Kook Alert

Brown pelicans flew in formation overhead. Dogs frolicked at the shore, joggers and bicyclists cruised the boardwalk, smell of ganja and surf wax. Stand up paddle boarders and surfers cruised the three foot swell. Mellow, idyllic So Cali scene.

I could appreciate little of it while being dragged toward the shore and floundering in the whitewater. I was in battle mode, constantly fighting for breath from maneuvering the 9 foot plank against current that dragged me into the knots of real surfers toward the pier.

Doug was ever calm and maneuvered his lithe nearly 70 year old body in circles around me giving me a few tips and encouragement but I think mainly trying to stay out of way and let me flounder and learn. "That's good, you are learning to bracket like photography. Too far back and you lose your momentum to catch the wave, too far forward and you pearl off the nose." He must have seen my eyes widen a bit because he followed with, "it's really no big deal to pearl, I just cover my head like this..."

Doug is a retired psychologist and seemed to already have clicked in to my learning style, kinesthetic motor, usually the hard way. "I'll just surf over here and let you find your way."

There were a few moments, when I wasn't in constant bounce like a semi-professional leg-less log roller, that I could take a full zen-like breath and look at the set coming and ponder the kernels of wisdom Doug had conservatively tossed my way. So far they seemed always to land quite a ways out of reach and sink hopelessly to the seafloor.

Doug had cautioned me to be aware of anyone around me. "If they are on your left they have the right of way so just back off if you are trying to catch the same wave, they come fast! And if they are on your right you should probably just bail out too." Doug must have been a very good psychologist. I think he already intuited that I am usually correct only about 50% of the time when picking right from left, and its especially suspect under duress.



In truth I felt like an arthritic elephant seal with prop chopped flippers. Or a sad caged clipped winged hawk pulled from his home in the mountains. I am sure I was painfully obvious to everyone out there and to any sharks sniffing for wounded prey.

Paddling is surprisingly arm-y and shoulder-y and required some good fluidity in the joints. I can hike for days with a 100 pound pack over rough terrain but strip me down and throw me on a 9 foot fiberglass plank to maneuver in the water and I was fairly hopeless. Crawling on my belly with near vestigial arms on a cumbersome tippy board was really challenging me. Going from that state to turning toward shore, paddling from the sweet spot on the board and springing directly to standing seemed a tad delusional.

I was thrilled to not get too pummeled by angry locals and to not add any dings to the board Doug had graciously let me borrow. He explained to me the gravity that effects the attitude of seasoned surfers to new surfers. "It's dangerous, so expect to be chewed out if you are floundering in the whitewater. I got yelled at just a few months ago and I am a pretty decent surfer."

I thought Doug was banishing me to Mondos, the beginner's beach 5 miles north where he spent his first year. "It's more consistent here at C Street but you really need to be aware of other surfers."

He let me keep the board for a few days. I had only managed to belly-board white water but was keen to try again. I asked him when he would be surfing again, expecting a vague answer. I wouldn't blame him at all if he did. Instead he said, "I think I will be here tomorrow morning if you want to come down again." I think I just might...