1967 - SUMMER
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It was in September. A swell came up that hit at low tide. Sometimes a low tide wave can be fast and fun with long walls that hold up just long enough to slip by the break. But these waves were thick and mean. They sucked up and slammed down hard sending a mixture of whitewater and dirty sand pounding across the beach.
I had been sapping my energy in fierce paddles trying to get enough momentum to drop into the wave. But they were forming quickly and then snapping shut. The wave required a late takeoff. A late takeoff means that after one or two strokes, you spring to your feet as the wave is folding, doing its best to pitch you straight down, and you dig the nose of the board up hard and over into the part of the wave still reaching out before you. In a late takeoff you don’t catch the wave, it catches you. I shied away from late takeoffs because unless everything; the wave, your board, your feet, your determination, line up together at the exact moment in time, you end up going over the falls without even a barrel.
Water, in large quantity, is quite heavy. It looks as though it backs off when challenged but it executes a classic military maneuver by retreating and drawing the invader in. Then he is quickly swallowed and the pressure on all sides is tightened until he succumbs. Large waves are looming volumes of pressure. They have the effect of knocking the stuffing out of you, in part, because they pummel every inch of your body as they break, and in part, because they pressure every inch of your body trying to force you down. An experienced ocean swimmer knows that fighting against the force only adds to its effect and that he must go limp like he was a rag doll in some giant mongrel's slobbering mouth until the monster finishes toying with him and he can head for the surface. If the water is frothy, you can't even catch your breath when your loosed from the downward pull. You can drown in the bubbles since they are too light to push off from but too dense to breathe. This is particularly true of fresh water rapids. Fortunately, the shoreward movement of the surf and the salinity of the water act to counter this in the ocean.
I finally caught one of the damned waves I had been stroking so intently to catch and then wished I hadn't. I dropped down the face and was just stabilizing the board anticipating a fast and furious ride when the wave hammered me. The wall of water ripped into me and grabbed my board out from under my feet and whipped it past my head; then bounced me off the bottom. I dragged myself to the sand and sat down.
A nearby storm brings disorganized lines that seem to be brawling and fighting among themselves all the way to the shore. We use to call it victory-at-sea conditions named after a series on World War II naval history that opened with a shot of the North Atlantic pitching and dipping. Distant storms brew waves that consolidate with other waves as they travel across the ocean and their mergers create large pulses of power. Since these pulses are usually further apart and individually discernible, we refer to this kind of swell as clean.
As the tide moves up or down, it changes the depth of the water. If the swell is clean but not particularly powerful, then the wave might jack up when it reaches the shallows but it will be thin and break like a slap across the beach. If the swell is powerful and hits the shallows, it will be thick and strike like a punch. The waves on this day were definitely the punching variety.
A point break usually has a solid bottom of rock or reef that produces consistent breakers of long duration. A sandy bottom produces large peaks that crack shut and although the rides are shorter, many surfers like the speed and shape of these waves. The direction from which the pulse approaches also determines the shape. If a reef is uniformly formed (a rarity in nature), and the wave hits the reef with no angle, then the wave will break all at once from one end of the reef to the other. If the wave hits at an angle, it will begin to break where it first strikes the reef and then appear to roll across the shallows breaking from one side to the other of the reef. The fully formed but non-breaking part of the wave is called the shoulder. A wave with a shoulder that stretches out in front of you in a long wall can be a breath-taking experience.
A novice surfer perceives a wave in only one form with two components. He thinks of a wave as a breaking body of water and as an about-to-break body of water. But a swell can hit at such an angle and with such a force that it will swiftly move across the beach and have absolutely no shoulder to it. These waves can be very difficult to catch because you need to concentrate on getting into the sweeping movement of the wave; too far to either side and you end up missing it or catching only whitewater. Damon and I were out on a day that featured this brand of wave and we were not having much fun. As Rallio paddled out, after a series of rides, to the spot where the top of the wave first started to crumble he passed by us, "You've got to geek up the take-off. Let it break and belly in on the whitewater till it grabs you, then get up."
It was not as easy as it sounded. On a normal cresting wave the surfer stands up when the board is moving very slowly but Rallio was telling us to stand up after the board had picked up speed and that was a more difficult test of balance and strength. Once we got the hang of it both Damon and I caught a couple of long rides. I was grateful for Rallio's advice but he left me wondering how he had learned what was needed to catch the wave. Was it trial and error, a natural gift, observation, or had someone let him in on the secret? I came to no conclusion just the belief that Rallio could ride any wave he faced.
Sitting on the beach after being hammered trying to catch a ride, I had time to observe the guys in the water being eaten up by the waves. I watched surfer after surfer going over the falls without even getting to their feet or if they did rise to the occasion, quickly being body slammed by the wave. The carnage was pretty awful and I shook my head discerning that it wasn't a swell that was going to let anyone ride it.
Surfing is not entirely sport. It is in some ways an art form, an expression of the soul, the inner self. What makes a good surfer is as nebulous and judgmental as what makes a good dancer, a model who moves with aplomb, or a work of beauty. Balance is important but it is not enough. Some guys can hang on through any barrage of whitewater yet it is their resoluteness that lends a heaviness to their movements. Tricks are meaningless. I use to see a fellow that could put up a headstand at just about any place on a wave and would routinely do spinners while heading towards shore but I found his style painful to watch. He was too busy on the board and didn't give a damn about the wave.
It is the activity of wave-riding. A good wave can make a guy look good. And a good surfer knows how to get the most from a moving wall of water. He'll take off at the peak, the place where the wave first starts its break. Or he'll fade back into the cusp of the break to stay close to the curl in the critical section of the wave where the speed is the greatest and the distance to the safety of the shoulder the greatest. He'll look for the section of the wave that makes him run the gauntlet, that threatens him and he'll drive into it staying just ahead of catastrophe.
Above all, a surfer possesses grace. Instinct of movement that enables quickness. Certainty of movement that enables smoothness. And tranquillity of spirit that enables confidence. It is not just the task of walking on water but the composure behind the performance.
Then to my right as I looked out into the surf, deep in the wave at the beginning of the break, not on the shoulder but right where the force of the wave is at its peak and it begins its assault towards shore, I saw a board crank into the curl and the rider step towards the nose to accelerate and then retreat so he could bring the board back into trim. He slid the board up towards the lip of the wave, then drove it down low picking up speed and pushed again towards the top. The wave surged, his board rocked and angled to cut through the threatening green wall. The rider's presence became integral to the wave. Not a blemish across its face but a line of character walking on the water, tempering the power in the wave's countenance. He wafted through the tumult unscathed, unbowed by the potential fury, and in perfect calm. When any hesitation would have sent him into the agitator he remained poised, in control, positive of his fate, and always easy. As the wave sectioned and the white foamed in front of him he soared out the back and over the top.
It was the last time I saw Rallio surf. He got his draft notice not long after.