September 3, 2010, 12:13 pm : It’s Good to be King for a Few Days, and Other Thoughts from the Hurricane Danielle and Earl Swells

Filed Under: Imagery, News, Surfing, Travel Tales
Discussion: C[0]mments

So I have come to understand that this blog, this piece of WWW real estate is completely self indulgent. Sometimes. Because I do aim to serve up really good interviews and photos that all of you really can appreciate. But I have come to realize that when it comes to spinning a good surf yarn, a lot of the surfy stuff that spews forth is related to me and my stories and cohorts.

Yet, I am not apologetic for this. You see, even with social media making our sport to be something that should be instantly shared via YouTube and Facebook, the results of which have led to instantaneous sensory gratification for all surf fans, the essence of the experience remains the same. A surfer, their board, and waves.

It’s that simple. Getting the feeling doesn’t originate from sitting on those sites to see what your buddies or the ripping pros have scored, it comes from getting it yourself. And that means that experience, knowledge and luck have come together at once, to form a pure stoke. The kind which keeps your face smiling for more than a couple of days. The kind that you can go back to when your in the midst of a long spell with no surf.

The consensus on Danielle’s waves is that most of the East Coast did not see stellar or even good conditions. Too much wind, smaller swell than forecast in many areas… One place that got the goods was the Outer Banks. At the first part of the swell, the East facing side dealt with the same onshores that plagued much of the rest of the Eastern Seaboard. The South Side was annoyingly devoid of any really good sandbars, making for racy closeouts along most of the beach.

Then things changed, specifically the wind. Danielle’s energy kept flowing into the Outer Banks, and winds varied from slack to light onshore to light offshore for three days. And the barrel fest started. For some reason I won’t speculate on here, the best sandbar I found was directly in front of the house we were staying in. Not far from S Turns, but in a lot of areas including there, the sand was flat and closeouts were the norm rather than the exception.

Wednesday was the biggest day, but Monday and Tuesday were pure quality, ranging from 3-6 feet with some bigger peaks. Wednesday’s well-overhead peaks were makeable about 10% of the time, but by then it was time to pack and get out of Dodge instead of driving around to look for that ideal sandbar somewhere else. Oh well, some other guys did do that, and got the goods Wednesday, which I am sure will be well chronicled in the mags, but I’m riding one of those major stokes from what I reaped from that sweet little sandbar right out front.

Earl has also been weird in terms of swell. It seems that Long Island should have gotten bigger than it has been. Looking at the surfcam, it doesn’t look like it’s too much overhead in Western L.I. Montauk looks bigger, but kind of ragged. Hopefully my old home gets the goods from Earl before he jets by. And of course, let’s hope the rest of the Northeast is spared from any major damage or loss of life.

But damn it felt good to get amazing and uncrowded waves in Rodanthe for a few days. The smile still hasn’t waned.

January 26, 2010, 10:06 am : Allan Weisbecker – The Quintessential Interview with the Down South Pirate

Filed Under: Biography, Interviews, Surfing, Travel Tales
Discussion: C[0]mments

Editors Note: I first met Allan Weisbecker in Montauk, earning a brief interview with him following the printing of In Search of Captain Zero.

Ever the Long Island writing hero to this fledgling surf-mag writer, ACW was kind enough to indulge me with several unwritten stories and character links through a few lengthy phone conversations, emails and that one brief afternoon at Ditch Plains.

In all, he had given me hours of his time. I loved the book and, to be fair, am an unabashed fan of his works. All of them. His style and approach are always explained in notes and newsletters, and only improve his works once you understand his writing methodology. I placed a review of In Search of Captain Zero in Surfnews Magazine and received lots of feedback, almost all positive. Weisbecker became a widespread name and a sort of surf folk hero, if you liked him. Not all did.

I went to Pavones in 2001 and met with him there at his new home and he seemed squirmy and elusive. I was worried about him, but not close enough with him to find out what was really wrong.

