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Got any stories of you making an utter fool out of yourself, preferably in front of someone with a camera? How about that graceful upside-down journey over the falls? Ever go out on a small day and still get pounded by the shore break or turn a 6-8 into two 3-4's? You have nothing to fear but total loss of self-esteem!
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Fozzie Bear's Big Adventure (Reported in Surfer's Journal after we got the scoop)
Da' Shrink was at his local beach break and ran into Fozzie Bear. Fozzie is a big furry guy with tons of energy and optimistic enthusiasm; perfect attributes for a surfing pal no matter how sour the swell. I hadn't seen the bear for a couple weeks and asked why. He indicated that he had to buy a new wetsuit. Why? Here's the story, which would not be funny if everything had not turned out well in the end. Fozzie and his brother set out from the Richmond, California harbor in December in his brother's 21 ft. inboard/outboard boat. (At this juncture you may wish to play the theme song from Gilligan's Island in your head.) The two headed out the San Francisco Gate and North to Double Point. If you've ever tooled around SF Bay on a rough day, let alone out the Gate, you know this merits a few macho points. But Fozzie said that the Bay was calm and the trip North was uneventful. There was a big swell, but the ocean surface was smooth; perfect for surfing. So they make it to Double Point and search for a good place to anchor. The challenge is to get close enough that you can set anchor but far enough away from the break so you know the boat will be safe. Fozzie had his doubts about the final selection but his brother assures him he had anchored there before. And anyway, there's a swell and it's time to surf! So they drop the hook and wait awhile to make sure it sets. Then they break out the boards and prepare to don their wetsuits (in NorCal this consists of a 4/3 with a hood, booties, and maybe gloves). Then Fozzie looks up. The horizon is suddenly obscured by a huge rogue wave. Fozzie claims it was 20 feet, and with conditions in December this might be more than a fish tale. In any case, it was big. And it was breaking on the wrong side of the boat. Fozzie's brother rushes for the controls and cranks the ignition. Rrrrrrrr! Rrrrrrrr! Rrrrrrrr! No power. Jump! screams Fozzie. They both go over the side, still in street clothes, and head for the bottom. The wave engulfs the boat and it disappears. They're a hundred yards from an isolated shoreline in 50 degree water with no wetsuits. No problem! says Fozzie, the surfboards are still here (I told you he's an optimist). They make it to shore and start the long hike to civilization through thick brush filled with poison ivy. Finally, they arrived at a bird sanctuary (really) where they report to the surprised attendant that they capsized their boat and needed to borrow a phone. The incredulous clerk asks why their clothes are dry. Hey lady, that was about five miles and three hours ago! Of course, Fozzie asks his brother if there's a chance to get in a short session on the way home. The good news. They both lived. The poison ivy rash on Fozzie's legs finally cleared up. The Coast Guard found the boat sans engine floating belly-up and the insurance paid the salvage costs. And Fozzie's back at the home break, all smiles and full of good karma to share with the crew. My two questions to Fozzie Bear? (a) What did your wife say, and (b) how much did you drink that night? OK, you probably think we made this up. Here's an abstract from Surfer's Journal, Volume 14, Number 5 (page 14).
The photos are Jim, a Bay Area local and one of the nicest guys around. Solid surfer, good friend, real person. One of those people who everyone likes. Here’s his wipeout story.
Jim had a business trip to southern California in the Fall of 2003 and brought his board to give the locals lessons on how a NorCal wave magnet does his thing. If you read the article on Getting Friends Out of the Line-Up (Silly Stories) Jim is “Dave,” the guy we were trying to coax out of the water because he nabbed so many waves. We love him but he’s a pain in the butt when he’s dialed in. The guy can surf.
Jim got home and felt like he was coming down with the flu as he shared Thanksgiving dinner with the family. His condition got worse, and he ended up at the emergency room with an illness that was difficult to diagnose. Jim went into a coma. Apparently he picked up a water-borne pathogen in SoCal that resulted in encephalitis (swelling of the brain).
This could be an interesting experience. You wake up after four days in a coma and look up from your hospital bed. The hospital Chaplin and your family are hovering over your bed (really). Jim did what any self-respecting-been-held-down-at-OB-surfer would do. He screams F**K NO! and pulls the IVs out of his arms. The nurses strap him to the bed and excuse the Chaplin. Jim survives after a long recuperation. (Groms, this is one of those situations where it’s okay to curse.)
