January 28, 2010 Thursday

Stinson Beach	Straight out from the showers
8:50 am to 10:15 am	3' to 5', sets overhead
High tide (7.0 ft at 8:45 am)	Slight onshore breeze to no wind
High clouds with occasional sunshine	Thrilling - fun session

As I was writing this I was sitting at a table at the Surfer’s Grill, which is closed for the winter, with a hot cup of coffee from the Stinson Beach Market watching Jimmy the retired Stinson carpenter now artist carve up these beautiful waves at a peak in front of the lifeguard tower. He had it all to himself; except for a boogie boarder that was a beginner and who caught only a few waves. I admired Jimmy’s skills. With perfect timing and little effort Jimmy stroked into wave after wave, streaked down the faces of head-high curls, cut-back, leaned into the shore breaks, crouched down in the middle of his board to duck under the lips of the curls until the waves broke all over him a few feet from shore.

Today was a classic Stinson day and the famous Stinson Beach “holes” were back. Several locals were on it: Pete the owner of the Livewater Surf Shop, John the owner of the Parkside Café, Professor Steve, Annette the expert stand-up surfer, Chuck the Bolinas knee-boarder and Robbie the long-time local Stinson surfer. The storms of the past two-weeks had removed tons of sand from the beach and uncovered the sandstone that resides underneath. Out in the water, the contour of the sandstone forms shallow areas next to deep water holes. The waves break in the shallow areas and continuously peel towards the deeper water. When the holes appear the surf gets good and the locals love it.

The other day when we were lamenting about the lousy surf and asking about the reappearance of the holes, Scott pointed out and mentioned the great views from Table Rock, which sits half way up the mountain above the center of Stinson Beach. From there when the holes are in one can see how the ravines in the side of the mountain line up with the holes, meaning geologically the ravines continue out into the ocean. This implies that the ravines and the famous holes were formed by hundreds of years of erosion from rainwater draining off the mountain. Scott reminded us that at one time the sea was much further out and today’s holes were once on dry land. Nowadays in the summertime the sand fills in the holes and in the winter the big storms remove it exposing the holes.

I was greeted by a beautiful peak straight out from the central showers when I arrived this morning. Three surfers were out getting long clean rides. That was enough to convince me to go out. But more than that was the channel (i.e. hole) on the north side of the peak. The peak waves peeled continuously left until they broke on the sand at the channel. This was what an old surfer loved to see: a channel with no white water in it, meaning I could paddle out to the line-up without getting my hair wet; that did it, I’m going.

Big drops, fast initial sections followed by swooping cutbacks: all the rides were like that today. But the waves were difficult to catch. In the hour and twenty minutes I caught only five waves, but each one was a thrilling ride. After paddling around for twenty minutes and missing several waves, I finally connected. The wave was thick and breaking on me when I took off. I pushed over the edge, dropped down a head-high face, a ton of white water poured down in front of me; I braced myself, drove under it, climbed back into the swell and pulled out to let the woman surfer behind me to continue on.

I saw Robbie the Stinson local longboarder catch a good one. He was sitting outside when a big set came through. Stroking on his knees with his long outdated hippie hair-do draped over his head, he glided into the wave as it was breaking, with his back to the wave he dropped down an overhead face, climbed back up to the top of the wave, shot through the initial section and disappeared. From the back, I could see the wake of his board cutting through the breaking curl. Way on the inside, he popped out as the wave slammed onto the beach. It was a great wave.

“Are you the one who writes the blog?” asked an athletic woman with a tan face and light colored hair as I was walking back to my car to suit up.

“Yes,” I replied.

“You have a picture of me on my standup board,” she said. Now I remembered her. It was on a good day at Groin in Bolinas, she was there on her standup board and she was good (see September 14, 2009). “You said that my board was 12 feet. After I read that I said I have to find that guy and tell him my board is 9’ 3.”

