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.

Cloud Surfin'...

So, my Kindergartener and I have some business to 'tend to. We have exactly forty-three minutes before we are to meet at Hula Pie Heaven for a family dinner celebrating Gramps' sixty-first. "Do you want to go surf?" "Sure Dad, but the waves look kinda big." They were. A nice January Juice was running with solid quadruple-overhead sets for a five-year-old. "I know where we can go and not have to worry about the paddleout..."

Race one coastal stoplight to the next. SUV's with bleached and bronzed yoga-moms at every glance. Plumeria stickers, surf racks, and dollar signs are not as compelling as one might think. You can keep North County.

But then we are there. Wetsuit change to the beat of the jitterbug. Chilly wind deadens against neoprene. Fins in hand, mat under my arm, boy's paw in the other. "Let's have an adventure." He says. He is on my back. I am laying on a pillow of air on the cold sea. We kick out with just over twenty minutes before we must leave. Smiles in the lineup. "What, you've never seen a matsurfer with a five-year-old on their back?"

Three quick waves down the line and a scramble back up topside. Quick change and heater on full-blast. "You ready for some of that Hula Pie, Kid?" "Yes."

Some adventure.

Title here...

G, Three years old. This is what it is about.

A conspiracy raises against me. My immune system pulls levers and alarms sound. Hoses expel founts of steam. Small men in white bio-contamination suits roam my cells. Sickness strikes. And always at the most inopportune times.

In all of April, four surfs. I just can't seem to find the rhythm to stretch the rubber and wax the water wings. Two beautiful kids, plus twenty three more at work takes a bit of energy, leaving me with weekends- yes, I'm that guy now. But, of course, I cannot resist and must coach GG's football(soccer), basketball, and tee ball teams. I love it. It's all great. But, fish gawta swim.

Three days ago the child of a world-famous longboarder told me his dad was picking him up to take him surfing. "I might even get to go out to the big waves all by myself." The swell was a macking 9 inches. "I think we might go to (The Drive Thru). I like it there. I can play Bobba Fett in the sand."

Thank you, kid. Deep breaths and simple smiles. Simplify those dangerous must-do days with a view of sand, silver sea, and horizon line. Thank you, Kid's Dad, for not being too self-important to grab the time and soak a surf with your son.

Water's warming up. My family will see you at the beach. We'll be the ones wearing the smiles.

As an aside, if you ever have the chance of ordering a clear, 5'7, classic templated fish with big fiberglass keels from Steve Lis you should go for it. It is a really fun ride.

Mind and Motion...

"To Dare is to Do"

Stevie Lis called me to ask about the glass job on a new board order, just shaped, to be sent to Diamond for a glass up. "Just surprise me. I like classic, but surprise me." Last time I ended up with a tapered stringer and double pinlines coupled with a nice eyes-of-my-wife blue bottom. Thanks. Yes the board surfs well too.

My last board, 5'7 and keeled for comfort was glassed clear, to match my black wetsuit. It gets tubed at the right reef down yonder- when I'm not blowing late drops and swimming, swimming, swimming.

My tenth anniversary with my wife is approaching. She wants to get me something special. A board perhaps? Nope. What I need is time to do something with the boards I have.

To have is to hold onto the moment and protect it from the creeping change. To have is to worry, to consider, to secure. No, I don't need more. I need to do more.

Brad Barrett (I think) filled some pages in TSJ with recovered moments from decades past. Painted pages with characters, moments, music. Inspiration to do and to do and to do. Then there were pages with tropical purgatory with dichotomous perfection and peril. Inspiration to do and warning to only do it well. Then there is my son, charging to kick and run and catch and play. Inspiration to do and to do my best.

Through these prismatic lenses I recognize that I am most richly blessed with my days of doing. My time is not always my own, but it is invariably bulging with the bounty of a purposeful life. Yes, I want to surf more and travel more and let the outdoors light sit on my still body. But while I am purposed to do, I will do well.

A trail well-worn...

A trail at the start usually leads to good surf memories. For instance, I walked down to Triton's Doorstep a month ago and got my wetsuit blown halfway down my torso by a Canyon Set. Ah, memories.

A week off of work, but always other work to do. Still, a short stay just a stroke away from The Trestle had me mat-packing. Wetsuit, fins and a mat are incredibly functional travel companions.

Monday through Thursday would be Theme Park Purgatory- much pleasure some passive pain. But oh the grins on my kids' faces. Sliding was prescribed.