He told us his vision was so sensitive that lights caused incredible pain and he needed a dark room for days. Thanksgiving to Christmas of 2003 is gone from his memory and today every moment counts. Jim deals with some minor memory deficits but he’s alive. . . and still surfing. And surfing quite well, thank you. I ran this story by Jim and he had something to add: I would like to thank my fellow surfers who paid me visits while in the hospital. Here is a sample of the support I received:
1. You look like shit. 2. What are going to do with your boards? 3. What size is that new wetsuit you bought? 4. Is your van for sale? 5. The surf has been perfect. 6. You finally have lost weight! (19 lbs) 7. Are you going to lay there forever? 8. What kind of drugs are they giving you? 9. Are going to eat that food? Can I have a taste?
The support of my friends and family were crucial to my recovery. I thank you all. Especially the surf gods who watch over us all!
Photos are Marty, Ken, and Bruce (respectively) on better days.
Marty and I suited up and wandered out to the point. There were three sea lions lounging in the sun so we made a little noise and they retreated to the water with a few barks and groans, leaving very smelly deposits. You haven't smelled do-do until you've smelled sea lion do-do. So we hop off the point and paddle into the slot, lining up with one other guy. Sure it’s small and inconsistent, but how often do you surf a world class break with a few friends? OK, I’m an average surfer but I have my days. Today was not one of them. I absolutely sucked. My take offs were too late or too early, I couldn’t crank a turn with a crow bar, and my greatest achievement was displacing more water than the rest of the guys. So Kenny is shamed into submission and paddles out. If you’ve seen his pictures on this site you know he was born on a surfboard in Santa Cruz and has been shredding the Lane for 30 years. In an unusual display of diplomacy and uncharacteristic aggrolessness, he gently suggests that I move my butt deeper into the slot to get over my skittishness about the cliff.
But with my
manhood and self esteem on the line, I had to make the effort. So I lined up
deep and nabbed a few, mostly kooking out and missing the rocks by a few feet.
Each time I reminded Ken that I was "confronting my fears." One of the other
guys was charging it pretty well and threading the needle on a number of waves.
Then his timing belt slipped and we watched him bounce off the
cliff. Everyone moaned and then held their breath. After a few long
seconds he surfaced looking dazed but not obviously injured. That
was it for his session. Then Ken told me about how many bones and
boards he busted on the cliff. Thanks
for building my confidence. A pretty set rolled through and Ken was on the inside of me. I paddled into the wave thinking he had missed it. As my 200 pounds of rippling fat flounders down the face I see Kenny in my peripheral vision flying in at top speed. We bump boards, he crashes, and I continue on my sloppy way. Now you gotta understand that despite his aggro image, Ken is a wonderful guy. But he gets a little obsessive about his boards. In a word, they are perfect. And this happened to be a brand spankin’ new Goin-shaped, Broglio-glassed four-fin rocket. I paddle back as Marty and the other guys suppress their laughter. Ken was looking over his board with a fine tooth comb checking for damage while I apologized profusely. Thank goodness there was no significant damage. Ken catches a few more, including (of course) the wave of the day. Another set rolls through and I can’t help myself. In an incredible act of shameless bravado and stupidity I drop in on him, this time in control. He straightens out, I slip by the cliff and enjoy a pretty good ride. I paddle out and now the crew is laughing out loud. Ken says he saw me dropping in and immediately bailed. No way was he going risk his life by getting anywhere near his kooky friend. Understand that I show a ton of respect to other surfers, especially those who know what they are doing. But this was one of those marginal days where you fart around- stealing waves from pals is part of the fun. Back in the parking lot we laughed and soaked in the sun. I reminded Ken that it was he who instructed me to go deep. He thought about for a moment and said: “And what was I thinking?” Friends are too much work. So maybe it was Ken's lesson?
Postscript:
Ken left me a message at work on Monday to tell me everything was cool; he
caught plenty of waves. I had to respond that he was totally blowing
his role as the
Kentroller.
Turns out my pal got up before sunrise and drove to the East Side. Like usual, he caught a zillion waves. Then a long boarder dropped in on him and they both bailed out of the wave at the same time. The big board nailed Rich, giving him a two inch gash a bit below his left eye. So he calls me on the cell and drives to the SurfHumor HQ in Santa Cruz. "Do you think I need stitches?" "Of course not," I say, "as long you don't mind looking like Frankenstein for the rest of your life." So I take him to the ER, but first I had to fill up my hot water bottle for the morning session. We park in the hospital lot and I make him pose for 15 minutes. Yep, that's real blood in the photo. Eight stitches and he's good as new. But we're having fun thinking about him sitting through stuffy meetings discussing zillion dollar deals with a three-piece suit, eight stitches, and a black eye. Rich is now the official poster boy for water safety at SurfHumor.com. Did we tell you about the time he busted a rib at a reef break north of town?
