What would you do if you had two months off...

Compassing Teaser from Cyrus Sutton on Vimeo.


The initial premise of what appears to be another grounded, earthy, accessible film from surfing's new-media frontman is compelling. What if we could all take a walkabout for a month or two? What if we could devote preparation time and money towards a surf trip that would meet our Santosha dreams? What if a freedom were granted and we grasped it with both hands, pulling ourselves out of the drudgery of daily life?

But the question emerges from an assumption to the negative. Yes, workaday life can be laborious. Yes, the constant wrestling with scheduling, parenting, husbanding, producing, consuming and pragmatic necessity makes it difficult to feel that salty-sweet aura of the unencumbered surf session. We grab our moments, though, do we not?

I propose a different perspective, one in which surfing plays the complimentary role in life rather than the true north of all experience. Can I be a competent and devoted family man, friend, teacher, and surfer? Yes. In those times when surfing becomes secondary I have learned to use my inner knowledge that the next session will always await as a motivator. Do good work in all things and enjoy those moments outside of surfing as a way of balancing life.

Of course I have wished for the weeks long journey to point break perfection. Yes, I miss traveling to Baja with the regularity and freedom that I once claimed. But times come for those trips. They need not be always the sweet that makes everything else sour. Perspective and balance my friends.

If you were wondering, if I had two months off with no responsibilities tying me here or there, I would probably go surf San Jacinto on a great swell and then trip around Europe. Never been there. I'd surf when I returned home.

Boogie Bay...

Higher tide and a little swell makes for lefts for yards at Boogie Bay.

A mile north of my house there is a lagoon. The lagoon winds and wraps past the fairgrounds and racetrack as it runs west and into the pacific. Here, volleyball courts and dogs (duds too). There, crushingly disproportionate wealth in the form of oceanfront homes, buttressed by boulders against tides and swells.

A spare hour or two and some no-thanks winds lends itself to a bit of boy time. G and I hop in the car and take a ride to Boogie Bay. Now, boogie bay is not an amazing surf spot. It is not even a surf spot for anyone over seventy-five pounds. But if you are seven and you like to ride your boogie board, then man, you have found your surfy heaven right there at Boogie Bay.

At high tides a little left, maybe two feet on the biggest of days, wraps around the rocky armor below the mansions. little G-Land, Uluwatu. A left point for the groms. Grant walks out, turns and grabs a little slider. Twenty yards of grins from take off to sand. Me, I just smile and enjoy the life of a dad, a dad who surfs, a dad who surfs with his son.

G isn't much interested in surfboards or standup surfing right now. And I dig that. Because what he is really interested in is waves. Waves of perfect size for a seven-year-old, wrapping and reeling into Boogie Bay.

New Blood...

5'9" Steve Lis Quad Fish. Just wet for the first time.

Seventy-five degrees. Yes, the water and air both.

Hop on the bike and put the board on the rack. Forget the leash, it's a beachy. Wax in the pocket and slaps on the feet. Pedal and glide down Stratford, sliding under a low-hanging branch in anticipation of a head-dip, a cover-up, a micro-tube.

A manicured doormat of grass that sits in front of the sand, framed by city landmark and children's playground on either side. Take the bike onto the sand, tuck it into an eroded sea-cave and grab the board.

A few recognizable faces greet me on the sand, in the surf. A few familiar feelings return to me after a rather lengthy land-locked period. That first duck-dive. Ooh, that first moment of slippery speed. Welcome.

The new digs, a haunt in coastal affluence, has an ocean view and a few trails to the reefs. A bike takes me to the beachbreaks, not too bad on their day. It is refreshing to sense the sea so nearby again. Each morning for the past many I have sen the coastal airshow; fog  and a delta of pelicans soaring just over the bluff.

Tools of the trad(ition)...

Me: Professional Flotsamist

velocity/trajectory...

Image from Driftsurfing.com. Artist unknown

Sometimes when I am running (jogging) on the trail around the lake I stand far to the right so I am next to a wall of bushes and trees. I extend my right arm and let my hand just touch, just barely touch, the branches and leaves. I lean my body back a bit and slouch my shoulders. I kind of tuck my head down. Before I know it, I am in a nice little pocket of green, spying an easy exit, moving quickly through the perfect line.

Seems like you carry this dis ease everywhere. When not surfing, you're searching.

1976 steve lis fish. Immaculate. $2900. tell your friends, virtual and otherwise.

Detritus...

The Post-millennial Grommets breathe new life. Pic: BA-->

Awake. Produce. Repeat.

Each day finds an odd haze hanging over it. The weight of expectation, exertion, evaluation becomes a rote path. One moment is left behind as the next is anticipated. So rarely is a moment let to ring until its simple song is spent. Episodes pile up like driftwood, memories of living things worn smooth and innocuous by powers greater-than. Flotsam reaches the shore. Sea-scraps accumulate.

Then someone walking along the beach picks up the discarded and forgotten bits. Fashioned by an inspired mind, the memories and moments take on new life and meaning. The visionary act of reinvention and re-invigoration breathes new life.

Scale for personal use. Apply as necessary. Work, play, family, expression, success, all need a bit of re-invigoration when the time i'swell.

In other worlds...

Photo: Web Foundling

There are small cracks in sidewalks
Seeds fall in and reach
Around other seeds in search
Of what will inspire germination.
The feet above scatter busy days
Above the heads of small flowers
Now questioning
What will inspire germination

- Padante Namimbu Bakura

Summer draws it's curtains with a fine show of sun and swell. My adored wife and son fly away to visit the in-laws. I begin my work year in two days.

Tonight, I drop off my two beloveds at Lindy Field and they flap off into the sunset. I jag the car to the coast. A beautiful sunset and glassy, waist high waves greet me. "Hmmm, I guess thirty minutes of surf is better than anything else I might do." Mat, fins, down the cliff, into salty reflecting pond. I spin and slide a wave and then another. The sun slips away. One surfer paddles in and then another. At last it is just me, alone, in the dark.

Surfing by sensation is a treat. Although I began to feel like bait after about a half-hour, I did enjoy some solitude and that rare feeling of being inspired for all the right reasons. No one could see me. No one knew I was there below the cliff on which they stood. It was me and ocean in our own slow dance, no one else on the dance floor to impress.

A beautiful counterpoint to life in general.