November 26, 2008 Wednesday

Spain	Barcelona
4:30 pm to 5:00 pm	2' to 3' wind waves
Tide: unknown	Slight onshore breeze
Sunny and cool

Surf? In Barcelona, Spain?

There I was standing on a sandy beach near sunset watching thirty or so guys in wetsuits and on short boards going for two to three foot wind swells. Kate, my son and daughter and I spent Thanksgiving week in Barcelona, a wonderful trip. Barcelona is located in the northeast corner of Spain on the Mediterranean Sea. It’s an old city, dating back to before the Roman Empire. We had a great time wandering up and down the narrow cobblestone streets, visiting museums and seeing the architectural feats of Spain’s most famous architect, Antonio Gaudi. My son, who had been there twice before, mentioned the city had a beautiful beach.

I insisted that we check out the beach just to get a feel for the Mediterranean. Kevin guided us down a board boulevard with a wide stone sidewalk past the yacht harbor to the beach. As we got closer to the water, the old town took on the look and feel of a beach town with one outdoor restaurant after another, large apartment buildings, and tourist shops selling beach gear.

I walked out on the sand and to my surprise thirty guys were in the water, spread across several beach break peaks. The rides were short but the waves were definitely rideable.

“Dad these wind waves remind me of the Great Lakes,” Kevin exclaimed. While a grad student at the University of Wisconsin, he traveled to Sheboygan to surf in Lake Michigan.

I wondered out loud, “The Atlantic must have a similar pattern as the Pacific with north swells in winter and south swells in summer.” Kevin snapped me out of it.

“Dad, this is the Mediterranean. The Atlantic swells have no impact here.” He was right, what was I thinking?

“These waves are caused by storms in the Mediterranean, just like the storms in the mid-west generate wind swells on the Great Lakes,” he added.

We had no idea if this day was typical or exceptional. We suspect today was unusual. Barcelona must not be a surf town; I didn’t see any surf shops or board rentals places. The surf is not great, don’t take your board, but the food is excellent, the wine is reasonably priced and the atmosphere of the old city is exciting. On the flight home, as the plane lifted off and traveled over the beach, lines of swells were marching in and an offshore wind was sending spray off the tops of some nicely formed peaks. It was just another good surf day in Barcelona.

November 21, 2008 Friday

Bolinas	Patch
9:30 am to 11:00 am	3', sets to 4'
Mid outgoing tide	Slight offshore breeze
Bright sunshine	Mellow session

Intense or mellow, which one should it be? I chose mellow and that was the wrong decision.

The Channel and Groin had continuous head-high to overhead fast breaking powerful waves coming through. That looked intense. The Patch had smaller, longer, gentler waves rolling through way out there. That looked mellow to me. The Internet sites had some impressive numbers this morning: 11 ft swell at 15 seconds from West-Northwest (282 degrees), which is close to Maverick’s size waves. Stormsurf reported six to twelve feet waves going into Bolinas.

I just wasn’t in the mindset for intense waves. I had a lot to do, like pack for a weeklong trip to Barcelona, Spain, leaving tomorrow. Today was going to be my last day surfing for ten days.

I met Jeff coming up the ramp from the end of his session. “How was it?” I asked.

“Great. I was way out at the Channel,” he responded. “There’s a big peak breaking both left and right. It was great.”

At the overlook above the Patch, Nate, one of the owners of the Prooflab Surf Shop, came up the road, wetsuit on, a small 5’- 6” potato chip of a board under his arm and still dripping wet.

“The inside waves are bowling up real nicely,” he said. “Look at that left,” pointing at a picturesque fast peeling left just north of the Groin wall. “It was great,” and off he went.

Despite two “it was great” recommendations, I chose mellow. Mary and Matt were at the Patch and the outflow current from the lagoon was starting to impact the shape of the waves at the Channel. Those were my excuses for not choosing intense.

When I paddled out, Mary and Matt were way on the inside of the Patch just south of the rocks over sand. “Why are you here?” I asked Mary.

“No particular reason, just looking for the good peak,” she said. That indicated to me that it wasn’t very good outside. Sometimes on a good swell long well defined right waves form at this peak. I think Mary was hoping to find one of those, but it just wasn’t there. I caught one right that quickly ran out of steam and just died.

