By Tyler Long
“Been surfin’ yet?” I hear it all the time. The warm winds blow and the sun cooks the cement. It’s mid-July and all attention is focused on the beach. But as normal as that question may seem, to a surfer it’s as absurd as onion mouthwash. The thing is: there is rarely surf in New England during the summer months. Sure we get a few bumps here and there, but until the bittersweet hurricanes of late September—basically the last throes of beach time for everyone else—the song pretty much remains the same: Welcome to Lake Narragansett.
So why the hordes of wetsuit clad kooks with stacked board-racks and 500-dollar plastic decks clogging the line-ups of our Ocean State? Why not just play golf or take the kids fishing?
Because surfing fucking rules! Those that can’t surf want to, and those that can want to do it more. People write books detailing the joy and beauty a surfer feels during those fleeting seconds where time slows down and nothing matters except the wave. The wave: a pulse of invisible energy that traveled hundreds or thousand of miles to expire on our shores.
That said, let us go over a few things anyone thinking about joining the ever-expanding tribe of surfers should know. Knowledge is key—knowing the way a certain wave breaks on a certain swell with a certain wind will help you surf better and catch more waves. Being aware of different board designs, what board to use and when to use it is also extremely helpful. Knowing the history of surfing and the evolution of the sport is huge.
Surfing isn’t just a sport, it’s an art—Watching great surfing is like watching a dance. The rider draws a line on the face of a natural surface, simultaneously avoiding the chaos unfolding around him/her. Watch a surfer’s feet, they’re shuffling up and down, back and forth as the wave moves forward and peels side to side; grace under pressure.
The Line Up—This is the place where you sit and wait for waves. Sometimes line-ups can get crowded. Pipeline on Oahu’s North Shore, a proving ground for professional surfers, can be so crowded that a given pro can wait three hours before catching a wave, if at all. Why is this? Well, it’s doesn’t have to do with a lack of waves. It’s all about pecking order.
Pecking order—“The Order” is what separates the rippers from the kooks. Pecking order is what makes surfing by yourself or with a couple of pals a priceless endeavor. It’s what makes surfers move further away from the population centers. Example: Alaska, Ireland, Nova Scotia; all these cold and soggy places are now shredded regularly by dudes fed up with the pecking order somewhere else. The way pecking order works is, the best surfers know how to read waves, they know exactly where the wave peaks, and are strong enough to catch it when the wave is at its steepest. Whoever gets the wave closest to the peak gets to keep it. Say a wave breaks from right to left. The person the furthest to the right is solely entitled to the wave and once they’re standing up and going, it’s that surfer’s right to have it all to themselves. Anyone “dropping in” on you is a snake and is threatening your safety and your wave.
What all this means is that the best surfers on any given day at any given spot around the world basically gets their pick of waves. Sorry to bring you down if you’re expecting a democratic system of sharing, because it just ain’t happenin’. Surfing is pure Darwinism, Survival of the Fittest 101.
Of course there are exceptions to every rule. A couple years ago in Maui my buddy Eric and I were out surfing. It was a fun day, the waves must have only three feet max, but clean and blue and gorgeous. The lineup wasn’t too crowded as the swell was so tiny it probably didn’t even register to the rippers that won’t go out unless it’s 10 feet plus. I was getting a little overzealous and maybe a bit too greedy when a big, local—probably 250 pounds -- paddled out and sat next to me. He missed the first wave so I edged back towards the peak where I had been before he showed up. Finally a good set comes in and Big Boy and I both start paddling. Just as I’m about to stand up I feel a tugging on my leash. I stop and look to see what I’m hung up on. It’s Eric purposefully sabotaging my ride. WTF? I stop paddling as Big Boy, all 250 pounds of him, gracefully stands up and glides into the sickest wave of the day. I watch him slide further towards the beach before I shoot Eric a look of angry astonishment. “Think about it,” he says, “Whether it’s your wave or not, it’s still his wave.”
Confused? Here’s the bottom line: Big Boy has probably been surfing these waves since birth. He probably lives, works, and raises his kids close by. He is local and besides that, he could tear my head off and suck my brains out like a bag of poi. Did I really want to yell or whistle at this guy for dropping in? No way. Lesson: Always make room for the locals and if you see someone that has obviously been surfing a certain spot their whole life, and if he’s a really big dude, it’s best just to suck it up, smile, and take scraps. Much like a beginner learning to surf, an outsider at any break should give way to those who surf it frequently.
Surfing means different things to different people. To many, like those hard-asses waiting for their big moment at Pipeline, it’s a competitive sport; a job, a future. To most surfers it lies somewhere between a spiritual endeavor and a way to stay fit, not to mention an escape from all the shit that happens on land. For me, surfing can be summed up in one simple phrase: pure joy. It’s that awesome.
It’s that awesome, but don’t think learning is anything but humiliating and frustrating. Can’t swim? Forget about it. Scared of sea creatures? Get over it. Want to be “the guy” right away? Yeah right. Maybe the most precious part about surfing is that it just isn’t for everyone. To do it well it takes a lot of sick days, a lot of shivering at dawn, and a lot of abuse from aggressive groms (young surfers), grumpy old men, and xenophobic locals.
Any rich goon can drive his Hummer to Vermont, pay an assload of money and stand in line to ride down a hill. With surfing, “You gotta’ earn that shit.” It doesn’t come easy but nothing worth a damn does.
So there you have it, a tutorial for those of you curious about what those guys are doing out there. The simple act of riding waves isn’t so simple after all. But if you are heading out this summer in search of waves, remember to pick the right spot, be patient, smile—and stay the Hell outta’ my way. Aloha.
For surf reports and information about local spots check out nesurf.com. For all your surfing needs go to Gansett Juice in Narragansett. NOW GO SURFING!
