July 24, 2009 Friday

Bolinas	Groin
9:00 am to 11:00 am	2' to 3', sets to 4'
Mid upcoming tide	North cross wind
Overcast, high fog, misting	Good session

The Over-hyped Swell

“Don’t you just love the Internet,” I sarcastically shouted to Russ and Mark as I pulled up into the parking area on Brighton Avenue in Bolinas.

I had just circled the parking area, tennis court and park looking for a place to park. I luckily found a spot down from the tennis court towards town. Russ and Mark parked there also and were suiting up. Yesterday only three of us were out at the Groin at 10:00 am. Today twenty-five surfers were spread across the Channel and the Groin and another twenty-five were out at the Patch. Every surfer in the North Bay had been watching the approaching swell on the Internet for a week, had arranged work and school schedules to free up Friday and descended on Bolinas this morning.

For eight days Stormsurf had predicted a four-foot eighteen-second south swell to hit late Thursday and peak on Friday morning. All the other sites were saying the same thing. The NOAA weather radio issued an “alert” about big south swells combining with north wind swells. Roberta Gonzales, a local TV weather person, reported on the approaching big south swell. Lots of hype and anticipation about the biggest swell of the summer, but delivery was non-existent. A wave of disappointment washed over me when I peeked at the Groin from the Seawall. Two to three foot small fast peeling walls, not much bigger than yesterday. After standing there through a long lull a sizeable set of waves came through. The swell was definitely bigger and more powerful, but the other elements were not cooperating. A north cross wind put a textured chop on the surface, the minus low tide at 8:00 am had the potentially good waves sucking out in six inches of water and the ebb flow out of the lagoon impacted the peak at the Channel. The rocks at the Patch were fully exposed. Waves were cresting thirty yards beyond the outside rock but they barely broke. Only the sets waves had the force needed to power one into the inside break.

I entered the water by walking out on the finger of sand that stretch out from the end of the Groin wall, just like I had done yesterday. Ten surfers were at this peak and I didn’t know any of them. The waves were powerful and breaking in shallow water thus the atmosphere was tense. There was little banter among the surfers; only stern looks as they focused on the waves they were paddling for. I had to pay attention to others, which impacted my selection of waves. I did manage to connect on a couple of brief, fast curls. I kept searching of the good take off point. I moved over to the Channel and tried a couple there without much success. I moved back to the Groin with the same results. I moved north of the Groin and found the same situation: crowded, fast breaking small walls.

After an hour and a half I was tired and started working my way to the Ramp. The tide had come up and conditions had changed. On the inside a solid four foot wall approached, I stroked into it, swung left and looked down a beautiful line up. I leaned into the wave, climbed to the top of the curl, stepped to the middle of the board to gain speed, and cruised down a fast long section to end up plowing the nose into the white water of the shore break. What a great ride. The edge of the sandbar was causing the bigger waves to set up for fast, long rides. I knew my spot now. I managed to connect with four more of these waves before exhausting all my energy.

A young longboarder had picked up on the same thing and was out there with me. I had seen him before and I knew he was good. He rode a new Dewey Weber 9’ 6” longboard with no leash. He was in great condition, paddled easily with speed and power. He was always at the peak of the set waves and caught everything he paddled for and walked the nose on every wave.

“You know I met Dewey Weber once,” I said to him between sets.

“You did?” he replied. “I wish I could have met him.”

“A good friend that I played high-school football with was Dewey’s brother-in-law,” I continued. “I went over to house one day and there was Dewey Weber sitting in his living room.”

“I know his son,” my young friend said. “I heard he was a small guy.”

“He was about my height,” I said. “Very solid, athletic guy. Dewey was a champion wrestler in high school.”

A set approached, we started paddling out, and my young friend went for the second, bigger wave of the set. I quickly turned and stroked into the first wave and cruised down another well-shaped left wave. I finished in time to witness my young friend screaming down a four-foot face. He worked his way to the very top of the wave, stepped to the nose, curled five toes over the very tip of the board, hung at the very top, spray flying off the tip as he dropped down the face, backed off enough to remain just under the lip of the curl and sped down this wall of water all the way to the shore. Dewey would have been proud of him.

In memoriam: Dewey is no longer with us. My friend Neil Kilgore did not survive Viet Nam. Dewey’s wife and Neil’s sister and her three children are still with us. Dewey’s son Shea runs Dewey Weber Surfboards.