Matt and I paddled out to the far peak, which wasn’t any better. Despite the strong swell, the waves didn’t line up. They formed small random peaks across the impact zone. Most people go for the rights. I like to move outside and north of everyone else and go for the lefts. This beats the crowd and the waves are steeper due to the shallow water over the rocks. Today the lefts were there, but there just wasn’t any push in the waves. Matt went for the rights and caught several. I connected with one good one, a four-foot set wave. The swell lined up across the outside peak. I waited to let it build, took off late, which is not a problem in these gentle waves, quickly moved to the center of the board and cruised under the white water sliding down from the crest of the wave, climbed up in the curl, stalled to let it build up again and hummed through another section, cut back into the white water, let the swell build up again and cruised through one more section. I went a long way and ended up on the north edge of the Patch reef on the inside in knee high water. Two women novices were impressed; I could see it in the expressions on their faces.

After an hour I gave it up and started working my way back to the ramp. The idea was to catch a wave, go right, paddle towards the ramp, catch another wave, etc. This effort didn’t work out as planned. The first wave I caught was a good left, which moved me in the wrong direction. I paddled south. Sizeable swells were coming through, but they didn’t break until they pounded on shore. I ended up getting some great exercise paddling all the way to the ramp.

Afterwards, I ran into Ray, the Petaluma fireman. “Ray did you get called to fight the Montecito fire?” I asked. Hot dry Santana wind conditions prevailed in Southern California last week setting off several brush fires, one being in Montecito in the Santa Barbara area.

“Yes we sent one engine and one crew,” he said. “By the time we got there the fire was just smoldering. It was so fast and hot it burned two hundred houses in one day. The fire was essentially over when we got there.” I related to Ray that when I was a freshman at UCSB in 1963 there was a big fire in Montecito. My friend Greg, who has a house there, told me this year’s fire was in the exact same spot as the 1963 fire. The Santana winds funnel down this particular canyon.

A surfer never admits his session was bad, but choosing mellow was the wrong decision. However, it was a beautiful day, I had things on my mind, and I had just burned off 1000 calories.

November 14, 2008 Friday

Bolinas	Groin
9:20 am to 10:50 am	3' to 4', sets to 5'
High extreme tide, 6.9 ft	Slight offshore breeze
Bright sunshine	Frustrating session

The tide was too high, that was the theme of this morning’s session. It was too high.

Prospects for waves looked good: eight foot swells at twelve seconds from the west (272 degrees). West swells go directly into Bolinas. The NOAA buoy report had considerable wind, 17.5 kts out of the NW, which is offshore at Bolinas.

When walking to the ramp this morning I asked a longboarder, who just exited the water, “How was it?”

“Good, but now the tide is little too high,” he replied.

Last week’s storm had washed out a large amount of sand from in front of the ramp, which meant there was nothing to impede the water of an advancing tide. Wednesday was a full moon, thus we were into extreme tides with high tide (6.9 ft) at 11:00 am. Low tide was -1.7 feet at 6:00 pm. Extreme tides produce strong flood and ebb currents.

At 8:00 am, the waves were surging up the ramp and prevented me from getting to the seawall. From the overlook the Groin had six people out and the Patch had three. I knew with the up-coming tide pushing up against the cliff the Patch would go flat. Mary and Cathy confirmed that a few minutes later when they ended their session. Marty, who was still nursing a knee injury, was there checking out the waves. Lou the boogie boarder was suiting up. I l suggested that he go for the outside peak at the Channel, it looked best there from the overlook.

I had to enter the water at the base of the ramp. A peak of three to four foot waves were crashing five feet from the end of the ramp and pushing water half way up it. I waited for a lull, launched myself into the bumpy white water, paddled like mad, ducked under one wave and made it safely beyond the peak. “The tide is still coming up for another two hours,” I thought to myself. “I’ll have to paddle between these crashing waves and up the ramp to get out.”

Walt, a professional photographer, sat just beyond the breakers with a small waterproof digital camera strapped to his wrist. While bobbing up and down like a cork, he tried to capture pictures of the four-foot waves crashing into the protective wall of the house on the south side of the ramp. The breakers sent water, foam and stray high into the air up to the living room windows of the house.

I paddled to the first peak north of the Groin. It was not an easy paddle due to the backwash coming off the protective wall. The wall follows the contour of the cliff and slants back from the water. Like a pool ball hitting a side cushion, the waves crashed into the wall and backwash bounced off at a forty-five degree angle, sending repetitive bumps of water out to the Groin peak. The turbulence was strong. Beside the backwash, a small north wind swell continuously came across the surface, powerful ground swells pushed in from the west, and a five-knot flood tide flowed toward the mouth of the lagoon.

