I got the blog-fog

Just don't have anything that I want to say or for some reason can say properly............I got the blog fog man! Thank god I've been surfing.........

World Heritage Surf.

Pic courtesy: http://foulweather.blogspot.com/
Some places deserve to be spared either man's rapacious nature or his thoughtless exhaust, the tailings of our daily life. While it may be more romantic to save far away places, we should be working closer to home. I can't imagine this place without this wave. All because of nitrogen run off from neatly mowed grass. Acres of a water sucking foreign mono culture leaching extra chemicals through ancient lava. A reef has to die so that people can pluck a ball out of a metal cup.......?

http://www.savehonolua.org/

Think of all the trails you have walked to get to some out of the way spot, many are used by few others. Surfers are sometimes the lone eyes in little corners of the coast, the first to be aware of intrusions.

Shitting Bricks.

This mountain shits bricks, still alive after all these eons, it moves and drops. Assaulted by the wind and waves, winter blasts it with gusts around 70 and 80mph being routine. Driving rains measured in inches every few hours, saturate rocks and cracks. Freezing nights complete the face lift as small rocks litter the shoreline, slides sag and take out vegetation with them. There is a sweet little spot in the trees that holds a little bench and a view.

At the beginning of the winter a huge chunk of rock fell off the face of the mountain, hit the slopes below and shattered into millions of pieces. If you had been there at the moment this happened I think you would have come close to dying if not death itself. None of the bigger chunks or boulders like the one shown pierced the trees, but it was littered with fist sized chunks, they must have been flying through like shrapnel. Think of a special effects scene from some meteoroid shower sequence in a movie.

Unlike similar headlands north of here, which are extensions of Eastern Oregon lava (now basalt) this was formed from coast range lava flows millennia ago. It's daunting to imagine flows this high and so long that they extend hundreds of miles. The ocean depths hide the full tale of these giants as they drop into the sea.

The sand holds all these deposits from the cliffs above. They fall and break apart and then crumble further as they await the tides. As I wait for tides. Changing into a wettie I wonder how, with this much debris I have never seen or heard a rock being expelled. How close would be too close? This mountain is taking a crap regularly, it's a matter of time till someone witnesses, at their peril perhaps this natural function in action.

No more Bushmen/Surfers.

Is this the end of the bushmen/surfer, as more and more of the soul of the artform is stitched, glued and molded together in countries far from the source and brought back sealed in oblong containersto be sold en masse? No more Peter Troys?

I don't think so, there is a strong sense of individuality still running rampant through surfing. It's not going anywhere soon. This innundation of cheap to manufacture and highly profitable merchandise is natural part of virtually all activities in the west, clogging to unacceptable levels lineups maybe, but the surfer who wants isolation will still be able to find it for a long time to come. There are 10,000 villages out there....................

The benefit of these new numbers of surfers maybe in the lineage of Van der Post's eco-tourist. People who will chafe under the work week rigors and get renewal on weekends at the nearest beaches they can get to. Then for those who can pull it off will travel to distant reefs where hopefully the magic of those breaks will trigger a protective embrace. The creation of protected coastlines like wilderness zones. Funded by the masses in cities around the globe, warmly remembering days spent in waters far from home. It has and does work for the conservation of animals and their habitats.

It may be a case of preserving what we have, not a case of recovering what we have lost though. G-Land would be one of the better examples. The crowd-free earliest years will never be re-enacted but the break will remain relatively unspoiled despite the throngs who fly in from every corner of the world all year long.

van der Post

To read his work is to dip into dreamland. His love for modern man's ancestors, today living in tiny groups as their ancestor's did 60,000 years ago is unabashed and admiring. Humanity's earliest heartbeat can still be felt in the Kalahari. His writing of the Bushmen and their land was a two edged sword unfortunately, but also part of the driving force that eventually lead into the ecological movement in Africa.

That small pinprick of conscience that belongs purely to the Industrial Age, it demands we preserve a small part of the remaining earth not under servitude to any man with as many of it's original inhabitants as are left to occupy it. And to at least offer a glimpse of this world as it once was, to those who for the most part live life, repaved and re-lit.

In 1973 I went to the Umfolozi Game Reserve, part of a small group of kids from our high school, we went on a walkabout for three days inside the reserve. I had no idea then and only made the connection recently, that it was a direct connection to van der Post and his belief that people who were urbanised needed to feel the primal world as their ancestors did. His hope was that modern man would see the value of land not in servitude to industry or pastoral interests.

His friendships with many influential people in the conservation movement led to the eco-tourist as a neccessary part of conservation. We were amongst the earlier cogs of that wheel but were not aware of it. I am not sure I would even have taken the time to form much of an opinion. I was too consumed by the overwhelming realization that I was a small and vulnerable piece of flesh when taken out of my element

An encounter with two rhinos, four small trees (more accurately, tall shrubs!) and five of us had me considering pulling somebody down in order to survive if need be. We were also required to spend a couple of hours each night as watchman. The stars were vivid in a sky far from any electric light and the roars of lions outside of the thorny protection of our boma raised hairs on my neck I didn't know existed. We swam naked in the Umfolozi to cool off, well aware that we had to keep an out for crocodiles. We covered about ten miles a day walking with our armed ranger, we felt cut off from the world not hearing an engine nor seeing another soul outside of our group. It was exactly what van der Post visualised as an essential experience in the modern age in order that we would re-connect with and then respect a primitive past.

