Foggy Bottom Days

Fog. The lucious vapor that grows our redwoods and cools our heels is flirting with us again this summer. It seems as though it's been years since we danced the fog dance as it appears, disappears and reappears above, around and within us like smoke from a neighbor's BBQ.

"It's like normal again," said one perspicacious lad, while noting the presence of a real Santa Cruz summer, "like in the old days." It's good to see you.

Summer fog: what drew all the folks from Fresno to Santa Cruz when the San Jaoquin Valley would heat up like a great frying pan. Many stayed and made the Cruz their full time home. Now they're your neighbors.

Everyone who surfs has her story of surfing in pea-soup fog, from not being able to see that monster wave that appeared from out of nowhere, setting up either the biggest wipeout of their life or an epic ride on a wave that would never have been attempted. My favorite is a session in the hole in the fog. From the beach it was a curtain of white, yet after paddling out and through it, we found ourselves at the bottom of a tunnel of light bobbing on the water while bathed in a most wispy circle of sun. It was as if we had found a secret spot only yards away from the rest of the world.

Here's to fog, and fog horns, key elements of the changing sights and sounds of living near the sea. 

Check out the latest issue of Santa Cruz Waves magazine santacruzwaves.com. Lots of good info including an excellent article (Castles Made of Sand) on the why and how of displacement of sand from our beaches and the dire environmental consequences. Someone's paying attention!

Surf an' Turf

Royal Troon Golf Links on the Firth of Clyde

Long before people were surfing on the Mainland, folks were swinging sticks at little balls near waves on the coast of Scotland. This was also long before the invention of wetsuits, which would have been necessary if one had even considered riding a wave in these cold North Atlantic waters. 

Here at Royal Troon over the past weekend the best golfers in the world gathered to test their mettle amidst unpredictable winds off the sea to compete in one of the oldest sporting events on the globe: The British Open, known in the Old Country as, simply, The Open. 

Before you write this off as only a golf story, consider that the best surfer in the world, Kelly Slater, is also an avid and excellent golfer. Many surfers play golf when the surf is quiet especially during the summer.

The beauty of golf in Scotland is that the game is played on links courses near the sea. Links refers to the land that links land and water. You won't find trees on links courses, rather you will find dunes formed by sand. That is where sand bunkers on golf courses originated, from protected spots where sheep might hide from the elements, especially the harsh winds. 

Both golf, especially links golf, and surfing require the participant to perform under the forces of nature in its rawest form. As in surfing, the ever-changing nature of wind plays a major factor in determining the conditions for golf. This was certainly evident at Royal Troon this past weekend, where the wind gusted up to 25 mph and rain swept around the golf course.

I skipped dawn patrol to watch the final round from Scotland on TV and witnessed one of the greatest golfing duels in history. Truly epic, as my golf partner described it. The lowest score in the history of The Open was recorded by winner Henrik Stenson of Sweden who shot a 63 final round, 20 under par for the four-day tournament.

Stenson is the model of a trim and fit athlete at age 40. I was impressed by his near perfect body alignment and incredible consistency. When he peeled off his shirt on the 17th tee I thought he may have decided to go surfing. It was an unlikely scene. Rather, he was only removing an under garment due to rising humidity before pulling his golf shirt on again, dampening any notions of incivility among the more cultured spectators.

Phil Mickelson, 46, gave Henrik the challenge of his life. The swash-buckling Mickelson plays an entirely different style of game, sending the ball off course into the vilest locations, only to gather himself and make amazing recovery shots that one would expect to destroy the focus of Stenson. They both played magnificently. Mickelson finishing three strokes back with a splendid bogey-free final round 65.

It was obvious that each pushed the other to the top of his game. One for the ages.

Somewhere in the world, Kelly Slater doubtless took notice, one great athlete to two others.

Objects of Our Desire

Last year at this time we were ogling historic surfboards on display at the Santa Cruz Art & History Museum. Two of the original surfboards that Hawaiian princes pushed into the water and rode waves on at the mouth of the San Lorenzo River were resting in our midst as precious sculptures . The boards were on special loan from the Bishop Museum in Honolulu. These very boards, made from local redwood trees and milled here in town, were instrumental in introducing surfing to the North American continent (aka Mainland) in 1885.