I introduced myself and met Annette. I admitted my ignorance about standup boards having read once they were 10 to 12 feet in length. Wrong, standup boards are going through several changes and are becoming shorter. Her latest board is 9’ 2” and the Hawaiian guys are experimenting with 8-foot standup boards. She went on to mention that she was searching the web for surf sites and came upon Lorenzo’s Surf Journal, read several of them and discovered her picture there. Having read that I’m from Palos Verdes, she mentioned that she too grew up Los Angeles Bay Area, in Redondo Beach and lived near Ave I and the Esplanade.

“Across the street from Millie Rivera’s Sea Food Restaurant?” I commented being very familiar with that area. Millie Rivera’s was a long time landmark that was replaced several years ago by high-priced condos.

Annette was out in water this morning on her new standup board skillfully maneuvering down several large waves. From the side I watched her cut down a head-high wave, she disappeared as the wave broke, and from behind I saw her paddle waving above the breaking part of the wave as she cruised along and finally popped out as the wave flattened out on the sand.

An hour has passed since I began writing this. Two skilled surfers have joined Jimmy at the peak in front of the lifeguard station. By now the sun was shinning, the wind had stopped, the sky was blue and all the waves peeled to the left. I was watching every surfer’s dream: warm sunshine, blue skies, a consistent march of perfectly formed waves and only three guys out.

January 4, 2010 Monday

Bolinas	Groin
9:00 am to 10:00 am	2' to 3', occasional 4'
Low upcoming tide (2.5 ft at 9:00 am)	Stiff offshore wind
Sunny, high clouds and cold	Cold fun session

The wave of the morning belongs to Hans. We were sitting outside at the Groin waiting for the next set. A fun peak was breaking this morning peeling in both directions. The water was cold, the stiff offshore wind was cold and the air was cold. The offshore breeze was holding up the curls, and the low tide had passed two hours ago but the ebb flow was still pouring out of the lagoon. I was positioned ten yards inside of Hans to catch the waves late. A four-foot set wave approached and I wanted to take it left. I watched Hans closely to see if he was going to try for it; he was. I wasn’t sure if he would go left or right. He was right at the apex of the peak and could go either way. He had the right of way and went for it. I turned and paddled over it and caught a glimpse of Hans’ initial drop. The sunlight blared through the top of the peak turning the lip emerald green as spray blew back over the top. I went over the wave just as it was breaking and looked back. Hans had cut to the right, which meant I could have taken it left. He was crouched down in the middle of his board trimming through a fast section. He cut back, stalled a second and then turned into another fast section. I continued paddling out. I looked back and Hans was still going, again crouched down in the middle of his board and leaning into another good section. Again he cut back and turned yet into another section. I paddled over another wave and looked back again. Hans was still going doing the same maneuvers and trimming through another section. By now he was adjacent to the Groin pole and still going. He continued on a one-foot curl well inside the Groin wall before finally pulling out. It was one of the longest rides I have ever seen at the Groin. Everybody congratulated him.

I was going for the lefts as was Mary and David who rides a Becker board. My best ride came near the end of my session. The current was pushing us out and to the north. We had to keep paddling in to stay in the impact zone. The waves were difficult to catch thus I had to wait until they breaking to connect. Sitting inside, a four-foot set wave approached, I paddled out, turned, stroked towards the peak and took off as the wave was breaking. I jumped up, turned hard left, cruised along the bottom of the wave as it curled and broke in front of me. I had plenty of speed to drive under the white water and back into the swell. I climbed to the top of the wave, took a step forward, steadied the rail under the lip of the curl and cruised through a long fast section. I cut back into the breaking portion of the wave, rode the white water for a long ways to let the swell build into the shore break. Once into it I turned sharply left and drove the nose of the board into the curl as it broke on the beach. Though I was tired that was such a good ride I paddled back out for another one.