What does this have to do with surfing? I'll try to explain that next ............

SURFERS AS BUSHMEN.



Why am I writing of van derPost? I love to surf, for reasons that are essentially primitive and unexplainable to non surfers. Why do bushmen walk all over a desert when an easier life is available to them? Because they have to. Surfing has had that effect on my existence. From swearing an oath with a surf buddy at 14 to travel to Europe in a search for waves, to leaving home at 19 because a 2 year stint in the military seemed absurdly long and an infringement of my desire to surf for the rest of my life.

I think he would have loved surfers for their similarities to his beloved bushmen. The seasonal change of homes (our summer and winter breaks), the small groups unwilling to stay together for very long past a few social gatherings, forever splitting off and going to their own oasis. Utterly tribal in structure and function, these groups while fluid are not easily entered.

Our willingness to travel to some more remote break based on the directions of wind and swell.
Our complete dependence on the weather and the orbit of our satellite the moon and the symbolic importance we often bestow on it's position. Part observation of the natural world and part guesswork, with a strong influence of whim.

It's very easy to make too much of something you love, and I could be guilty of that here, but there on the sand or rock before entering the sea, you leave the known risks on land for the unknown in the ocean. We are not separated from the early 20th century revival of surfing we are still a part of it.

The bushmen placed great importance on certain landmarks, mountains that had strength that were sources of healing even, havens. We have coastlines that we head to for similar reasons, points and reefs that restore us and our faith in the universe at large. All is well when the waves are as good or better than we have imagined. Proof that all is still in alignment. Frustration at the fickleness of nature when our best efforts go unrewarded.

Then as the weather changes our eyes follow the horizon and surface trying to decipher and understand it's latest mood. Ready to move on. On the land but not connected to just one part of it.

Sanddollars

The forecasters in spring, I love them!! Frequent blown forecasts are not unusual and last night's south wind warning was one of those. Woke up to easts and a north-west 4.9 @ 11secs, thought it was going to be a short and then choppy sesh as the south filled in but it never came. Instead I had it alone for a good while and one of the sweetest tube rides I've had in ages it seems. A full dry barrel with a warble that forced me to adjust the rail in order to make it out. Glad a friend saw it and smiled.........
A long walk , the south wind arriving the same time I get to the break. One other out already not someone I surf with day to day,but a local res none the less. The tide at full push the wave a bit fat but peaky and showing promise for the low tide. And as the water pulls out through the rip it lines up and throws, it's a good two hours before the swell finally overpowers the bank and the left becomes an unmakeable freight train. The wind shifted back to off shore while we surfed and the sun came out. Clear, cold water a beautiful north west coast day. A long walk back afterwards collecting sanddollars on the way to the car.

Two Fers.

The beginning of the week threw a few bones our way. Mondays sesh kicked off in the afternoon, a bit unusual as the winds cleaned up the cove later rather than earlier.

Shoulder high rights, the peak stood up against the relentless rip, two hours of non-stop paddling. Small group of locals, sun out, fairly consistent and a brisk wind to help the lips fan out.

Tuesday morning and I'm in the toilet bowl working my way between peaks breaking in waist deep water, good ass kicking conditions. It's just two of us trading off, a few others paddle through but it's easy enough with the drift to get to the next closest A-frame. Back and forth jellyfish drifting.

Winds still offshore, counted 20 people spread out up and down the beach lot of people for a weekday kind of an indicator of the scarcity of decent surf this winter. Yesterday's wave has a dozen of those 20 stuck to her, after a couple of hours I take lunch.

Daylight savings kicked in Sunday, 3 weeks early this year. What a great turnaround! Now that evening go out will last 3 hours not 1.

Back down to the cove and the boys have a fire going and the barbeque fired up, burgers and beers! Nobody out but fun glassy waist high rights are racing down the bar, time to get it...... After a few minutes Ding and Alex join me and it's just the 3 of us, the dinner crowd just watching drinking and eating in the driftwood.

It's a goofball 2 hours of glass and havoc. I paddle up to Ding and park the longboard 18" off his rightside, then as he looks at me I look past him, trying to gauge the incoming peak as if he isn't even there. Standard issue comedy fare we throw around either in the water or the parking lot. In the often taciturn lineup where a nod suffices for conversation we are a bit of an anomaly. We're cracking up and steal waves from each other while we denigrate each other's last rides. Then they're gone and Andy paddles out I ask the time and Christ it's 6p.m. already! I've gotta get back and get dinner started.

Last wave is a shoulder high double dipper cover up and I claim it for the boys around the fire. Wetsuit drive and a hot shower..........