Loc: El
Porto
Time:
1600-1730
Conditions:
1-3 FT, sunny, warm, glassy
Back in 2006 when I first started
consistently surfing, I would drive straight to El Porto after work with my NSP
and surf gear pre packed. You’ve heard this story before. . .
I would come here with zero expectation,
zero pickiness about the conditions, and I would be filled with stoke just to
paddle out and get wet.
Turns weren’t even on the wish list yet,
for going straight meant going surfing, and surfing was all that mattered.
I was proud, 7’10 NSP with flames and all.
As long as I was in the water you couldn’t tell me shit. I saw myself as a
surfer, just as much as the guys on their shortboards shredding, and then
something happened. . .
Blame it on my influences: my brother,
Rick, my stack of surf DVD’s, or just blame myself. Somewhere along the line,
image got in the way. My board became too big. Maybe it was the way other
surfers looked at me in the lineup, or the way they looked cranking out turns,
somehow able to paddle into waves on their tiny boards. Maybe it was my
insecurity. Somewhere along the line, I wanted to surf like them, look like
them.
Of course, the Donny Duckbutter of today
would have told young Donny to stick to his NSP, “Learn to turn that fucking
thing at least before you taper down.” But what did I do? I bought a 6’10
Becker shortboard, a big shortboard but still a shortboard shape. And there I
was, paddling into waves on a shortboard . . . going STRAIGHT.
And it was enough to satisfy my ego because
I was on a shorter board. It looked cool. It didn’t have that funboard shape
that spelled B-A-R-N-E-Y.
But the Becker board got too big too, so I
tapered down to a standard shortboard, a 6’0 hand-me-down from my brother, and
I paddled into waves on that thing . . . going STRAIGHT.
That
shortboard was blue with a cool design on it, like a cross between a tiki face
and a dark blue spider on its deck. The lightness of the board combined with
its sharp, blade-like shape and spelled P-R-O. I didn’t feel like a pro, but I
had a pro board, and walking from my car to the sand I looked like a surfer who
belonged to the ripper fraternity of shortboarders.
Years later, I matured, or I at least
thought that I did. I stuck to my shortboards, eventually buying a bigger 6’6
on recommendation from my brother. From there I tapered to a 6’3 before I went
to Bali, and then a thick 6’0 Lost Mini Driver, that’s 20 inches wide and 2 ½
inches thick, before I went to Java, a board I considered “big” by my
standards.
Just this week, I’ve been paddling out on
the NSP again, just because of my time crunch for surf. I’d rather paddle out
and catch waves on a longboard than scratch out on one foot surf on a
shortboard.
I had been giving my girlfriend advice on
how to surf this thing, and little did I know that even I can’t turn this thing
with grace. I had missed out a lot on my fundamentals by ditching this
longboard too soon.
So today in the lineup, I’m surrounded by
shortboarders, paddling into sectiony, two-foot slop, only going straight or
bogging out down the line. Meanwhile, on this Barney board, I’m stacking up the
wave count against them, using different points on the deck to get down the
line and milk the sections as long as possible. Only now do I realize what the
point of surfing is.
Up until this point I had been a victim of
my own ego, my own pride to never be caught dead on a longboard because they
represented the beginner level of surfing, because I wanted to “turn” and
“rip,” because I wanted to at least have ranking as someone who is “good.”
But on crappy days, what’s the use of
riding the wrong equipment, to have a cool board, only catching a couple of
waves in a couple of hours and going straight on most?
The purpose of paddling out is to catch
waves. I’ve been a Barney all along. I haven’t learned anything. I’ve had so
many sessions, bobbing in the lineup, complaining about the longboarders, SUP
guys, and guys with the fishes because “they were taking all of the waves.”
Beginners or not, they made the right calls, paddling out on whatever it took
in order to actually surf.
My attitude had been terrible, saying that
the surf was too small, too choppy, too inconsistent, instead of accepting
that, regardless, it was still “SURF.”
So today I’m out here, with the sun in my
face, headache-causing and blinding. I’m one of the few guys out here on a fun
board. I could be a kook, and I could
not. Maybe I’m a longboarder by choice. All I know is that . . . that doesn’t
matter anymore.
I’m out here on the right board, the right
equipment. I drove to the beach knowing that I would catch a wave today no
matter what the surf was doing. I’ve unwrapped a dusty gift that’s been
forgotten and left in a dark corner of a basement, something that’s been here
all along.
I’m not a shortboarder or a longboarder;
I’m just a surfer. I have the right gear to surf every day if I want to.
Shortboard or long, fish, tri-fin, or quad-fin, nothing (save for a swell
that’s way too big for me) should keep me out of the water.
I’ve pulled into the Porto parking lot and
pulled out too fast too many times.
Surfing is not about the image. Riding a
board that you’re not ready for defeats the purpose and idea of surfing
entirely. You must do whatever it takes to get you on a wave instead of bobbing
in the water like a useless buoy.
Years ago I had paddled out to Porto,
stoked to catch anything, and I had called that “surfing.” Today on my NSP, I
can call it surfing again.
The lost gift that I’ve unwrapped is just
that. There have been waves all along, unridden, all right here in this very
spot.
I catch a long right, walking up to the
nose, just a foot shy of it. From the spilling curl of the lip, I’m in the most
powerful point of the wave, passing the other shortboarders who have backed out
for me.
From my vantage point, I’m so high up that
I can predict where the next sections will be before they even form. I hold my
line, confident that I’m on the right board that will take me all the way to
shore.
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