I almost did not go out this morning due to the cold Tule fog in Mill Valley, the cold offshore wind that ripped through me as I stood on the overlook above the Groin and the so-so waves. But my friends were in the water: Mary, Hans, David, Doug and Jim. I stood there freezing for ten minutes, a few good waves came through and suddenly they didn’t look that bad. From previous sessions I knew that the high cliff protected the beach from the wind. Get some exercise and say hello to my friends. As it turned out it wasn’t that cold, the waves were fun and the crowd was friendly.

News from the others: Mary announced she was leaving Wednesday with a friend for a surf trip in Costa Rica, ten days in a surf camp near Tamarindo. Doug told me about the great sessions he had at Dillon Beach last week with head high, glassy peaks. Jim the jazz guitarist talked about his steady gigs through the holidays playing “ambiance music” at a hotel in Santa Rosa. They were also talking to him about every weekend through April. Steady work for a musician in this economy is god sent. David, who just began surfing a few months ago, mentioned that he was intimidated by the big waves that came through last week. He paddled out and just watched the others. I understand intimidation, and David did the right thing for working up to taking off on the big ones. Get close and observe.

January 2, 2010 Saturday

Saltwater Buddha by Jaimal Yogis

All of us who surf know there is a spiritual side to being in the water and riding the waves. Jaimal Yogis, who has dedicated his life to Zen and surfing, gives us a unique view of our pursuit for waves and spirituality in his book Saltwater Buddha. Zen promotes life as energy and waves are pulses of energy through water. But, it’s not easy living the Buddhist life for a surfer. A Surf Nazi in Santa Cruz put Jaimal to the test.

“Motherfuckingfaggotwhydidntyoulooklearntosurffaggot!” screams the Surf Nazi after Jaimal dropped in on him at Streamers Lane. It’s a perfect day and Jaimal just a few minutes earlier had his first covered up tube ride of his life and was feeling great about his surf abilities. He was sure that he had impressed the crowd on the cliff and then unthinkingly he drops in on the Surf Nazi. For twenty minutes this guy spews verbal abuse at him. Apologies do no good. A good Buddhist does not get angry. A single moment of anger can destroy eons of good karma, but Jaimal feels this knot welling up in his chest. His confidence crumbles and on his next wave he executes a perfect face plant to the screams of “faggot.” Buddha said that the causes of anger are frustrated desire or wounded pride. Jaimal sees the veins and lines in the Surf Nazi’s face as he is yelling. He is not having a good time and is in pain, a self-inflicted pain. Both Jaimal and the Surf Nazi are hanging onto this thing, a monster that is wrapping its sickness around their throats. Jaimal lets go of it while the Surf Nazi hangs onto it and is still screaming “faggot” as he climbs the stairs up the cliff.

In a short story that I will never forget Jaimal gives a perfect depiction of this incident:

A samurai warrior comes to a Zen master and asks him to teach him the difference between heaven and hell. The Zen master insults him, calls him an uncouth cretin, a worm and stupid. The samurai becomes enraged, draws his sword and moves to cut off the head of the Zen master.

“That samurai,” says the Zen master, “is hell.”

The samurai suddenly realizes he is about to kill a holy man because of his pride. He drops his sword, puts his hands together and bows before the Zen master.

“And that samurai,” says the master, “is heaven.”


Underneath his discussions of Zen, philosophy, and the waves, Jaimal reveals the incredible adventure he has been on for such a young person. He can’t be more than 35 years old, about the same age as my son. Here are a few of the highlights:

Azores: island of Terceira: from age 3 to 6 Jaimal’s love of the ocean begins. His father is stationed there by the military, they live two minutes from the beach and his father, a former surfer, teaches Jaimal and his sister how to body surf.

Maui, Hawaii: at age 16, Jaimal runs away from his suburban life in Sacramento being fed up with the cycle of partying, booze and pot and his arrest and probation for a DUI. He purchases a one way ticket to Hawaii thinking of taking up surfing and living a life like Buddha, the prince who also ran away from home as a young man. Jaimal buys a 6’ 6” used surfboard, once owned by pro-surfer Christian Fletcher. Surfing and meditation become his life. His father travels to Maui to bring him back. Jaimal agrees to return to take care of the DUI probation and his father promises to send him to an overseas boarding school for his senior year of high school.