We stayed in loose contact through email until I went back to Costa Rica in 2005, contacting him about staying at the guest house on his property. He wouldn’t be there, but asked me to check on his place for him, make sure everything was safe. Not knowing any better, I agreed to help him out…

I never made it to Pavones on that 2nd trip; the waves were perfect in Dominical and it was very rainy, making the drive South dicey. Lucky for me, or I may have walked directly into a grizzly scene from Can’t You Get Along With Anyone?.

Cut to the chase, we remained friendly over the years, and Allan has been extremely helpful to my writing endeavors. With his support I approached and gained entry into the Surfers Journal. I did a review of CYGAWA? for the Journal which Allan didn’t like, but he still granted me an exclusive interview, the first in reaction to CYGAWA? long before it hit the mainstream press. I read the first ARC (advanced reading copy) and interviewed him on a crisp 3-4 foot day in Montauk, NY at Gurney’s Inn just after its small release through Humdrumming Books, UK.

Thank you for all the help and support over the years Allan, Keep The Faith.

A conversation with Allan Weisbecker, October, 2006

Jeff Schad: Most readers will recognize you as the author of In Search of Captain Zero – your surf journey through Central America in search of an old surfbuddy missing in action. Now you’ve released your new book, Can’t You Get Along With Anyone? A Writer’s Memoir, and a Tale of a Lost Surfer’s Paradise. What’s changed about you since then?

Allan C. Weisbecker: Not sure how I’ve changed. “A sadder and a wiser man he rose the ‘morrow morn,” which is from Coleridge, comes to mind, or should. But as Kurt Vonnegut has said, “People don’t change, don’t apologize, and don’t learn anything.” This probably applies to me as much or more than anyone. At least the changing and learning parts. I’ve never had a problem with apologies.

I’ll no doubt just continue stumbling and bumbling through life, putting myself in precarious places, rising sadder if not wiser, as always.

JS: You certainly found yourself in a few precarious places, as described in the book.

ACW: Yes, both through circumstances beyond my control and through not paying sufficient attention to what was going on around me. When I was younger there was also the illusion that I was invincible, which was at least partially a result of the old North Shore (of Oahu) aphorism, “Surfers can do anything.” That dumb-ass sort of attitude will put you in some hairball situations, and not just in the water.

JS: Give us an example.

ACW: Morocco, 1970. A surfbuddy and I went there after our house on the North Shore was destroyed, demolished, with us in it, by the biggest swell to ever hit the Hawaiian Islands. (That we emerged from the destruction without a scratch was predictable – in our deranged minds.)

In order to keep surfing (getting-a-job avoidance) we just automatically got into hashish smuggling. Didn’t even occur to us that something bad might happen.

JS: Did something bad happen?

ACW: Of course not. We were too young and stupid for anything bad to happen. The bad stuff came later, after I smartened up a little. Not much, actually. A real little.

JS: Can’t You Get Along With Anyone? A Writer’s Memoir, and a Tale of a Lost Surfer’s Paradise is the sequel to Zero, correct?

ACW: Yes. Although I futz with chronological structure, the story starts the day after Zero ended, when I left my old buddy and essentially found the surf paradise I was looking for.

JS: Which was where?

At the end of the road at the bottom of Central America. A place called Pavones (Spanish for “Big Turkeys”), on the Pacific side of Costa Rica. Home of possibly the longest point break in the Northern Hemisphere.

Click here for an excerpt: “A Night at the Cantina”, for more perspective on Pavones from ACW.

JS: Where did you get the title Can’t You Get Along With Anyone?

ACW: It was the body of the email I got from my movie-writing agent as a result of my firing her for her behavior during the In Search of Captain Zero movie deal. I suspect that there is some negative subtext in her question, but book titles are where you find them and I’ll always be grateful for this one.

JS: It’s another surfy memoir.

ACW: After Zero I thought my memoir-writing days were over. As it turned out, what was coming makes Zero look like Fun With Dick and Jane.

JS: What makes the book tick?

