There are many people in this world that will tell you one thing, “If you don’t surf, don’t start!” That seems like solid logic; more surfers, same amount of waves, more crowds. So I definitely understand this sentiment, but sorry the secret is out, surfing is fucking amazing. Like anything in life that is good, other people will realize that, and exhaust resources. This is why people who surf, and have been surfing since childhood, believe that it is their resource. They feel that “kooks” are foreigners, stealing their beloved recreational H2O. While I have only been seriously surfing for 5 years, it was easy to understand this attitude. But, I always come back from my delusions and remember who I really am. I think there is a middle ground as well. Foreigners can immerse themselves into a new culture without destroying it, right? Although the history of mankind will of course say differently, beginner surfers must try. With that being said, if you have the itch, just go for it with respect and appreciation.
So what classifies one as a “barney?” Is it dragging a 9 foot leash behind a Costco stick? Is it buying a wetsuit that can fit another human inside? Is it walking and talking like a surfer while still going straight, throwing shakas and riding with a stance that is better suited for a glorious bowel movement? Well, I think yes, these all probably would put you into that category. But who gives a fuck, if your serious about it, learn it and over time you will get some respect. Everyone began, and everyone is learning. I mean, aside from Hawaiians, Peruvians, and some other coastal tribes, surfing has only been around for a century or so.
How did I fair with my first experience? Not very well. In my heart, I had been surfing ever since I was 6 years old and my parents bought me a dented 6” 7′ BIC board from a surf shop on the Jersey Shore. In reality, I used it twice that trip, and a couple more times through the years. But I was from CT, and Long Island is like a massive breakwater that blocks any swell from entering those privileged waters. Surfing for me was a dream and if people asked, I would say, “Oh yea, I’m pretty good.” Again, the truth was that the BIC was developing webs in the basement for 15 years before I would reach for it again. It was always in the back of my mind, and I was always drawn to surfing, but I did not even know there were waves within short driving distance of my house.
Well, 15 years of not surfing later, I found myself on a crowded beach in Barcelona. While I lived there, I rarely woke up before 3 in the afternoon, so it had to be sometime late in the day when I saw a sight that would change me. There were people surfing! Or maybe I was too intoxicated to see that those were mermaids trying to seduce me, not surfers? Nah! Throughout my life, whenever I saw people surfing, for whatever misguided reasons, I would always think I was part of that culture. I would even tell my friends, “I surf.” It was so strange, its like who I wanted to be but made no effort to do it. That is a kook in its truest form. ANYWAYS, there were waves and my friends and I wanted to try and I was leading the charge because “I surfed.” I had two friends that actually probably had more experience than me. One who would go sometimes in France in the summers, and one who was from New Jersey. But I was all surf talk, pretty drunk and excited to prove my delusional self. Just like that, I was in the dressing room in a Boardriders shop on the boardwalk renting a wetsuit and a board. I pulled up the zip, and felt as if I was a superhero putting on my costume before introducing myself to the world. Ready to rip, I walked out, and there was my friend instantly pointing a finger and nearly crying from laughter. I thought, “I must really be gaining weight since I’ve been here.” It wasn’t that. “You put it on backwards!” FUUUUUUUUUUCK. In one drunk, ignorant moment, I had discredited myself as a surfer. From then on, my friends, having barely more experience than me, started treating me like the baby of surfing I was.
Did I catch a wave? Not even close. I could NOT get out the back. I was stuck inside for what felt like 3 days. I think the waves were maybe 2 to 3 foot. I really can’t remember what waves were like before I really started. It felt huge and chaotic but I am assuming it was small. In these past couple years it feels like I put in surf contacts that allow me to finally judge what the waves are doing. Within minutes of getting hit by these white water wrecking balls, I had lost my board because I didn’t put the leash on tight enough and didn’t know how to duck dive. So, Just like a surfing legend, I started panicking and swimming hard for the beach. My wetsuit zip opened and water rushed in, shocking my system with glacier like temps. I finally made it to the beach, with a defeated sense of self, arms and legs feeling non-existent, and a gallon of water flooding each leg meeting my wetsuit at the ankle, creating my new fashion statement, the kook bell-bottom.
