Arms and The Heart of Localism

My arms are killing me.

I am so sore that the fatigue is affecting my whole body.

I guess a winter’s worth of rain and six dollar burgers had done me in. I simply wasn’t in any kind of shape to handle the awakening of surf conditions that has ripped into the middle of March. The week of 3/7 to 3/14, I’ve been out every day, in some of the biggest surf I’ve seen this year.

Of course, the swell attracted the attention of the media and the surfing elite. The Orange County Register carried pictures of big surf around the county. I heard reports of camera crews filming at Tressles. Surfline has photos of the swell hitting HB, Newport, and some of the spots in Ventura like Rincon and the point.I surfed at HB every day but Sunday (3/13), when I surfed at Silver Strand in Oxnard.

Actually, the Silver Strand story is probably one of it’s own. My wife and I were in Oxnard on Saturday for a conference, and stayed in a hotel up there on Saturday night. I had originally not known precicly where the conference or the hotel was, but brought the longboard with the intention of paddeling out at Ventura’s surfer’s point.

At the front desk of the hotel, I asked for a map to the beach, and the nearest beaches were Hollywood by the Sea and Silver Strand. I though about Silver Strand. It seems like any time I‘ve read any stories on localism, this beach’s name came up. Judging by it’s press, the spot is notorious for some bad attitude locals. I hesitated in even going there. I was alone, riding a longboard that I’m not too confident with. The morning was dreary and cursed with a light morning sickness breeze out of the west. But, I decided to at least go LOOK at this place, and judge if it was worth trying.

At the risk of possibly echoing what defenders of localism must have repeated coutless times, I can completely understand why silver strand locals may feel protective of the spot. It really is quite small, and would not support a big crowd. It’s a beach break, encompassing a span of no more than several hundred yards between two rock jetties, both of which are harbor inlets. Small fishing boats and recreational boats traffic the area constantly, giving one the feeling of surfing in an east coast fishing town. On the morning I was there, the wind was cool and uncomfortable during the long inconsistent lulls between head high sets of three or four waves.

For the most part, the morning was miserable. But, when the set waves came, I could see the potential of the place to really shine. On the morning I was there, the set waves were breaking in two main sections from the north rock jetty. Right at the jettie, there was a peak for a big right, which pitched out nicely, even under the onshore winds. A second peak was working, with a fast left and a longer right. This is where I set up, triangulating the peak with a few landmarks during the lulls. I managed to get one good drop on a left, and a few solid right rides during the sets before I got out.

There were only a dozen and a half people in the water, working the two peaks. About half of them were longboarders, waiting out further and having a lot more success. Inside, the gang of shortboard riders picked up late drops into the faster sections of the waves. I did see some very fun looking shortboard rides on the left drop. One guy, in particular, who I had waited next to for what seemed like an eternity, caught a left two waves before me that looked great, from the back at least. I asked him after the set.

“Did you get that left?”

“Yea.” He grinned. “It’s a good thing, too. I was about to give up hope waiting for one.”

I caught a wave, and rode it in to shore, looking at my watch and deciding to get beack to the hotel. My wife and kid would just be waking up. Changing in the parking lot, I noticed that the sand was much more fine than most beaches. It was sticky, clinging together. My wetsuit and booties were covered with the stuff as a rolled them up and stowed them in the mini van. I struck up a conversation with one of the locals.

How was this place earlier this week.

“You know, I wasn’t here. I was in San Diego. “

“Oh yea?”

“Just happened to be down there. It was working good. These guys said this place was working real good, too. That thing hit everybody. I heard there were camera crews at Swami’s, and everything. What a zoo. Crowds were everywhere.”

“Don’t need to tell me. I was in Huntington.”

“Exactly.”

“Where did you go out in San Diego?”

“Sunset cliffs. It was pretty good, man.”

“I’ll bet. Where do like to go there? At the college, or further up?”

“I go right at that college parking lot. That place is great. “

“My folks live down there. I got to surf it for Christmas. I like the break that’s further up the road at the big rock covered in bird shit.”

“Yea. I know exactly where you mean. That whole place is great. I just don’t like all the local assholes, you know. There’s some guys with some heavy attitudes there.”

“Funny. I’ve heard the same thing about this place.”

“Yea.” He laughed, realizing the great hypocrisy I must have perceived. Here’s a guy complaining about attitudes, while standing in the parking lot of a spot that put localism on the map.

“Nah. You’ll be alright here. I mean, if you’re alone, and you’re mellow, you’ll be fine. Most of those guys are the old guys, anyway. Actually,” he chuckled. “Today, the guy with the biggest attitude out there was probably me!”

“This place – “ he told me, looking out at set coming in, “This place gets it all. It’ll hold up to triple overhead, and it can get REALLY good.”

“I’ll bet.” I said. And, I wasn’t just saying so. The inconsistent waves that were coming in on that crappy morning were as good as a find day at Huntington. If this place could hold a swell to triple overhead without turning to a walled mess, that would be something to see.

I had finished strapping the board to the mini van, and wished him a pleasant day. He waved me off with a smile.

“Yea. Take it easy, bro.”

Actually, there had been two guys hollering at each other in the water when I first arrived. Nothing had become of it. And, even from my position as a totally neutral outsider, it was pretty clear who the asshole was.

But, one of the uninvolved guys in the water, making eye contact with another uninvolved surfer, summed up my attitude pretty well.

He shrugged. “Hey.” He said. “ I just come to surf.”

That’s been my philosophy. When in doubt, just surf. Obey the rules, give up waves when you should be giving up waves. Take waves when you know you can take waves. Be nice and avoid problems. More often than not, people won’t get pissed off at you if you never give them a reason to get pissed off at you. It’s worked for me so far.

And, now I can say that I’ve surfed Silver Strand.

(Not to mention the evil San Diego Sunset Cliffs – which, I have to say based on my very limited experience, is worse. Some of those guys out there really WERE dickheads.)