I didn’t realize the current was pushing me in and over. I thought I was north of the Groin wall. On my first wave, I dropped into a powerful four-foot wave, cruised down well-formed curl, looked up and saw the Groin pole right in front of me. I dove into the water and surfaced next to the end of the wall. That was close. I decided then I would move north of the wall and stay there.

Jim, who is a novice but improving quickly, rode the white water of a wave a couple of feet on the inside of the wall. Several minutes later, after a long struggle to get back out, Jim announced, “My board hit the damn pole.” Fortunately no damage was done.

Lou, Professor Steve and I sat outside paddling around looking for the best take-off point. In the distance I could see the waves crashing in front of the ramp and against the protective wall, sending tons of water surging up the ramp. I asked them for their strategies on getting in. Steve had a good one. Paddle beyond the ramp to the sandy beach north of the seawall, exit the water there, climb up the boulders that form the foundation of the seawall, and then walk along the top of the seawall to the ramp. A few minutes later, Steve decided to go in. Lou and I watched him execute his strategy. It took considerable time, but he did it without any problems.

After a good ride I was in waist deep water a few feet north of the Groin wall. A woman surfer came in laying down riding the soup. She picked up her board, glanced at me and said, “It’s too hairy for me.” She got out and along with her companion they walked carrying their boards towards the ramp. When I paddled back out I looked to see how they were handling the waves crashing into the wall. They attempted, without success, to walk in front of the wall to the ramp. About half way a large wave boomed against the wall, sent water up to the windows of the house, the backwash knocked these two women down and swept them out to the surf. A few minutes later I glanced over at them, one was frantically paddling out over an approaching set wave. I didn’t see the other one. She must have successfully made it in. The next time I looked, the second one was not there. I assumed she also made it in.

Lou announced that one more and he was going in. “Me too,” I replied. We paddled around and paddled around some more waiting for that final good one. By now the tide was all the way in and caused the waves to go flat. The swells would build and build and kept coming in until the shore before breaking. Lou and I moved closer and closer to shore. I finally caught one, a closeout; I straightened out and rode the white water to the sand. Lou followed on a similar wave. I paddled back out beyond the breakers, turned north for the long paddle to the north end of the seawall. Steve’s strategy worked well. I went north pass the ramp to the sandy beach, aimed between two sets of old wood pilings (something left over from an old pier). Paddling between waves, I easily coasted into shore. Lou was close behind me. I stood between the two roles of pilings to give Lou a target to shoot for. He caught a three-foot wave and rode it right up to me. Crossing the top of the seawall to the ramp was a piece of cake.

Surfers seldom admit they had a lousy session. The waves were disappointing but it was a beautiful warm and sunny day and the exercise was great. For two sessions in a row (Wednesday and today) I paddled from the ramp to the Groin, surfed for an hour and a half and paddled back. My arms were feeling the affects of extended paddling. It was that good exhausted feeling.

November 6, 2008 Thursday

Pacifica	Linda Mar
8:20 am to 9:40 am	4', sets head high
High dropping tide	Stiff offshore breeze
Sunny clear day	Frustrating session

Walled, that was the theme of this morning’s session, walled.

Kevin and I met this morning in the Linda Mar parking lot for a short surf session before Kevin went to work. From the shore the waves didn’t look that big, walled but not big. Every few minutes a sizeable set of waves would come through. Stormsurf had predicted a four-foot swell at nine seconds. The NOAA buoy report had six foot swells every nine seconds. From the shore it looked like the predictions were right on the mark.

Kevin wanted to head to the north end, the waves were bigger there. I suggested we enter the water here and work our way north. Done, that was the plan.

Once I started paddling out I realized the waves were bigger that I thought. I had to roll under one big one. I very seldom use this maneuver, only when there is some size. Once outside, Kevin started paddling to the north. My first wave was my best ride. Good size, definitely left, with my heavy board I coasted over the edge and dropped into a head high wall. I saw I had a chance to make it so I went for it. I stepped to the middle of the board, positioned myself high in the curl, crouched down and shot under a breaking curl, stalled for an instant and did the same thing on a second section of the wave. It was a great ride. I watched Kevin catch his first wave. I paddled over it, looked back and saw Kevin’s head drop below the breaking wave. From the back the wall of water turned from blue to green to white with plumes of spray arching high above the wave, and then Kevin re-appeared holding his board as he pushed over the top as the entire wave turned to turbulent white foam. Kevin had dropped to the bottom of the wave and immediately cut back up and over the top.