France: he is sent to Le Bauliere, a suburb of Paris. The place is a ghetto and his host mother steals minutes off his phone card. He moves to Lons Le Saunie on the Swiss-French border, snowboards in the Alps and frequents a Zen monastery southwest of Bordeaux where he hears Thick Nhat Hanh, the number two Buddhist in the world, speak.

Berkeley, CA: Jaimal moves into a Chinese Buddhist monastery, rooms with Aran another young American convert and is convinced that monastic Buddhist life is his destiny. After one year, the head monk strongly suggests these two return to college.

Hilo, Hawaii: Jaimal enrolls at the University of Hawaii at Hilo as a religious study major and jumps into surfing. Surfing is his Zen practice and he becomes the thing he most despises: a surf Nazi. After yelling at some grom in the water he lets go of surfing, concentrates on his studies, does a self-imposed one-week silent retreat and gets a job as a caretaker for Lambert. Lambert has elephant man disease, is bed-ridden and requires 24 x 7 care. For one year Jaimal rooms with Lambert and fantasizes about making a movie “Jaimal Saves Lambert.” The reality is “Lambert saves Jaimal.” Lambert becomes Jaimal’s guru because of his outgoing Hawaiian nature, optimism, laughter and appreciation of everything around him.

India: for his final semester, Jaimal spends four months in a monastery in the Himalayas doing meditation retreats and teaching the monks English. He writes a couple of essays that the university accepts for credit and receives his degree in religious studies.

Manhattan, New York City: after much thought he has a revelation that the “Right Livelihood” as Buddha put it would keep him traveling to exotic surf spots, let him study everything, and keep him from spending a lifetime in a cubicle. Answer: Journalism. He applies to every journalism school in the nation, spends a year in Puerto Escondido as a surf bum living on beans and tortillas and finally receives an acceptance to the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism in New York City.

Jaimal overdoses on the mainstream life of Manhattan, becomes depressed, stays home for a week and reads Moby Dick. The hero Ishmael states that when life looks bleak he has to get back to the sea. A literary assignment is to write a feature article. Jaimal proposes writing about surfing in New York in the winter. His advisor thinks that’s boring, so Jaimal proposes commercial fishing in Montauk. He spends a week befriending fishermen and goes on a commercial fishing trip during a major winter storm. He wins their acceptance by pitching in after pucking up his insides.

After a year of no waves, he goes surfing at Brooklyn’s 98th Street Beach in the dead of winter. Three others are out riding some perfect head-high curls. Following the others, he jumps off the jetty to avoid paddling out. With the sun setting and after the others had left, a rogue wave clobbers him while on the jetty. The wave drills him down and wedges him between two boulders under water. He squeezes out and desperately swims to the surface. His board is mashed to pieces. He crawls up to the beach, sits there watching the snow fall and is grateful to be alive.

La Playa Street, Ocean Beach, San Francisco: two years after graduating from Columbia, things fall into place for him: a modest job with the San Francisco Magazine, a little house near the beach, his girl friend nearby, frequent visits to the monastery in Berkeley and the insight to accept himself and let the wide-open sea be his teacher:

Samara – the cycle of struggle and pain. To Buddha samara is nirvana. You can obtain enlightenment doing anything.

“Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water; after enlightenment, chop wood and carry water.”

Before enlightenment, paddle out at Ocean Beach, one of the most difficult paddles in the world; after enlightenment, paddle out at Ocean Beach. No paddle, no surf. No samara, no nirvana.

Jaimal’s story abruptly ends here in San Francisco on La Playa Street. He is a young man and I’m sure his pursuits of enlightenment and surf continue. This book is a great read and I hope I live long enough to read his sequel thirty years from now to learn how his surfing and spiritual insights have progressed.