Monday was probably negative twenty degrees centigrade on the beach at Uppers. I changed into my wetsuit bare-arsed as the shorebirds, more demure than I, looked on. Puff-puff and I'm immersed. I knew I'd only have an hour of warmth in my pocket so waves were my prey. Not a soul to share with. Double overhead (on the mat) and zipping along the cobbles. Beautiful, thrilling, novel, sensational.

This was my theme park ride. These were my roller coasters. This, my happiest place on earth.

Last dip...

What is Pendoflex? from Cher Pendarvis on Vimeo.


Thanksgiving morning. After a week off of work I've yet to surf. My beloved is laid low with sickness now lessening. We are headed to the beach to celebrate Thanksgiving with a few neighbors. Soccer for the kids, smalltalk for the adults. But what for me?

Of course I throw a wetsuit in the car (short-sleeve-full is the Swiss Army knife of neoprene). Of course I mention a "If I can slide out for an hour it would be great, but I didn't even bring a board so we'll see." My understanding better half grins. She knows. She gets it.

Pull up to The Drive-Through and spot clean shoulder high lines, good winds. Even better, I spot Rshred with Dlightful and their little wahine. Boards are stacked high on their car.

After settling and mingling and nervous glances towards the waves I slide over to glean a borrowed board. "Sure, what do you want to take out?" "What've you got?" Selection is good. I take out a 6' three-finned swallow tail Pendoflex. I love the tripped out flex profile of Pendo's boards. They're unique and hard to categorize. Time to surf.

In one hour I get many fun little fancy ones. Mostly rights, I feel out the three fins and start to use the vertical alignment knob. Smack, smack, whack. First thruster in a while feels fresh and easy. Thanks Rshred!

Returning the board I spot The owner of PB surf shop. He spots me and lets me know that the board is a shop demo. RAD. Double dip for me!

Due to some health issues, this was the last time that I surfed. I'm just about ready to go again and cannot, cannot wait.

Tools of the trad(ition)...

Me: Professional Flotsamist

Suburban soul...

Epik Aker making a mark.

Age eats at us. We gain responsibilities and graft decisions onto decisions, layering our lives with unfortunate complexities. Where to live?

I spent many years with an ocean view from a house on Mission Blvd. I was so very lucky. My parents, neither surfers, Didn't know that they were my addiction's enablers. I feasted. Years passed. Degrees earned. Jobs taken. Wife married. Kids born. Reality is that the coastal chaos doesn't suit me well. I need waves, but I need a bit of space. I work with an ocean view. I live with a view of a canyon and my two young kids at play. It's a good life, this surfing life, and no matter how easterly I drift, the current always pulls me back to the shore.

Print rag...

New feature I wrote about waterman Scott Chandler is available now in Revolt Magazine, both in print and online.

I'm not much for standup paddle boards and their riders. I'm not interested in the big wave and tow in scene. But this guy is the real deal and has earned all the respect I can muster.

Chandler caught a 170 lb. mako shark off of a surfboard. World record? Yes. The shark weighed more than me. Yikes.

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.

Muck'n about...

When I'm not making "interesting" choices while surfing...

I'm making charming little baby girls!

Chemistry Set...

Ding repair:
Teach yourself to do it.

Teach your son to do it.

He can be better than you.

Inspecting inspiration...

Hynd, Litmus, 5'8" Frye keel fish, Visual interpretation from Litmus screenshot via Jack Brull at Saltstainedeyes.

The Litmus Fish really liked the spear takeoff, no paddle takeoff, fast paddle takeoff...it was all about controlled speed entries. That 5'8" liked the wave the bigger it got. I learnt another side of surfing on that old friend ala glide etc. That's not to say there hadn't been other revelations on other boards. Particularly - the key of Campbell Brothers rail fins in accelerating layback snaps at JBay in the late 80's...not unlike the feeling of Al Merrick's 6'4" bump tail of around 1987. Put the right board in the right wave and any surfer feels touches of magic.

-Derek Hynd, 2/2010

Two nice sessions on a 5'8" Frye Fish brought me a lot of pleasure this weekend. I looked back over some recent correspondence and came across the above quote. I think Derek hit the nail on the head- a traditional fish will teach you about "glide". The single-minded purity of a true keel is so enjoyable. The original recipe: short, flat, wide, double foiled big-base keels. I think I'll take the '76 5'6 Lis Keel out for a bit of crucial keeling.

Mr. Hynd, thanks for your inspiration.

Can you find me...

