You could draw a straight line from this surfer's back foot through his neck.
Gerry Lopez (left), Dick Brewer and Reno Abellira in lotus position, 1969. Photo; David Darling
One thing you notice when you watch great athletes in motion is their body alignment. Skiers, jockeys. runners, dancers, surfers etc. all display amazing body control as the earth or water appears to rush below them. They remain straight and balanced, almost as if they were standing on a street corner, although at times their bodies may be parallel to the ground or water. They're in alignment.
Gerry Lopez, one of the first surfers to master the Pipeline on the North Shore of Oahu, no doubt channeled his practice of yoga while riding waves. His style was (and still is I'm sure) so relaxed and nonchalant amid the power and looming chaos of roaring waves. He makes it look too easy.
I am a big advocate of yoga, which I practice daily. I believe if I would have started practicing regularly as a young man I would have avoided back problems later. I'll never know for sure, but I do know yoga enables me to continue to surf with modest flexibility. Yoga has taught me how to breath, both for relaxation, especially under stress, and during exercise. I have learned how to fill my lungs, hold my breath and relax my muscles while exhaling. Yoga is so much more than a stretching exercise. It is an ancient healing art that teaches you, through practice, how to maintain alignment.
A new south swell arrived today and some were fortunate enough to catch the first few sets under glassy conditions before the on-shore wind picked up. Sweet.
Gates. The image of a gate is symbolic of an entry as much as it is a barrier. The proverbial Pearly Gate comes to mind, the entry to heaven where St. Peter waits to either check you in, or not. If you actuality arrive at the gate, seems like you shouldn't be turned away. But if you're not on the guest list, you can forgetta 'bout it.
The California Coastal Commission recently directed the keepers of a local gate in Santa Cruz that leads to a protected surf break to open up to the public and stop charging admission or face heavy fines. It's all about public access, the collecting of money and permits. For those who surf there, it's about keeping crowds away and the inner sanctum clean and managed. They want to maintain a low key vibe.
The Coastal Commission's directive was on TV and the front page of the local daily newspaper, only drawing attention to the surf break. While I understand the commission's position I also feel for those who surf there regularly. Crowds, trash and irresponsible people can be a big problem and it will be a shame to see this cool surf break become an over-populated mess.
While the raging south swell of the past weekend has mostly dissipated, I have been contemplating these and other philosophical matters while sealing and toning our beautiful redwood gate, built by master craftsman Chris Meaham. The art of constructing something useful and of beauty from natural materials with your hands must be extremely pleasing. I enjoyed every brush stroke over the wavy grain lines in the wood that will help protect the gate from the inevitable weathering of time.
I did manage a brief session in the water yesterday during the noon hour. Then back to my gate.
The first weekend of summer has delivered a major south swell with excellent waves, more than 175 sweet-rolling woodies, longtime friends from the islands, and warm, clear weather. Take your pick. It's been win-win in the Cruz, if you know how to negotiate crowds.
Following a dawn patrol session this morning teeming with a good local vibe and lots of familiar faces -- and glassy conditions -- it's difficult to think of much else. The stoke oven is full and firing.
"These waves have a little hook on them," said Corey, who was seen getting head-dips on several rides across the bar.
They certainly showed punch on the sets that sent surfers scratching for safety. Sarah, Mike, Dave, Greg, Clark, Don and a former city mayor were among the throng. I've always found the water a reliable spot for neighborly socializing.
On Saturday my friend Rick from Maui called me and we met on the Municipal Wharf where the woodies were on display. Valued anywhere from $20,000 to $150,000, these mostly wood-paneled station wagons (some were coupes and convertibles) were lined up for the second largest woody exhibition in the country. The biggest gathering of these rolling artifacts of yesteryear is in Encinitas in September.
I learned that Henry Ford owned a forest on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where lumber was cut and milled to make the parts of the classic woody station wagons, 1935 to 1951. Ford woodies were the last ones made featuring real wood panels. Some of these buggies feature wood-paneled and framed interiors that are as cherry as classic wooden yachts.
Rick and I were blown away by some of these choice rides featuring beautiful mahogany panels that look as nice as fine furniture.
The beaches were jumping. The surf was pumping. Did I tell you about that wave I caught...
Ten more Great White sharks were spotted swimming in Santa Cruz waters on Wednesday, yesterday. This is in addition to the possible sighting at Cowells on Saturday. The recent sighting is most credible coming from the Pacific Shark Research Center. The sharks were young, between five and 12-feet long, according to Dave Ebert of the center.
It has not kept most people from going into the water, especially surfers. Santa Cruz Little Guards, however, did not get wet at Cowells Beach on Monday. A decent south swell is running in Santa Cruz today and surfers are going for it with big smiles. So far, no harm no foul. The long-lined waves are too hard to resist.
"There's no in between waves," said one notorious local, "but if you catch a set wave it's funner than shit." Some surfers know how to turn a phrase.
The thing about surfing, Chip told me, is that "you leave no trail." Yessir, Mickey agreed: "It's like music -- you play it and it's done."
The strategy you're looking for is the one that teaches you to hold the note.
-- Bob Shacochis from "Return of the Prodigal Surfer"
Hanging on to that ephemeral note that vibrates as one long chime, rather than the ear-worm loop from some pop song that can annoy you to death, is similar to solving a zen riddle. You don't try to do it, you just let it happen. The more you concentrate on making it happen, the further away it becomes. This morning's session on the sandbar was a case in point.
The strategy was to allow the waves to come to you rather than paddling helter shelter trying to find a workable peak. There were definite indicators of a south swell -- long period lulls followed by a flurry of activity with faces rolling quickly over the bar. Mixed with fast-changing surface winds, however, there seemed no rhyme to wave shape or direction.