Right after that two enormous set waves came through. I scratched to get over both of them, huge walls of water from one end of the cove until the other. “What happened to Kevin?” I thought to myself. After several minutes he finally made it back out. I asked what happened.

“I didn’t make it over the second one. It was pretty bad,” he said. It least now he was safe.

From then on all of the waves were walled. I caught three more waves, each one closed out in front of me. I angled down big swells and coasted out in front of mountains of white water. Kevin caught several more, all with the same results. In an hour and twenty minutes, I caught four waves, that’s one wave every twenty minutes. So what was I doing all this time? Sitting, paddling around and going for waves I didn’t catch. No one else was catching any waves either. We were towards the north end of the cove. Several times I looked towards the south, it was a beautiful clear sunny day, and saw fifty to seventy surfers spread across a quarter mile, sitting there. No one was riding any waves. Like me, everyone was letting the huge walls go through un-ridden.

Kevin announced he was going to head north. I didn’t want to go because to me the waves looked better to the south. Kevin paddled some 200 yards north, maneuvered around, missed a few waves, caught one or two, which were walled, and finally paddled back. I caught one more wall, straightened out, rode the white water to shore and got out. Kevin came in a few minutes later.

Wave size is a matter of perspective. As we were drying off, I commented to Kevin that I thought those waves were big. They were certainly bigger than any I have ridden lately at Bolinas. To Kevin they weren’t big at all. Last week he rode overhead waves at Montara and Ocean Beach. “And those waves were big,” he exclaimed. “These waves,” pointing at the walls of Linda Mar, “are half the size of those two breaks.”

I think I will stick to the gentle waves of Bolinas.

November 5, 2008 Wednesday

Laird Hamilton

“What’s it like to look over the edge of a thirty foot wave?” I asked Laird Hamilton as he signed my copy of his book, Force of Nature, Mind, Body, Soul and of Course Surfing, at Book Passage in San Francisco.

“I was just asked that the other day,” he replied, then paused and thought about it. “It’s like looking out the window of a ten story building, only you are going to jump and you’re looking for a place to land.”

I quickly told him I was a regular at Bolinas and asked if he had ever been there. I remember that John, one of the partners of the 2-Mile Surf Shop in Bolinas, had mentioned that Laird and friends came out to Bolinas one day with their stand-up boards.

“Yes I was there this last summer,” he stated. This surfing legend and my surf hero knew of my local spot.

The woman behind me asked what he thought about women surfers. “There are lots of women surfers in Hawaii,” he replied. “It’s not a man or woman thing. Surfing is a form of art and each individual develops their own flow or art.”

At a book signing, one has thirty seconds or a minute to ask a question. What one question would you ask of a surf legend? Afterwards I thought about what I could have asked, there was so much more I wish to know.

What was going through his head when he went down the face of that monstrous, bone-crushing wave at Teahupoo, Tahiti in August 2001? Laird successfully towed into and made one of the biggest, most dangerous waves ever recorded. His ride is now legendary in surfing history, comparable to Duke Kanahamoku’s mile long ride at a Waikiki during huge storm surf in the 1920s and Greg Noll’s dropping into the biggest paddle-in wave ever ridden at Makaha during the storm of the century in 1969.

What about the innovations that Laird has contributed to the sport of surfing? I would love to hear about his pioneering of tow-in surfing, development of foil surfing and evolution of stand-up surfing. Laird has been the force behind all three of these movements.

What was it like to star in the movie North Shore, a Hollywood film on surfing that used real surfers as actors? Laird played the villain, Lance Burkhart, the self-center, arrogant pro-surfer who would do anything to win the contest, including cheating. My kids loved this movie. We own it and I have seen it numerous times.

Of course there are the standard, classic questions: Biggest wave ever ridden? Worst wipeout? Who is the surfer you most admire? Etc.

Laird Hamilton is the epitome of health: 6’ 3”, 215 pounds (I’m quoting the book jacket), forty-four years old, solid, not one once of fat, big shoulders and neck, bright eyes, quick movements and an alert mind. He was wearing an orange collar shirt, not tucked in, faded blue jeans, sandals with no socks, and blond hair that flopped over his forehead. He was gracious, friendly and focused. He looked each individual in the eye and said, “Aloha.” He concentrated on each person and paid careful attention to what he as writing, making sure he got it correct. He cordially posed for pictures. In the era of small digital cameras and cell phones, everyone wanted to get a picture of him, including me.

