?”  Come on, aside from me how many of you have found you or your friends uttering that phrase?  Is there any truth to it what-so-ever?  Yes.

 My two-year old-daughter Blaizy recently pointed to my wife’s astonishingly bulbous pregnant belly and said, “Surfer in mommy’s belly?” 

Holy crap. It was so cute my head nearly exploded. And after I caught my breath, I turned to her and said, “Well, let’s hope so. Maybe you can help teach your little sister to surf.” 

Then quietly, I thought to myself, “Please, please, please let it be true!”

Look, I know that hoping your kid is going to be one specific type of person is just setting yourself up for disappointment. Push your kid to be a jock, and he’ll take up ballet. Try and make your daughter a math whiz, and she’ll start writing poetry. I’ve heard the stories. And I don’t care if my kids become stock brokers, lawyers, bricklayers, janitors, astronauts, religious freaks or homosexuals. They can be what they’ll be. But I just really, really want them to surf - to know that feeling that only we know.

But Blaizy’s a girl. And unless the sonogram missed something, (or I have a son with a bad case of the curse of the Irish) the one due to arrive in a few weeks is going to be girl too. And based on what I see in the water, I think that might make the road a bit more difficult.

A few years back, teenage girls seemed to be taking to the water in droves. Seriously, I remember a year or two stretch where there was to be a huge obvious increase in the number of wahines out there.  There were young girls everywhere out trying to learn. It was inspiring. It looked as though some huge corner had been turned. To me, female surfers are a great influence in the lineup, somehow toning down the knucklehead factor. And is there anything more beautiful than the sight of a woman gracefully sliding across the face of a wave? Talk about taking your breath away… 

Anyway, I theorize that two things contributed to that spike in girls surfing in the 90’s. One, I think the women’s champion World Cup soccer team (Mia Hamm, etc.) instilled a real can-do attitude in a lot of girls and encouraged a lot more to go into sports. And secondly, there was the far more shallow and vapid inspiration, the movie Blue Crush, which upped the cool factor for teenage girls.  

Whatever happened, the wahine wave seems to have subsided. Their numbers seem to have dwindled in recent years. And in New Jersey, I’ve noticed, female surfers seem to be even more rare. 

On a recent trip to Puerto Rico, I was struck by how many more women were in the water. I see the same thing in California, Costa Rica, almost anywhere I go surfing. Here in New Jersey there seems to be far fewer girls and women surfing. Over in the Localswell forum, Bob a SG diehard local  shares a similar observation in the otherwise antithetical (but fun and readable) thread about hot chick surfers.  I have no idea why this is.

 At 37, with a mortgage, a job and other anchors, my days of transcontinental surf adventures are nearly over, or at least on hiatus. The biggest surf adventure I have coming (and probably the most thrilling of them all) is, hopefully, going to be watching my kids take it up.

I really hope my daughter was right – that there is a surfer in mommy’s belly. But it bums me out when I see girls out there in such tiny, miniscule numbers. What’s discouraging girls from surfing? And are those factors more intense here in NJ? I’ll find out soon enough, I suppose, and try to tackle them head on, the best I can, like any parent would. But in the meantime, if anybody has any theories, I’d love to hear em.

Peace. BD.

          “On Dec. 5, surf industrialist Grubby Clark did shut his doors, closing a 44-year-old Southern California business that manufactured the buoyant foam core of most of the world’s surfboards.”  Ken McLaughlin, Knight Ridder Newspapers, 2/6/06

            This was our equivalent of the “shot heard round the world.”  Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote that line referring to the beginning of the American Revolution and how the world had taken notice of that historical event.  When Grubby Clark announced his closing the “surfing world” took notice.  Much like the American Revolution there was an instant panic.  People were worried about what was going to come next.  What side do we choose?  Do we look for the new foam maker to fill those shoes, or jump on the composite train?  Surf magazines devoted countless pages to who was going to step up to fill in this monumental vacancy.  Board prices rose and people flocked to the store to stock up on what was left before they were gone.  Terror reigned supreme in the land of p/u surf products and everyone walked on eggshells as we awaited our next savior.

            That was 2005, flash forward to 2008.  At my last check surfing was still becoming stronger then ever and building momentum.  Boards are still readily available and priced to sell.  Surf shops are flourishing and all the board makers, local or global, have not gone out of business. So why all the hype then?  Why did we all panic and run to build our quivers?  Simple, because as much as we pride ourselves in being individuals in a sport without teams we had all bought into the theory that Clark foam was “IT” as far as board design.  But just like the rest of surfing history all this “revolution” was, was a turning point. 

            Since the beginning of surfing there has been a “revolution” every few decades.  Long, heavy koa wood boards were replaced by lighter balsa wood boards.  Some people resisted the change as it strayed form the heart and soul of the Polynesian sport.  Balsa wood was replaced by the radical aeronautic substance fiberglass and a lot of people resisted the change as we got away from the “nature” in surfing.  Nine foot paddle beasts were replaced by much shorter, pointier, lighter single fin rockets and a huge riff developed.  Those radical single fin rockets were replaced by two, three and four fin potato chips and then we stagnated.  There was no room for revolution, unless you count the resurgence of longboards.  When the changes in shapes settled down we all grew comfortable with where we were and thought things would never change and they didn’t.  Until 2005.

            Back to 2008 and almost tweny nine and a half months later we are all still hanging in.  Well not hanging in but flourishing.  The much resisted and often maligned surftech boards have undergone vast improvements and acceptance.  The quality foam blanks although maybe not as prevalent are still available through smaller companies trying to protect the “soul” of the sport.  And maybe the best part of all of this is the innovation in new products.

            Aside from creating Clark Foam, Grubby Clark’s greatest achievement may be inspiring surfers and shapers to open their minds to what a surfboard really can be.  By closing he freed us from the confines our own comfort zone and forced us to look at alternatives.  Epoxy, composite, wood and many other vessels have shown up in the water lately.  We are free to experiment and explore what works best for us instead of just riding what we were told was the best.  From finless wooden boards under Dan Malloy, to recycled aluminum boards under Rasta we are seeing barriers broken down all over and the revolution is beginning all over again.

            Many people saw Clark’s closing as a tragedy and it shook our sport to its very foundation.  Well I pose the question to you now two and a half years later.  Would we be progressing and changing at such a pace if it weren’t for this forced exploration of the choices around us?