ACW: Escalating deceit and treachery. On another level of that, it’s a look at the idea of finding a “paradise,” surf or otherwise. The reality as opposed to the myth. The types of people who show up in unspoiled places, with or without perfect waves. The agendas that surface, the sorts of pecking order games that emerge, and so forth. In the case of one person’s agenda, what happens when you’re faced with treachery that quite literally has no limits. What happens when meaningful options diminish to zero. What happens when you reach a personal End of the Line.

The book also deals with the writing process, the obsession and pain a writer goes through in his work. The cover design, with my bleeding forehead, is illustrative of that. Comes from a quote from the writer Gene Fowler. “Writing is easy. You just stare at the blank page until your forehead bleeds.” My forehead did some bleeding during the writing of this one.

JS: There are a lot of subplots, or through-lines, in the book. The story of the movie deals on your other two books is an offshoot of the writing-about-writing aspect, correct?

ACW: Yes, and a bit of comic relief from the bizarre relentlessness of the other through-lines.

JS: Your other books have been optioned by major movie stars. Sean Penn for Zero and John Cusack for your cult comedy, Cosmic Banditos.

ACW: Right.

JS: Since Zero is a memoir and Banditos an autobiographical novel, in essence these two mega-stars want to play you. Heady stuff.

ACW: It becomes a little less heady when you examine how the deals went. Penn, for example, never read the book he wanted to make a movie out of.

JS: How could that be?

ACW: Nor did he read the screenplay adaptation I was paid 200 grand to write. This is the producer of the project, keep in mind.

JS: He didn’t read either the book or the screenplay?

ACW: He spent more time writing me emails explaining why he wasn’t going to read than it would have taken to do the reading. I’m not kidding. I reproduce his comical emails in the book.

JS: What was the upshot?

ACW: Sean got upset with me for in effect pointing out how far his head is up his ass and in his last email wished me “something resembling death.”

JS: How did it go with Cusack?

ACW: I had to physically threaten him to get money owed on the deal.

JS: Come again?

ACW: It’s a bizarre story – also in the book – and as utterly evocative of the way Hollywood is as the Penn fiasco. I should say, however, that Cusack himself was not at the bottom of the problem, but rather it was a dishonest lawyer (sorry for the redundancy). John and I kissed and made up and all is fine between us. Good thing, too, since he’s a kickboxer and likely would have beat the shit out of me had the situation gone really sour.

In fact, I have high hopes that Cosmic Banditos will eventually make it to the screen.

JS: You describe Banditos as “a goofball comedy about The Meaning of Life.” How did that book come about?

ACW: In 1981 I did a classic segue-free transition, went from big time international criminal to Hollywood screenwriter. Almost literally overnight I went from barrel-rolling my Learjet over Colombian pot plantations to working with the likes of Michael Mann (Miami Vice, The Insider, Last of the Mohicans, etc.) and Robert Chartoff (Rocky, Raging Bull, The Right Stuff, etc.).

I knew I had to write about the decade of the 1970s, my lunatic life. It started out with an unbalanced expat fugitive hiding out in the jungles of South America (me, more or less) and naturally became a comedy about subatomic particle physics, a full-blown bandito named Jose, a nymphomaniac, a large dog who’d had a depraved puppyhood, and, of course, The Meaning of Life. I mean, these elements were inevitable, if you think about it, given the overall subject matter.

JS: Not really sure about that.

ACW: How else could it have gone? You tell me.

JS: Speaking of segues and of comedy…

ACW: With The Meaning of Life aspect, there is naturally a lot of tequila consumed and hand grenades thrown. Or accidentally dropped.

JS: In your new book…

ACW: As one of the more unbalanced characters points out, “It amazing how a violent explosion in a confined area will separate the men from the boys.”

JS: Speaking of segues and of comedy, in your new book you somehow work genuine belly laughs into the story of the “fiascos and catastrophic shit” you were relentlessly subjected to in your “sorry ass life and times.”

ACW: It was either see the humor in it or blow my brains out. Given that choice, what would you do?