The boards were built in Santa Cruz under the direction of three Hawaiian princes who were attending school in nearby San Mateo. Surfing was originally an "elitist" sport practiced by the Hawaiian royalty. How things have changed! 

This puts Santa Cruz on the map as the original Surf City, although a contingent from Southern California refuse to acknowledge this fact.

A former Westside neighbor, Mac Reed, was responsible for putting the pieces of the surfboard puzzle together. Mac was an avid collector of surf memorabilia and somehow sourced the boards at the Bishop Museum.

I had followed the story but it wasn't until I was in the presence of the boards that the whole thing came together for me with one big "wow!" I didn't break down and cry, or experience a spiritual epiphany, but it moved me in a strangely visceral way. Some objects, simple material pieces, I have found, carry powerful medicine, especially when they are intrinsically connected to people, events or personal memories.

Surfing today holds such a cachet and to think that a significant historic part of its story can be traced back more than 130 years to these boards is impressive. Most surfers adopt a very personal relationship with their boards. The boards themselves have a sensual, water-borne quality that helps define our relationship with the water and waves. 

The surf has been extremely fun lately. Not big. Not rough. But clean. Water clear and seasonably warm with seams between crowds and lingering sets from the south. Anytime you find yourself momentarily in sync with the forces of the ocean, going with the flow, sensing the water's rush and foam, it's a good thing.

Take care of your local beach: pack your trash, pick up and remove plastic, say hey and share the stoke. 

Surfing in Paradise

"Glassy, that state of grace: no wind, no noise, board shooting along, waves perfectly defined, absolutely themselves, their shape not affected by any other force, a realm of clarity and ease."
--Thomas Farber from "On Water"

Local surfers have been graced with ephemeral periods of glassy conditions during our early summer season when far-off waves from the Southern Hemisphere have reached the Monterey Bay.

Pods of dolphins were sighted frolicking in the surf zone yesterday. Water temp has hit the low 60s. Friends and neighbors have been enjoying the season together at various odd hours, from dawn to dusk, compliments of the sandbar provided by an early winter el nino.

One could rightly call what we have been experiencing "paradise." Be forever grateful. On our trip south last weekend we stopped in Santa Barbara and the sea air stank of thick, putrid oil, perhaps from the leak at Refugio some months ago. Perhaps from the pumping for oil on platforms off the Santa Barbara coast.

Thanks to our local representatives, in particular Leon Panetta and Sam Farr, for being instrumental in helping to designate Monterey Bay as a National Marine Sanctuary. We have an abundance of sea life out there as a result. The sea otters are back. Various species of whales, including humpback and orcas, are out there. We have one of the world's richest natural preserves in our front yard.

Surf conditions should continue to be fruitful for the next few days with a fair amount of waves for the picking.

Some Things Never Change

South Bay on July 4, Palos Verdes Peninsula, Catalina Is. in background

We threw a weekend's worth of stuff into the Prius and headed south for the Fourth of July weekend attempting to escape the fast-encroaching firework explosions of Santa Cruz and protect our friend, the precious shepherd, Frida, who hopped into the back as soon as I lifted the hatchback. She was ready to go. And we were off.

The promise of a quieter Fourth in the high-rent community of Manhattan Beach was a lure, and Barbara wanted to see her mother, Bettelu, who at 91, runs the show muy jefe at her pad two blocks from the ocean overlooking the surf break at 26th Street. Nice view.

Fireworks are illegal in both Santa Cruz and Manhattan Beach, yet we were confident that MB would be a lot quieter than the Cruz where "the road goes on forever and the party never ends." It was a good call. There was maybe an hour of pops and booms and it was over in MB.

Bettelu claimed it was extremely quiet compared to the town's normal display of explosive patriotic fervor. She seemed disappointed. Her little dog, Cooper, barked at the noise, while Frida, a much larger animal, ran for cover in the corner and shivered. She was not having a good time. Luckily it was over soon enough.

