The teller of lies

Ah, time for a little rant.  Just a little one.  What's the the diminutive of rant? Rint? Rantie? Runt?  I digress.

Back in the day, boffins were building these machines called computers.  Until then, computers had actually been a profession for the guys who were the most good at maths.  At the time, IBM reckoned the world market for computers would be in the single digits.  They were most amped on using them for defence.  But, they were also pretty amped that they could forecast the weather - years into the future.

When they started realising that they would fall short, a new theory was born to explain why - Chaos theory.  A butterfly flaps its wings...and all that.  The crux is, there are too many variables, and too much data for even today's supercomputers to handle. 

But, as surfers, we put an inordinate amount of trust in forecasting websites.  You know the ones I'm talking about.  The one's that drag you out of bed in the cold and dark and make you spend two hours driving in the wrong direction.  The one's that make you miss your child's birth, first day at school, or expulsion hearing.  The information that leads to a thousand phonecalls, emails, sms's, bbms, whats apps and eventually to one bad decision.  Those ones.

Lying assholes.

They do get it right occasionally, but now in the change of seasons, they are woefully out.  My own theory is there's just too much going on meteorogically in this seasonal wobble for the models to reliably spit it out there. 

As a result, this morning, I left home packing a four board quiver extending up to 8'3".  I ended up surfing my twin-finned fish.  Fun, yes.  I had two really fun waves and so I write with the smile of someone who started the day with a wave.   I'll still be smiling when may face lands in my pillow much later this evening. 

But, when you march out the door packing heat, and return a few hours later with big boards still dry, you've got to feel like a bit of a chop.  And I lay that blame (yes, i'm pointing fingers at others) at the feet of the few forecasting sites i regularly trawl.  Assholes.

Of course, the real solution is to bone up on the original meteo data, learn what it means by study and practice, and then use your intuition to work out what the hell is going on that way.  In the meantime, I'm just going to curse my own dependency on relying on free stuff online.

Happy wednesday.  And enjoy this pic below.  My surf this am had very little to do with it.

via No complaints if I rocked up here expecting something else.

Wanting Winter

It's overcast outside now.  I'm wearing jeans, but i'm not bothering with shoes.  Some rain was predicted - just a bit of drizzle, but it might not happen.  And then from tomorrow, as far as the forecast shows, summer stretches out like barren plain.  The season of waiting.  Everyday like the day before.  No swell.  Strong South Easter in the morning.  Gale force in the afternoon.

I find myself wanting winter.  I have said before that surfing makes me love every season, and this is still true.  But, it's possible to love one more than another.  Yesterday I rose with the sun and suited up before walking the familiar path through the dunes.  The morning sand on the beach was still cool.  I could see tiny sharks through the clear water as they hunted crabs on the bank.  It was small, and lacking in power.  I surfed for 2 hours. It was fun.  I walked home, had a cold shower outside. I made a cup of coffee and still had a full working day.  You can't do that in winter.

 

But, I'm already yearning for short intense days.  Gun-metal skies and soupy seas.  When you wander the coast looking for waves.  Tyres splashing down muddy roads.  Putting on cold suits in the pre-dwan, and then taking it off after dusk.  Alone on the beach.  Fresh rain running off your hood, washing the salt from your face. 

Power, more than you can handle.  Being held down in the dark, and rising again to taste the chilled air, tainted with the rotten kelp ripped from the reef.  Clutching OB's in your craven hands and putting the sweetness to your crusted blue lips. 

.

These pics come courteousy of Drew Innes, whose making a film on surfing in New England: The Winter Albatross.  I think it will be quite worthwhile.  And give us Captonians another reason to shut-up and take it.

Frosty Mornings

I started today with a 1km sea swim off Clifton, clad in nothing but my steamiest speedo, a silicon cap and a pair of goggles to keep me warm.  It was a good, fresh start to the day.  The water was chilly - of course, but not that cold for Clifton.  A good work-rate kept hypothermia at bay.  It was a fine start to the day.