JS: Never mind that…

ACW: Also, at a certain point relentlessness itself can become comedic. I remember one time I got caught in the boneyard at Sunset Beach in Hawaii on a rising swell and the way the sets just kept landing on my head I eventually found myself cackling at the ridiculousness of it. That sort of relentlessness. Like, “How the fuck did I get into this mess?”

JS: Speaking of segues and catastrophic shit…

ACW: There’s also the through-line about the getting it published. “It” meaning the book I was writing at the time and the reader (later, of course) is now reading. Is that what you were thinking? Sorry to interrupt, but that’s on my mind right now.

JS: Your no… nicer…to the publishing business than you are to Hollywood.

ACW: I’ve burned a lot of bridges with this book. I’m talking major conflagrations here. Hey, I burned bridges that I’ve never even crossed. I’m a bridge burning kind of guy.

JS: With predictable results, right?

ACW: One predictable result has been a problem finding a U.S. publisher, or even an agent, since I fired the last 27 agents that I had. No, wait. Twenty-eight.

JS: The book is in print in the UK, though.

ACW: Bizarre how that came about. Last summer some lunatics in Canada launched a stage production of Cosmic Banditos. Right. A play. I shit you not. My goofball comedy about The Meaning of Life ran for ten days at an arts festival in Vancouver. And it was a hit! They were rolling in the aisles, apparently. It was also reviewed by some nutcase up there. A smart, literate nutcase. Turned out he was connected with this Brit publisher. One thing led to another and boom! Can’t You Get Along With Anyone? found the light of print.

JS: Since your two other books are selling very well…

ACW: Last time I checked they were both outselling the Stephen King novel that was published at the same time.

JS: So why wouldn’t your old publisher (Penguin Putnam) publish the new one?

ACW: You read it, right?

JS: Right. You do happen to mention them.

ACW: Can’t I get along with anyone?

JS: There’s another segue here, I think… To the love of your life.

ACW: I don’t want to give away too much about the book, but the through-line that emerges as dominant has to do with male/female relationships. Right: Speaking of fiascos and catastrophic shit and wave sets landing on your head and blowing your brains out. And, again, the idea of paradise, as opposed to the reality.

JS: On the surface of it, you had it all, didn’t you?

ACW: Sure did. Two successful books, movie deals, famous actors wanting to play me, a gorgeous home I built within walking distance of my own semi-private warm water perfect wave in paradise, plus a beautiful, very sexy woman who surfs and was totally in love with my sorry ass. At 55 years old, I finally had it all. The Endless Summer meets 9 1/2 Weeks…

JS: Then?

ACW: Pulp Fiction showed up.

JS: There were warnings, though.

ACW: There were warnings all right… Had I been paying attention.

JS: In the book you talk a lot about paying attention.

ACW: An underlying theme is that people do not really pay attention to what’s really going on around them. Metaphorically, dawdling around at Waimea without keeping an eye on the outside. This applies to their personal lives as well as world affairs, whatever.

JS: You don’t have a lot of respect for our current president (Ed note: George W was in office at time of interview).

ACW: The book starts contemporaneously with the invasion of Iraq. As it turned out, this was convenient, in terms of symmetry: The greed and deceit and treachery, the death and misery, the incessant lies, the levels of denial everyone was living under.

JS: The war in Iraq–

ACW: I was talking about my personal life.

JS: Okay.

ACW: I suspect that our current president has a suite reserved for my sorry ass at Guantanamo. Do you know if there’s surf on that part of Cuba?

JS: Not sure. But moving on, give an example of your paying attention powers. Or lack of them, in your personal life.

ACW: In 1998 at Pavones, right after the fiasco that was the ending of In Search of Captain Zero, I investigated the shootout killing of an American expat named Max Dalton. This was for Men’s Journal magazine. When I returned to Pavones in 2001, I sort of forgot about the stuff I’d uncovered in ’98. Sort of forgot about the death threats I’d gotten and how I was armed to the teeth and how everybody lied about everything and how it was every man for himself down there in surf paradise. I wasn’t paying attention.

