You wear the leather Rainbow sandals, the Billabong board shorts
and the pre-faded Hollister Surf Riders Club T-shirts. You and your
bros enjoy a sporting round of shirtless frisbee in front of the
frat house while listening to Sublime’s “40 Oz. to
Freedom.” Your laid-back SoCal factor is so chill, you wear
your Oakley sunglasses during class behind your head.
No wonder your Midwestern relatives think you surf to class.
Somehow though, your surfing image is lacking something. I’m
not talking about puka shell necklaces ““ I mean actual
surfing.
Every year, inlanders come to UCLA thinking they’ll
“pick up” surfing as if it were the SARS virus on a
Hong Kong doorknob. To be fair, some greenhorns claim previous
surfing experience ““ on a family vacation in Hawaii back in
seventh grade.
Longboarding on Hawaiian two-foot rollers during spring break is
not surfing. It’s part of the AAA Family Hawaiian Getaway
package, after the snorkeling but before the pig roast.
Real surfing in Southern California involves crowds, long
commutes, inconsistent swells, fecal levels exceeding those of most
Bakersfield bathroom floors (but not as high as Bakersfield as a
whole) … and dodging longboarding kooks who decided to pick up
surfing since they came to Los Angeles from Fresno.
UCLA has become the rendezvous point for this dichotomy, the
place where “Real Deal” Holyfield meets Fake
McBlake.
“You can’t pick up your street cred off the
rack,” said third-year Todd Greco, a San Clemente native and
avid surfer. “You have to surf too. Keep Abercrombie out of
the water. Don’t cruise into the beach with your six-inch
lift (on your truck) and your sideways Volcom sticker.”
“All the rippers I know cruise down in their (not so good)
cars and tear those guys up.”
Real surfers don’t care whether outsiders know if
they’re surfers or not. Posers strut around with their
surfboards so the beach bunnies notice, but they forget that how
the board looks under their arm matters less than how it rides
under their feet.
“The guys that don’t know the rules, they’re
barnies,” Greco said. “My attitude is simple …
don’t waste my time when I’m out surfing.”
If you do insist, however, on getting on a surf board, there are
some basic rules to keep in mind.
You kids should stop thinking surfing is like the latest Frankie
Avalon and Annette Funicello flick. There’s more to surfing
than swinging kids breaking into extemporaneous song on the
sand.
Surfing involves complete dedication. The best advice I received
is to get a board you can’t ride, surf at a place you know
you can’t hang, and get the crap beaten out of you for a
while. Then you get good.
Until you get good, realize you’re a danger to yourself
and everyone around you. Surfboards turn into fiberglass
projectiles when caught up in a wave. Know who has the right of
way. Don’t ditch your board without making sure it
won’t hit someone around you. Know your limits.
In the beginning, go at times and at places where the waves
aren’t as competitive.
Of course, odds are good that you’ll encounter some
pompous jerk that thinks the break belongs to him, but for the most
part, surfers will show respect if you show respect.
If you surf for the right reasons, then it will come together in
time. It’s a frustrating process which is neither easy nor
fast.
Through the challenges, remember the adage that the best surfer
is the one having the most fun … unless you’re a kook, in
which case it doesn’t matter how much fun you’re
having, you still suck.
Hector’s rhymes flow like the motion of the ocean and
his hairline recedes like the tides. E-mail Leano at
[email protected].