If you're wondering how deranged one would have to be to do that, then you can stop reading here.  There are plenty of gossip sites to pre-occupy you.  But, if you're intrigued, but a bit concerned with the cold - then consider these guys chilling out in Iceland.

Dane Reynolds, Tim Curran, Dan Malloy in the footsteps of Viking explorers.  Photo: Nathan Myers

Iceland.  A few years ago the suggestion of surfing there would have invoked derision.  Now, it's being billed as the 'cold water Hawaii'.  Ireland already taking the title of 'cold water Indo.'  And very cold water it is.  But, with H-bombs, Cyphers and the like entering the market, these places in higher latitudes are becoming options.  It's no profound statement that colder places are the new, if not last frontiers for surfing.  Look at that pic.  It must be cooking for it to be that cold, and have the crew pass up a wave like that and sit in the frosty morning, midday, midnight, whatever light that may be and wait for the next one.  One the subject of light, when you have 24 hours of daylight - well, the potential is as endless as the summer days.  You can hit a wave twice a day on the same tide.  There's something the tropics can't offer.  That and thermal springs to thaw out cold bones in between, things begin to sound very enticing closer to the poles.  Any takers?

Thanks to Surfer for the image

the cheeky mid-weeky

It's late because I spent most of the day not at my desk and doing what I should be doing.

We picked up blanks, chatted to DVG, plowed some Compass Bakery and then hit The Dune (singular, please).   It wasn't like this. 

Dune: dark, moody, brutal.  An inaccurate protayal of 16.11.2011

Today was sunny, relaxed, playful, instead.

I got one decent cover-up and some serious ball-chafe on the way the back.  I also proved that it is possible to surf dunes without booties.  You just lie on your board the whole session and stick your feet in the air like a periscope.  It's good for your abs, too.  By the way, has anyone checked my booties?  There were lank seals cruising just off us as well.  Makes you a bit jittery, but rather the tenant, than the landlord.  Then on the scrotum chafing trek back we spied a whale just offshore.  We couldn't have been more than 100m from it on the beach.  Not a bad Wednesday - ridden or otherwise.

And thanks Foxy again for the shot- that's two beers I owe you at least.

the virture of surfing

There's been quite a lot happening in the world of competitive surfing this year.  If you follow that scene, you'll know what I'm referring too.  In short, it's been quite interesting.  I'll spare you most of my thoughts on the matter, but one of things I've been trying to work out is why is such a hard sport to sell to the mainstream?  Even amongst ourselves, why do so few of us actually want to watch a surf comp?  There may be a few answers, but one surely has to be that a live comp mostly involves nothing going on.  It's mostly just 2 to 4 guys sitting astride boards and waiting for things to happen.  And then commentators trying really hard to fill in between.  Action is fleeting.

Which makes one realise that a large part of surfing is waiting.  Waiting for conditions to be favourable, waiting for the next wave.  We wait.  And I realise as I write this, that's the name of the blog.  It's the comtemplation that bridges the time between waves.  We wait, and we think.  It's a serene atmosphere.  You're at rest and relaxed.  And its fine to let your mind bob along with current.  Drifting aimlessly to wash up on an idea as it may happen.  An undisciplined meditation.  I'm sure Buddhists would have their own take on this.

We should cherish this time, despite it being the opposite of the reason why we actually surf.  But, it's part of the total experience.  And its fairly unique to surfing.  I can't think of another sport that is more inaction than activity.  Yet, those intense moments of riding, those few seconds far outweigh the lethargy in between.

Photo: Chris Orwig

It comes back to one of the many lessons that surfing will teach you about yourself:  How you react to an inevitable wait.  Do you have patience?  For me, I know I'm having a bad session when I'm getting impatient between waves.  And the only thing I can do about it is change my attitude.