Hey. I forgot!

JS: You reprise the story of the Dalton murder investigation for CYGAWA.

ACW: I hadn’t planned on doing that but then the murder investigation and other events from ’98 came back to bite me on my ass, and did so in a way I could never have seen coming. In fact, I couldn’t have made up the shit that happened in my wildest fiction dreams. The section is also an object lesson in how it goes when greed descends on a perfect wave. One upshot of the investigation was that “it was the wave here that killed Max.”

JS: I understand you’ve sold your house and property in Pavones. Ever going back?

ACW: Possibly. When I’m tired of being alive on planet earth.

JS: You’ve got one of your lists regarding this, right? Like the list of women you’ve had sex with? In this case, it’s who’ll be out for revenge on….

ACW: You can say it. “On my sorry ass.”

JS:…revenge on your sorry ass.

ACW: Yeah, and that list is pretty long. Not as long as the Women I’ve Had Sex With List, thank God, but pretty long. Come to think of it, though, there’s one person who is on both lists.

JS: Care to name names?

ACW: No, but here’s a related question I’ve been mulling: What do you think Sean Penn meant when he wished me “something resembling death”? I mean what resembles death, aside from the dirt nap itself?

#

Click here to go to a short excerpt from Can’t You Get Along With Anyone? A Writer’s Memoir, and a Tale of a Lost Surfer’s Paradise.

July 1, 2009, 11:10 am : THAT New Caribbean Wave

Filed Under: Surfing, Travel Tales
Discussion: C[1]mments

Have you seen the new Caribbean discovery splayed across the pages (not to mention the cover. See pic below.) in the current issue of Surfing Magazine? Tropical blue water, fine white-powdery sand, not a soul in sight, save for Ben Bourgeois sighting himself down a barrel that is straight out of a dream. A single set of footprints in the sand leading to the water’s edge. I bet the editorial meeting to pick the cover was a quick one; this shot exemplifies cover shot quality.

Typically I don’t take the surf magazines to task for the sin of revealing new surf spots to the World. But this one is different. Why would that be, you ask? After all, there have been other, more remote zones that have been opened up and subsequently overrun with surfers thanks to our good old rags. The Mentawais, The Maldives, the better part of Central America, even Tavarua, have all been hand-delivered to the readers of surf magazines over the years. The mags try to toe the line between being secretive and luring readers with just enough “meat” to figure out where a place is. The inevitable result…Spots become overrun with surfers within months.

But this transgression is the worst yet-I’ll explain why in a bit. Before that it should be said that the three people on the trip should be held harmless. The surfers, Ben Bourgeois and Jesse Hines, are two of the most low-key, humble pro surfers you could ever meet. And photographer Rob Gilley, who also penned the article, has a long history of finding, shooting and not naming new spots (while he did pen the article, the details were fuzzy enough that the average joe couldn’t figure out the locale via Google search).

But here’s why this instance is worse than all before. First, haven’t we learned by now the effect that revealing a new spot through the magazines has? The less adventurous surfers will do their diligence to figure out just where this place is and camp on it ’til it gets good. The real hardcore travelers will maybe swoop in, if the haven’t already, and be out of there before it becomes the next La Barra, Mexico. Only time will tell, since this is a spot that doesn’t awaken all too often.

Wait, how do I know that? Based on the few details dished up in Gilley’s piece, we know that:

1. It’s in the Caribbean (duh).
2. It’s a long sand point around the bend from a normal beachbreak. Those kinds of setups are fairly rare in the Carib.
3. It’s an island that hasn’t become overrun with tourists.
4. It was settled later than most Caribbean islands due to lack of suitable anchorage spots.

By taking all these things into account, plus knowing the prevailing winds down there, it took me less than fifteen minutes to pinpoint this place on Google Earth (using Google search to compliment the effort). To his credit, Gilley did throw a bit of details in there to act as subterfuge, as is the norm in these articles, but that wasn’t enough to the keen wave researcher.

