A Surf Anthropologist
As you may remember, I've been alone all week. Given a rare opportunity to immerse myself in whatever leisurely activities I want with very few distractions. With a solid south swell, some new surfboards and plenty of surf action on TV, it was a good opportunity to reintroduce myself to the behaviors of a total surf turkey.
I started the week by serenading myself with the background noise of every surf vid I have. My workspace felt like a '90s surf shop. Everything from "156 Tricks" to "Lost Atlas" to "Shelter" and "The Fifth Symphony Document" graced my screen and played at full volume. The sound system I have is an old Vizio television so it sounded like shit. Just like the '90s.
I didn't allow myself to dwell too much in the halls of nostalgia though — remember we burned those down a few weeks ago. I made sure I had caught up on the latest YouTube surf drops and had a WSL webcast playing at all times. Every evening I washed the day down with a deep glass of chianti and uncle Garrett McNamara, screening a new episode of HBO’’s "100 Foot Wave." Surfing surround sound.
At this point, I could probably give you a decent read on the level of the hangover the Blakey brothers, Richie Lovett and Stace Galbraith are operating on in the WSL booth at Newcastle based on their voice intonations. I’ve also come to realize how freaking tough it is to make a 4-man heat on the CS. Sheesh. My online echo chamber was filled exclusively with core surf dog content. Deep internal discussions and debates were had on heats from the Round of 80 on. Did anything happen outside the surf world this week? I wouldn’t know. All I know is that I watched nearly every heat that ran in "Newy" and I have made my picks. I did just hear that Trump is selling his Tesla though. Thoughts?
All week I had the opportunity to pick my windows to surf and devour surf content like a 20 year old valet parking attendant saving for his next surf trip (aka: my adolescent life). I was a serious surf anthropologist and participant.
My first surf of the week saw me dragged out to sea and simultaneously sent north at a ridiculous clip. I should have known what I was in for as I ran past the local boys and they said, "You're going out?” But they kind of always say that and there was no one out and I needed the exercise. Closeouts detonated to the horizon. I ran nearly a mile down the beach in preparation for the ripping current and found myself pulled back in front of the local boys before I even made it out the back. I estimate the current speed at around 60 miles an hour based on my markers.
I found my silver lining though. After riding the bucking bronco of a first wave highlighted by ollies and slappies off backwash, rip and wind lump, I nearly stitched three sections together (a miracle in its own right), I made it back out to try to find one more amid this sea of foam, south current and lefts. Then I received a weird gift.
A strange calm came over the lineup where I sat and a wave came toward me from the north. At this point in the week, there was forecast to be zero NW windswell so corners were non-existent. I scratched in, got a strange early chip into it, bottom turned calmly against the grain into a check turn stall and found myself slotted in a clean barrel, on a right — a slick little glassy pocket among the slop. It breathed me out and I just kinda looked out to sea. Nothing but lefts and foam for days. Duckdivers delight. What just happened?
I came in, walking back to my car a mile away in the other direction now and I ran into a friend. "How was it?" he asked from his e-bike, a surfer automaton of a question.
I looked out toward the ocean. It resembled lineup shots I'd seen of Pichilemu in Chile. Endless unmakeable lefts grinding off. "It sucked, but I just got barreled…on a right," I said, still in shock. It felt like fake news as I told him. We stared at the lineup together, wondering what the hell I was talking about. Getting barreled, on a right, out there? He rode away despite my claim of tubes. Probably smart.
I returned to my car, pretty happy with myself. In a world of lefts. Of distractions. Nostalgia. And foamy rip currents. I just got a sick little tube. On a right. That night I settled in for some comp surfing. I watched Josh Kerr (on a twin fin), Julian Wilson, Sally Fitzgibbons and Kolohe Andino surf a Challenger Series event. I started to feel like I was living in the upside down.
The following night, things got back to normal though. The windswell and crowds returned to my homebreak and Kolohe got robbed. Homeostasis had been restored. His part in “Lost Atlas” is still better than anything he's ever done in a heat anyway and can you believe that Cortes Bank episode of “100 Foot Wave”? Liam O’Brien and Tya Zebrowski are going to win the Burton Automotive Newcastle Pro. Trust me. I’ve put in the time. —Travis Ferré