Our pal Sam sent us this photo from a spot a few miles north of Surf City.
We've all been there. Great wave,
Well, its not a wipeout, but it was interesting. We surfed north of town on January 18th, 2003. Not that great, but a few racy waves made it fun, and the crowd count was low and the karma meter pegged. Great opportunity for Sir Richard to score a few butt slappers while nursing his busted rib. One guy had his chocolate Labrador Retriever on the beach, and "Coco" didn't want dad to paddle out. He was letting his feelings known with a lot of barking, running around, and general canine hysteria. Anyway, the guy finally joins us and a few minutes later Coco is dog paddling (what else) around the line-up. This goes on for about 10 minutes and we wondered how long the dog could tread water. Finally, the guy escorts Coco back to the beach which was kind of a relief; I had this image of someone trying to perform CPR on a drowned dog. So maybe another 20 minutes go by and I dropped in on a little wave and saw something surface in front of me. Now those of us in NorCal are used to heads popping out of the water; sometimes groms, sometimes seals, and sometimes sea otters. But no, in this case it was Coco the Wonder Surf Dog, paddling back out to the line-up for another session. Get that dog a stick! January 11, 2003 Santa Cruz. Nothing happening at the Lane. Da' Shrink & his trusty pal Sir Richard head North and it's looking pretty good. Turns out to be larger than expected and the Shrink huddles in fear on the outside after paddling over a couple of mackers. Sir Richard charges is trusty steed and his third wave looks like a nice long ride. But he never returns to the line up. Da' Shrink, tail between his legs, eventually makes it inside to find this note on his window.
Photo on the right was from another day at the same break. We now call the Coasties any time Rich paddles out at this spot.
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Graceful Departure From Steamer Lane So Sir Richard and I are having a
great session at the Lane. Loving wife is in the lot, alternately taking
photos from the sidewalk and going back to her laptop to do cellular biology
stuff (don't ask). After catching 37 waves, Rich finally gets tired
and gets out. I begin to paddle in to make sure he keeps his meat
hooks off my 25-year investment in marital bliss. He instantly runs to
my wife and says: "The stairs are slick and its tricky getting out. .
. get the camera ready!" This is the |
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| Yep, off the stairs on on to the rocks. Next day I've got a bright blue bruise the size of Kansas on my butt and I'm walking like a retired circus clown who got shot out of a cannon one too many times. Spent the week at work shifting around in my chair trying not to look uncomfortable. Mother nature has such a sense of humor! | ||
Hey loyal
SurfHumor visitors, this is Bruce. It’s Sunday, July 25
of 2004 and I’ve got a story. This morning Marty and I cruised up and down
the Santa Cruz coastline looking for waves. Can you say flat? But there
were a few rare shoulder-high waves at Steamer Lane so we decided to get
wet. Our pal Ken (Vern) was doing his best lot lizard lounging act,
holding court with some of the crusty locals and swapping stories about big
waves and fights in the parking lot. I tried to shame him into joining us
but Marty whispered that if we wanted to catch any waves that probably
wasn’t in our best interest.
If you’ve
surfed this place you know the cliff I’m referring to. The local stars hang
out deep in the pit and make phenomenally late drops. The only
problem is that there’s about ten ways to screw up. The backwash from the
cliff can force the wave to kick you out the back, hang you up on the crown,
or jack up and pitch you over the falls. Even if you make the drop you
have to haul ass to get past the point or risk “kissing the cliff.” All these factors are
complicated by the size of the swell and the state of the
tide.
It's Sunday, June 27th. We're used to the Rich guy calling us in Santa
Cruz at the butt crack of dawn to surf. But this Sunday was going to
be different! Our pal was going to a super-secret financial training
seminar so da' wife and I could sleep in. We did, but only until 6:15
am. That's when he called.
Yes, the wave was good. But our bold knight got hung up high on the
face and a big section broke in front of him. He hit the water, and
hit it hard. If the rib ain't broken, the cartilage is probably torn
up a bit. He's doing OK now but Da' Shrink has instructions not to
call. . . every time Rich laughs it hurts. If our bold knight can get
beat up (and he's in terrific shape) just think what that wave would have
done to we other senior citizens? Viva la cowards!