Why does Surfing even have to say the place is in the Caribbean? Does it matter where it is? Just call it somewhere. No matter the strategy, surfers would find it, but at least it would make the task a bit more difficult. To make matters worse, this isn’t a Teahupoo-type death barrel, this is an everymans type of wave; probably never getting too big, prevailing offshore wind, breaking over sand in gin-clear water. Even makes me want to book a ticket. At least the place is fickle; one should hope that it rarely awakens at all.

I fear for this place now, this island. Every East coast surfer dreams of such a place close to home, now they have the photograpahic motivation to seek it out. The Caribbean is a very fickle place, where it takes lots of time and luck to find quality waves off the beaten path. Hopefully Surfing hasn’t just let this cat out of the bag and ruined the dreams of the real searchers out there. Time will tell.

April 12, 2009, 12:02 pm : That Day at Cane Garden Bay and Seeing David Carson

Filed Under: Biography, Imagery, Surfing, Travel Tales
Discussion: C[3]mments

Heard of Tortola? Maybe, maybe not; but most surfers out there have. It’s because Cane Garden Bay became a known entity on a very short list-the Holy Grail of Caribbean Wave Perfection. Etched next to spots like Soup Bowls, and perhaps Gas Chambers and Chatarra, there aren’t many more that are widely known. Not to say that the Caribbean basin isn’t littered with waves, but it takes a powerful swell and atypical winds to get many spots going.

A combination of many factors must merge for Cane Garden Bay (CGB) to show its face. Some winters, the wave will rarely come to life. A word here on CGB: It’s a shame the place was let out through the surf media in the first place. It’s somewhat of a rare bird, and should you catch it good, respect the locals. Some of them have dedicated their lives to the wave.

Cane Garden Bay

Which brings me to my Day at Cane Garden Bay, and seeing David Carson.

Who? David Carson is a graphic design master, widely known throughout the World for his completely unique approach to his work. Previously a professional surfer and art director of Surfer Magazine, leading the mag to radical new ground in design and layout concepts.

Carson also loves and lives (some of the time, as far as I know) on the point at Cane Garden Bay. If you catch the place breaking at the right time, you may see him in the lineup. Like I did. Watching him surf that day led me to the most damaging wipeout of my life. A fate that should have been unmet, had I only heeded the warnings of a local Rasta.

Gas Chambers, Puerto Rico

I had been to Tortola once before, hopping over on a flight from San Juan during a trip to Puerto Rico. I wanted to get over there for a day or two and just check it out. The waves hadn’t been great in Rincon, so even if Tortola was flat, it would be cool to see it, say I was there. Heck, no surf? Just go to the Bomba Shack and sip a rum punch overlooking Apple Bay, a playful reef break, and watch the sun set, turning the ocean from the clearest bubbly soda aquarium to a golden-silver that is equally brilliant.

That first trip, Cane didn’t break, but my Pilot buddy and I surfed Apple Bay. He mangled his foot on a rare rough patch of reef on the Inside of Apple Bay, but lived. Luckily he missed the Urchins. We spent two days surfing Apples, driving around, eating and swimming. All of our dozen or so drive-bys of CGB revealed a perfect 6 inch swell grinding into dry reef. Perfect microwaves, not surfable.

I went back four winters later to celebrate my 25th birthday and try my luck at catching this Gem of a wave. Flying over the North coast of the island, the view below revealed a nice, even swell popping off on various reefs, all pretty much ripped up from the tradewinds. CGB was definitely breaking, but perhaps not big enough, since the swell was very Northeast and not wrapping in just right.

Straight off the plane (and waiting for the next arrival, which had my boardbag. A common thing on the tiny planes that fly into tiny Beef Island Airport), I drove to CGB first. It was peeling off the end of the bend in the point for a rolly, kinda dribbly 4-5 feet and empty. Not epic, but enticing enough to give the place a try. After all, how many times are you going to catch a place like this empty? Not often, my friend.