Nature's airbrush

As a Cape surfer, there's a lot to relate to in this photo.  It's the wide open spaces. And the wind that blows it wider.  It's the sounds of it scattering sand on sand around your ankles.  It's the battering against your hood.  It's the tugging on your board forcing you off balance as you pad across the beach.  The newly settled sand is soft and your feet sink into it making the walk even more challenging.  Your suit, built for the cold just beyond, is added resistence is the hot, dry wind.

Yet, despite all this, there's a sense of euphoria in the group.  You know what's to come.  You know what the wind has done for the banks, how it shapes the wave.  You embrace this constant force.  You have no choice.  It swirls around you in constance.  To shun it is pointless.  It's the unseen ally that is taken for a foe. Where would you be were it not for this wind?  Not here, in the starkest of beautiful places.   

Pic by the legendary AVG.  (Yes, this one is not from the Cape.  Get over it.)

Soledad

I sometimes have the pleasure of telling someone I'm going surfing while there's an furious storm raging outside.  I'm met with a stare of blank incomprehension.  "You surf in the winter?"  Yeah, it's the best time.  More incomprehension.  Shame, I shouldn't take pleasure in their ignorance, and I think we have popular media to blame for it.  Maybe that's changing though.

I think for a lot of people surfing is a beach activity - up there with beachbats, and volleyball.  I'm not mocking either of those, but they're a distraction from lying on a towel tempting a melanoma.  A surf to them is a swim, with an accessory.  Possibly with strains of the beach boys in the background.  Pfft.

One of the things I love the most about surfing is it encourages me to be outdoors in all weather.  If there's waves - go.  If it's early - go.  If it's late - go quickly.  If it's stormy - go warmly.  If it's hot - go in boardies.  Just go, bru.

Here's a pic conveying on of those moods.  It's cold and lonely.  But I'd trade places with that guy if he let me.  His mates couldn't make it, so he went.  You know he's about to go and have a few.  It's not epic, but he's about to tap into some stoke.  And that's something he can get no matter the time of year.

"Soledad, by Jaider Lozano

Picture from 6 feet and perfect.  The name itself warrents being checked out.

On empty

Alone in Bali

How many empty beaches will you walk?  How far will you go to find a wave? Will your tracks be the bread crumbs for other hungry surfers?  Will there be more footprints on your return?  Or will the tide hide your path leaving you to solitude?


This is in Bali, on the Bukit.  There's a wave on this beach and not a hawker, or anyone else, in sight.  It's not a secret spot at all - it's in all the guide books, but no-one bothers to go there.  In weeks of hanging out there, it was only ever our crew. 

Take a walk, follow the path less trodden and you will find your treasure.  Its not about finding the most epic wave.  It's about finding yourself alone in one of the most crowded places on earth.  That in itself, is something to be treasured.

Unridden Wednesday

The more perceptive of you may have realised that I originally promised Big Wednesday but have gone back on that now.  Yes, sorry for those of you who were looking forward to the big and girthy.
2 reasons:
1 - there are only so many mind blowing big wave images, and we've probably seen the best examples already.
2 - there are so many sick pictures out there that didn't have a category to fit in to.
So, I give you Unridden Wednesday - a day when either a wave will stand alone unridden, or there may be no wave at all.  There are so many surf related pictures out there that don't display a wave, much less a rider.  But they do contain a subject that you will recognise immediately: Stoke.  And that's what it's all about.  

Photographer: Bryce Lowe

 

You' ve had many moments like this.  You know it's about to get dark.  You know the session is about to end.  You can feel the salt crystallising on your soon to be drying skin.  You can almost taste the chilled beer. All you want is one last good wave to call it a day.  Your mates are on the beach.  Trying to watch you in the half-light.  You want to put on a show for them.  You want them to stand rapt as your shadow tears through the dusk.  Just a silouette of majesty against the bruised screen of a wave.  You want them to nod in your direction in the parking lot and say 'that last wave of yours was good'.  And the darkness hides the flash of your smile. You know it was.

Thanks to Surfer mag for the image.