Yes, I'm the one submerged.

I profess to desire balance. I've been underwater with responsibilities a bit too heavily. Time for some pre-dawn equilibrium-enabling sessions.

Off to bed.

The Pendulum Swings...

LCrow, putting some resin on a surfboard by CChristenson for MHealy. Pic via MMiller.
 

Remember Edgar Allen Poe? The Pit and the...?
A meticulous metaphor crafted to incite horror. And it did. And it does.

I was chatting at the beach with Sin Diego fixture and single fin maestro LCrow. "It's been a good winter, eh?" "Yep, but I've just been dragging a bit. You know, just have to get motivated to get out there." I shrug and skip to the sand's edge, grinning a Cheshire's large. LCrow becomes a spectator. Days pass, as they do, and I see LCrow at The Drive Through for an early morning dip. Meager lines bob and warble along the sandbar. I eye my boards, beauties each, and kind of mumble to myself about cold and stiff and stinky wetsuit and time's a-tickin'. LCrow looks over at me, "Let's get out there." In minutes we are in the lineup. The cold seeps through my stinky wetsuit as time clicks along. But I am smiling. Not mumbling, smiling. The pendulum swings.

Each day a pass of the pendulum, razor sharp, comes closer. Each day we swing like the pendulum. We breathe life into the tiniest moments, then fritter away the grandest. We enfold our thoughts in minutia, then are able to draw intelligent visions upon the future. We dictate and then contradict. We are in constant danger of the pendulum's death blow. We are the pendulum.

The surfing life gives a weight to the pendulum's swing. We have a central gravity that draws us center. Regardless of the wild gyrations surrounding our unsalty-selves we always come to a rest at center. Thank God for the center.

Let it be...

Enjoying my new Lis. Many more of these little pocket rides this year...I hope. Oh, and maybe I can learn to bend my knees. Pic via BA

I love resolutions but hate New Year's Eve.

1. Create more/Consume less. A holdover from last year. I was pretty successful with this goal. This goal is empowering in its overarching breadth. In every moment to ask what can be created rather than consumed is a perspective altering behavior. Think broadly on this one, not simply book>TV.

2. Be present. I feel the pull of competing concerns almost constantly. Particularly troubling are the ubiquitous screens which offer a two dimensional mirage of a three dimensional world. I am here and with those around me. I am in this ocean, on this wave, on these feet, in this turn, in this tube, in this water.

3. Develop a sense of complete health- Physical and beyond. This resolution grows from a couple of conversations with interesting peripheral characters in my life partnered with the exhortation (and warning) offered through the story of Dorian Paskowitz and his family.

And, of course, Surf More!

Best wishes to all for Two Thousand and Ten.

Awaken early...

Peter Pan-ic...

GG (April, 2006), someday you'll think these same thoughts:

Today, a glorious Sin Diego fall day, I walked up Cowles Mountain (hill) with my three-year-old son. I didn't surf and haven't surfed in the last week, despite the swell. My wife is pregnant and quite ill. I've been on daddy and domestic duty. Delightful and delightful.

Sometime about half way through our walk I surveyed east San Diego and the near suburb of La Mesa, I saw the lake that I run around, pushing a stroller or laboring through predawn miles so I don't miss out on family or surf time later in the day/week. I saw the highways, everywhere highways, that I travel daily for sixty miles. I saw the little canyon that leads to my house from the lake. I saw the hazy western horizon and knew the sea, and decent surf, lay beyond, me missing it. I reflected on my current life. 31 years old, 8 years building a beautiful family with my wife, 9 years in a career I love. I do things I like all the time. I surf, I get outdoors, I create.

Then came the panic. In the midst of my comfortable, rewarding, suburban, middle-class, generally very happy life came a moment of Peter Panic. Is there enough time in this life to do all the things I dream? Do I have the courage to step off the well worn path at opportune times in order to expand my vision? What sacrifices must be made to stretch beyond the routine, regardless of how comfortable that routine may be, in order to encounter new and enriching experiences? How much time do I have on this earth? How is that time best spent?

My Father is a man of exceeding spiritual faith. I find this endearing and vexing. I wish the easy answers of faith came to me without drag-out battles of the mind that leave me with only meager satisfaction. Then I might be able to answer those most weighty of questions.

For now, in this moment, I will rest in the beauty of my life and try to follow the wise, petulant advise of Peter Pan, "Think of a wonderful thing, it's the same as having wings!" Then I can fly. But to where? And for to what end?