Although the shallow water was as warm as a baby's bath from a few days of intense sunshine and little wind, the breezes that were blowing beneath the morning marine layer carried a chill that made sitting and waiting a losing gambit.
Lots of smiles and chatter about the shark sighting (most calling it a hoax) and about needing to leave soon for work, projects and, of course surfboards, punctuated the camaraderie of a sweet day-breaking session.
A few ripples early this morning, with two hopeful souls out scratching for a lift.
I am of an age to have witnessed the passing of too many friends. Andy Conahan was such a friend and one of my original surfing buddies. Andy died way too young from ALS, at age 61. Long before he passed, however, he achieved unique recognition on a national scale for his surfing prowess. In the late 1960s he performed in tandem with his girlfriend Candy on ABC Television's Wide World of Sports.
Anyone who remembers that weekly, Saturday afternoon program will recall that it was not about any particular sport, but rather unique athletic challenges. This particular episode was live footage of the world surfing championship at Huntington Beach, California. Although growing in popularity, surfing was still somewhat of a novelty for the average TV viewer.
Andy was one of those people you never forget. He was blessed with a sly smile, an athletic body and a daring sense of adventure. He was also the most observant person I have ever known. And he had an uncanny understanding of the criminal mind.
We started surfing together in 1962 mostly at Doheny State Beach in south Orange County. It was a point break, river mouth paradise. We got around on bicycles then, but when my parents and sister went to see the World's Fair in Seattle and, incredibly, left me home alone, Andy was quick to locate the keys to my father's commuter car in the garage. We were 15. I had never driven a car before, but within 24 hours we were tooling 75-miles of highways across OC to Doheny. He had found the keys but I insisted on driving.
By the time we were seniors in high school, Andy was ditching school every day to go surfing. He had a part-time job at a pharmacy from which he pilfered prescription paper he would use to write excuses for his absence from school. I would forge his mother's signature on the excuse slips. I went to class; Andy went surfing.
He drove a souped up '56 Ford that he would race on Pacific Coast Highway between Doheny and Poche early in the morning when there were no waves. I remember him shutting down a local braggart one morning with his pink slip on the line.
In the water Andy would sit as far outside as possible and wait for the biggest wave, regardless of how long it took. I remember him breaking his wrist on the rocks at Killer Dana. I gave up surfing, which was more of a weekend thing for me, and left town for college. Andy kept riding waves, during which time he performed before a TV audience of millions, as noted above.
Some years passed before I saw him again. We met for coffee and I learned that he was an investigator for the Torrance Police Department. That figured. His knack of careful observation and understanding of "criminal" behavior, I'm sure, made him a good investigator.
"I was driving one day and I heard an ad on the radio for police officers in the city of Montebello," he told me. "I was just bumming around surfing, so I checked it out." The rest is history, as they say.
The last time I saw him was in Palm Springs at a class get-together for a few of the guys and our wives. He looked good. He said he hadn't surfed in years, but I could see that he had been lifting weights from size of his chest and biceps. He still had the broad shoulders that enabled him to ride tandem on a surfboard while holding up an acrobatic woman.
I mentioned that I was surfing again in Santa Cruz. He asked me if I knew Bob Scott, one of his fellow tandem competitors in the '60s, who was from Santa Cruz. I said, yes, assuming he was referring to Doc Scott, a local icon and developer of Pro-Plugs ear plugs to protect the ear canal from the cold Northern California water. I made a note to ask Doc the next time I saw him if he remembered Andy.
He was driving a Corvette, his car of choice following high school. He liked fast, high-profile cars. He married an Italian woman whom he had rescued one night while on his police beat.
"Look at Paul," he turned his head toward a mutual high school friend who was standing, arms akimbo -- hands on his hips -- chatting with a few of the guys. "That's the same stance he took standing behind the starting blocks before a race."
Sure enough, Paul, at one time a top sprinter, had taken that same posture. I thought to myself, only Conahan would have noticed and remembered. It was Paul who informed me of Andy's passing. Paul had called to catch up a year or so after Palm Springs and talked to Andy's wife who explained his unexpected and hasty demise from ALS.
I am so glad that I got to see Andy again after so many years. In my mind, he will always be a surfing giant.
Today is the summer solstice combined with a full moon, the first such combination since 1948. It's the longest day of year and people will be partying at Stonehenge today as the sun reaches its northern most point on Earth before the rotation begins to give us shorter days starting tomorrow. Tonight's full moon is being called a Strawberry Moon as it coincides with the strawberry growing season according to Native American lore. http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-wiltshire-36579438
What does this have to do with surfing? Nothing and everything.
The string of south swells that were forecast to arrive from below New Zealand has not materialized, yet, and the waves have been essentially non-existent, save for a few ankle biters on the sandbar. Still, many are taking to the water seeking summer fun and relief from rare ninety degree air temperatures.
Surf depends on waves that are created by distant storms and nearer winds. The direction and shape of waves are determined by the angles from which they arrive and the tide depths, exposure and other particular characteristics of the shore such as reefs, sand movement and more. It's all directly related to a land-water connection that surfers become attuned to. So we pay attention to how the elements of nature are affecting our planet. Very cosmic, in a sense. Very basic, for sure.
Most of us love to stare at the ocean and observe its nuances created mostly by wind. It's part of the deal and it keeps us grounded and ready for the next series of waves, whenever that might be.
The Monterey Bay is recipient of mostly northwest swells during the fall and winter months. Today's solstice, for local surfers, could be the beginning of the summer doldrums. Let's hope not.