Barbara says that MB has changed since she grew up there during the Fifties and Sixties when it was a family beach town and had more fireworks. Today the houses along The Strand appear to be hotels. These behemoth buildings occupy entire lots. One thing hasn't changed, however. The same guys who grew up surfing and playing in the water here more than 50 years ago are still doing it. They meet nearly every morning at the end of Marine Street. Their focus is the surf which ties them together. Most don't live here anymore. They've been priced out.

"Who lives here?" says one of them. And they all laugh. One named Marty says he lives in Long Beach. Barbara remembers some of them from elementary school.

This is where they meet. This is their spot. They know this break better than anyone. They've lived it. They're hanging on to it as long as they can. Tim, one of the guys, says he heard that Johnny Rice died last year. Johnny was a legendary board shaper from Santa Cruz. It was good to hear Johnny's name mentioned in Manhattan Beach.

There really was not much surf over the weekend north of Orange County. There were reports of waves at Doheny, four-feet, steep but slow. Water temp at MB was about 68 but felt like bath water compared to Santa Cruz. Brian (Barbara's brother), Jack (Brian's son) and I jumped into the ocean in our trunks and tried to body womp the small disorganized shore break. It felt great. We talked about the sharks, which Brian says are common now. So are surfers.

Surfer Girl Plus

Today is the birthday of my youngest daughter, Bryna, an artist, mother and surfer, among many other talents and skills, not the least of which is her amazing fluency in Spanish. I believe she is more comfortable speaking espanol than ingles but I am only guessing.

Bryna came into this world with a red face and the umbilical cord from her mother wrapped around her neck. The doctor calmly and deftly unwrapped the chord and presented Barbara and me with our baby. She had black hair to go with her red body and she looked like a little papoose.

Little did I know that the cord around her neck was a sign of things to come, at least from this parent's perspective. Hers was a natural child birth, which I am sure she appreciates today.

Bryna is one of the few people I know who really, honestly "walks the walk." She has always followed through and done what she claimed. Her artistic talent was obvious from an early age when she would present drawings featuring detail and perspective. She won awards for her art. She took up surfing at an early age and before long she was in the lineup at The Lane, the most prominent break in "Surf City" Santa Cruz where she earned her surf cred.

She suffered a surfing accident on a small day looking for waves at Its Beach, a notorious beach break that can throw down a body and crush a neck in a nano second, and appear calm and tranquil a minute later. Her surfboard's fin sliced into her thigh and she was immediately directing others to call emergency 911. That night her mother was beside herself at the hospital waiting for the surgeon to sew Bryna's leg back together, following heavy cleansing irrigation of the fist-sized open wound.

As with any true surfer, she was back in the water as soon as she was able.

Immediately following high school graduation, her love of surf and adventure took her and her surfer girl friends to Central America and points south including Peru and Australia looking for waves. Her experiences, some near-death, at surf breaks, in jungles and on islands may be the grist of a great adventure book someday. Dengue Fever and malaria could not stop her.

I am in awe of this woman, my child, once that little papoose. She is an accomplished artist and fabulous mother of our granddaughter Viva. I salute you, my little brave one. Happy birthday!

Celebrating Independence

Independence Day weekend started Friday afternoon as many surfers took to the water to take advantage of a decent south swell mixed with a north wind swell that produced consistent lines striping the sandbar. The usual suspects showed up at their favorite nose-riding bar while oodles of weekenders also frolicked in the continuously foamy surf.

"A bad day surfing is better than just about anything else," proclaimed one visitor with a big, salty grin. 

Santa Cruz County has posted signs near beaches warning of triple fines for anyone caught shooting off fireworks. It is against the law here. Possesion of fireworks carries a fine of more than $1,300. It's pretty darned difficult to catch the noise-happy scofflaws since they far out number the enforcers. I will be taking extraordinary measures to protect my dog who is freaked out by explosions as the weekend builds toward the Fourth.

There is not a fireworks show in Santa Cruz, except for the illegal kind that have become, in some instances, rather impressive. Still, not a good holiday for our pets. Surf should be good and the water crowded. BBQ's will be noted.