The book signing was scheduled for 1:00 pm. At 12:45 pm twenty people were lined up to greet Laird. In one hour the line turned over at least two times. I estimate sixty to eighty people came by. For Gerry Lopez’s talk last May, Book Passage was overwhelmed by the attendance and ran out of books before the talk began. I was prepared; I came early and immediately purchase the book. The woman behind me was not familiar with Laird Hamilton. She was visiting from Michigan and came to purchase a book for her son in law, a surfer in Half Moon Bay. Just like last May, the store ran out of books before the book signing began. “How could they run out of books?” she grumbled. A store employee walked down the line informing everyone they were out of books and offered a bookplate that Laird could sign and they could paste into the book when they purchased it.

The woman proceeded to ask me questions about Laird. The athletic tall guy in front of me climed in that Laird was one of the best athletes in the world, more than just surfing. “Like what?” she asked.

“All water sports, wind surfing, swimming, skin diving, and long distance paddle boarding,” he replied.

He looked at me and stated, “I thought there would just be surfers and fifteen year old girls here.” He was commenting on the mix of people standing in line. All types were there: old, young, surfers, businessmen in suits, tourists and college students.

“Are you a surfer?” He asked me.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Where do you surf?”

“Bolinas and Stinson Beach. I live in Mill Valley and those are my local breaks.”

“I too live in Mill Valley and have often seen the surfers at Bolinas.”

“Are you familiar with Laird Hamilton?” I asked.

“Yes. I have seen him in numerous videos.”

“Are you familiar with the movie, Riding Giants, which features Laird?”

“Oh, yes. I have seen it many times. In fact I watch it at least once a month,” he proudly stated. I was impressed.

“I think the incredible story is Laird choosing his step father as a little kid,” I said referring to the tale that introduces Laird in the Riding Giants movie.

“Yes, it’s the classic tale of heroes. Like Moses coming down the Nile in a basket.”

I agreed and added like the virgin birth or Merlin transforming Uther to the likeness of Lord Cornwall so Uther could make love to Igraine to conceive King Arthur. Laird Hamilton has the roots and the story of a 21st century classic hero. Laird’s mother separated from his biological father when Laird was a small child and moved to the North Shore of Oahu. On a beach, young Laird crossed paths with Billy Hamilton, the noted big wave surfer and board shaper. Boy and man instantly bonded and went body surfing with Laird hanging onto Billy’s back. Afterwards, Laird grabbed Billy’s hand and dragged him to meet his mother. They fell in love, married and Billy adopted Laird as his son. It’s a wonderful story.

All great athletes have their injuries. In the book, Laird’s “Injury Map” pictures him with arrows pointing to his numerous wounds. It reminded me of years ago seeing a life size photo of Jim Otto at his Burger King restaurant in Auburn, CA. Jim was the NFL hall of fame center of the Oakland Raiders during their glory days under coach John Madden. The photo had Jim in only his hip pads and a hundred or more arrows pointing out his scars and wounds. Laird has a few also:

134 stitches in the forehead; surfboard through the cheek; first degree shoulder separation; herniated disk; crushed vertebrae; Skilsaw through the thigh; torn and reconstructed ACL; crushed top of foot; broken toes; broken arches; broken left ankle (six times); broken eardrum; broken and misplaced ribs; ton of stitches, at least 1000, he has stopped counting them.

I have one more question to ask. I would love to hear Laird’s present day response to that pointed question that John McEnroe asked during Laird’s appearance on John’s talk show. McEnroe had a late night show for a short period a couple of years ago. It didn’t last long. But Laird made an appearance to promote the movie, Riding Giants, and they showed a clip of Laird riding that wave in Teahupoo. John and Laird are close friends. Apparently Laird introduced John to the real Hawaii and took him and his kids surfing. They had a great respect for each other. John asked Laird that cutting question:

“Laird, you are in your forties, happily married, have young children, how long can you keep this up?” Implied in the question is the element of death. Laird risks his life with every one of his exploits. I can’t remember his exact words, but he stated that as long as he can physically do it, he would continue doing it.

Let’s pray that Laird Hamilton continues his adventures for years and years to come.