So here it is, I’ll be the first to say it: I am not a local. I spend the majority of my daylight hours during the summer on the beach. I can recognize people on sight and I am recognized as well, but I do not live there. I store my boards at a local surf shop but once I leave the ocean I drive a half hour to get home. I am what would be called a transplant local. However this past weekend, I abused my powers as a transplant local. I let the measly amount of time I spent in the same waters, or endless hours checking the same surf report, get to my head.
I had been surfing early in the morning during the week and I was looking forward to being able to surf for an extended period of time without having to run to work. The beaches were crawling with tourists, the whitewash full of weekend warriors. Our usual crowd of 5 or so swelled up to roughly 20.
I didn’t take my board with me so I borrowed one of the board from the local surf school where I teach. I was joined by a couple folks that I know when all of sudden the morning took a turn for the worse. I saw it approaching and began to paddle to catch it. I popped up, turned left started to go down the line and then I saw them.
A bunch of fucking buoys on rental boards just sitting in the ocean talking. Not even facing the horizon! Facing the beach! What the hell was this? How could they miss this bright-red 10 foot longboard? “Calm down,” I thought, “They are probably new. Remember what you learned from those who taught you. Educate kindly.” And so I bailed, took the chest high-slop on the head and paddled back out.
“How was it?” My buddy Ricky hollers at me from the other side of the line-up.
“I was blocked by a bunch of buoys,” I bitched back.
Ricky laughs, “Remember! Educate and encourage,” he says. So that’s how it started.
I paddled over to the boarders and said condescendingly, “Hey guys! You may not want to sit on the inside facing away from the horizon. You won’t be able to see what’s behind you.”
They looked at me like I was stupid, “Ya man, okay.” One of them quipped. And would you believe it, the very next wave on which I found myself there in front of me were those two again just sitting on their boards. I was fuming.
“Hey, watch out!” I screamed. But then they turned their heads and began to paddle for the wave I was already riding. Bullshit. Even after I tried to educate and encourage them? Unbelievable.
Needless to say I once again ate shit in the white wash and was forced to crawl disgraced back to the lineup. But, I decided I was going give them HELL. That was the last time!
As soon as I saw them, “What the hell was that?”
They didn’t look phased, “Shut your fucking mouth!”
Seriously? Shut my fucking mouth? I had been courteous, I warned them after all. That was it. I went off. I exploded. I had enough!
I couldn’t give you a verbatim repeat of what I said, but it wasn’t very nice, it wasn’t very badass either, and it definitely was not very local.
It went something like, “Know your place in the line-up, sitting like a bunch of buoys, ya-da-ya-da-ya-da…I’m just watching out for your safety ya-da-ya-da-ya-da…who the fuck do you think you are? ya-da-ya-da-ya-da…”
And though initially they persisted, they finally broke.
“Ok, I’m sorry man, I didn’t know it was such a big deal. Don’t worry it won’t happen again.”
“That’s what I thought.” I made my way back to my high horse in the line-up.
And the next 15 minutes were beautiful. Every wave I caught was sans buoys. Not one in sight as I slid across the water.
However, my guilty conscience caught up with me quickly, and I began dissecting my afternoon’s interactions. Had I done the right thing?
Of course. I surf here everyday, I know the pecking order, respect the locals, don’t mess with us.
Respect the locals, I mean that’s what Coco Nogales said about Puerto right?
But hold on. I am not a local. I am here everyday but I don’t live here.
No, no, no. That’s not right and that’s not why I surf. I am no different than the them. We are both here for the same thing. Being at each other’s throats achieved absolutely nothing.
My entire surfing life, those around me (all except once) had always been helpful, educational, and encouraging towards my surfing, and, believe me, I did not always deserve it. In the beginning, I would paddle straight into the pack and battle for waves without even waiting my turn. It didn’t help that I had no idea what surf etiquette was. Nonetheless, somehow they found the kindness to educate and inspire me. And not letting those guys catch waves was the exact opposite. It did nothing for them, and only served to make me look like a giant prick.
Another 15 minutes of solo waves carried on, and the debate raged on in my head as the guilt grew further in my soul. I couldn’t carry on like this. Surfing isn’t surfing when I have this feeling of guilt. These empty waves aren’t worth it.
So as I cruised back to the line-up and passed them I stopped.
“Hey, what’s your names?”
“He’s Paul and I’m Steve” one grimaced.
“Look guys, I’m sorry. What I said was wrong, I had no right to go off on you like that. My name is Kwame. Why don’t you come into the lineup and rotate through with us?”
“Thanks.”
Head held higher (albeit only slightly), they paddled their way over to the rest of us. The rest of the afternoon was much simpler, and the issue of being snaked disappeared. Rotation ran seamlessly and everyone got his or her fair share of waves. It was beautiful.
As the session wore on, I got a new perspective. Through conversation I learned Paul had lived here longer than I had been coming here, even if he hadn’t been in the water as long. What shone through the most was their passion for the ocean; it was unsurprisingly similar to mine, and the rest of the folks in the water.
I was lucky to salvage my bad behavior before it was too late, but often time’s surfers fail to show redeeming qualities when being proud about their communities.
And if you want to take a look right in front of you at the latest “Pirate Invasion” of Lower Trestles, you will see perhaps the most well-documented blatant localism in years.
My point is, that we are all missing the point. Our aggression towards each other is a slap in the face to surfing’s forefathers. Surfing is a celebration of life! It is meant to enjoy, if you aren’t going to open your mind to at least the possibility of happiness then you have no place in the water.
Look no further than the Paskowitz clan. Through all the B.S. they deal with in life and inter-family turmoil, they all take solace in surfing. Look at Robert August, Paul Strauch, Wingnut & Co. When did the “Endless Summer” attitude end? When did being territorial become cool?
Let’s get back to basics, back to sharing. Stop remembering better times and create better times. Be kind to all, share, smile, let it slide, and inspire each other! Let’s change the direction of surfing.
Don’t let something so beautiful slip away. In a world where hiding from problems is near impossible, let’s not ruin the last sacred temple.
Keep paddling and I will see you in the water.