The gravel parking lot fronted a shack of sorts, with a small yard being tended by a local Rastafarian. “You goo’on surf point, eh? Surf dat end section dere, brueddah. Don’ surf up deh point, too shallow and fire coral eat ya’live,” he offered.

Heeding his advice, I plucked my red 6’6″ from the top of the rental and hopped in from the cement dock below the point. A short paddle later, I was lined up right where a medium-sized set broke while I was hopping in. With about 45 minutes of light left, the ocean was getting that tinted gold-silver look. As I peered up the point in the fading light and waited for a set to swing down, I saw David Carson out on a wide fish shape of some kind. He sat right where the Rasta warned not to, and caught these chest high zippers reeling 10 yards from the rocks and coral along the point, over an evidently nasty reef.

Acting on the Rasta’s advice, I stayed along the end section and picked up a half dozen rolly point waves that went for just 50-75 yards before petering out in deep water. They were fun, but nothing compared to the speed runs Carson was committing up the point. With the sun draining into the sea to the West, I let the current pull me up the point (a blessing and a curse depending on your level of comfort in surfing over urchin-infested fire coral), right to where Carson was lined up. The bigger set waves would hit out here and barrel down the point.If one and their board were fast enough, one could score one of these sweet barrels and peer right out at the setting sun while flying toward it.

I was lured. Lured by Carson and his knowledge of wave picking at CGB. By those perfect little barrels. By the prospect of grabbing one, just one, and surfing it through the soft end section, then styling back up to the cement dock and heading to the guest house stoked.

Catching one was easy, as I flew down the line on a speed run that got the pulse up, but no barrel. I kicked out the back and slowly paddled back, when another wave came grinding down, setting up to let me in to one of those barrels. I spun and went, dropping in fast to a running barrel that kept me slotted for 10-15 yards of a sunset view before walling up and going dry on the reef right in front of me. Dry fire coral heads stuck 2-3 inches out of the water, now unavoidably in front of me. I clung to the wall to stop all forward momentum while trying to contort through the wave’s face. This was bad. At the very least I had time to think and decide that diving head first in any way could end catastrophically. My board endured dry reef contact just before I was driven into and dragged over a bed of fire coral and Urchins. The wave left me flailing like this, having to either climb back on my board and hop-skip back out to deeper water and paddle in, several places on my body oozing blood, or crawl over the rest of the coral-urchin minefield to the shore. I crawled.

I made it in on feet that were now covered in black spots from the urchin spines that had snapped off. Leaving a trail of blood on the rocks I painfully stomped over, I made it to the car and drive back to the room. A look in the mirror revealed that I had torn lots skin from my arms, legs and back. I cleaned my entire body with peroxide and lime juice, then performed the excruciating task of pulling out as many urchin spines as I could. They were embedded everywhere, and I lost count after 100 something.

The rest of the trip I surfed in pain, as the salt water would make my entire skin bark from the sting. Was it worth it to get that sunset barrel. Now I say yes. Should I have not strayed from that end takeoff spot? Probably, to save my hyde. Perhaps watching Design Master Carson demonstrate his homebreak knowlesge was a better bet, but I never talked to the guy, we were never close in the lineup. So, in order to get a better story from it, I decided to filet and pin-cushion myself. But I’ll have barrel view etched in my mind forever.

November 8, 2008, 9:59 pm : Elizabeth Pepin’s Gem

Filed Under: Biography, Imagery, News, Surfing, Travel Tales
Discussion: C[0]mments

There are surf photographers out there right now pushing the envelope of creativity. There are surf photographers out there right now whose images can transcend the act into timelessness. It is actually quite rare to have both of these going for you at once, but when it occurs, the results are similar to Pepin’s images.

Her Gem, to me (for completely selfish and self serving purposes) is this shot of Long Beach, NY during her visit to the East Coast for the New York Surf Film Festival. As a removed local of this perfect hive of a surf town, this shot reminds me of special days, where you quite possibly caught the best waves of your life. Fall and hurricane season sometimes sending up to three weeks of constant swell right to you. Dream the dream, it can happen. No better time to be a New Yorker.