There comes a time every year when surf chatter grinds to a minimum. I don't know if "grinds" is the right word. More like the showerhead, once a gushing torrent has lost its pressure and now there is only a faint drip. The hearty and committed rightfully scoff at this notion. They look to those "warm weather surfers" and see all that is wrong with the world. I understand this. In fact, not a couple days go by where we don't talk about surfing. Even now. Antonio says "any waves?" And I say "it's red and flat." And he says "that's not even green and flat." And I say "no it is not." And Mollusk Chris has this very tidy habit of asking, whenever I see him, which is often, "Hey, got any free morning? Wanna go out on Tuesday? There will be some waves!" To which I reply "I've been ambushed at work again. There is no let up." And he just grimaces a knowing grimace and nods his head. Surfing in New York is difficult. But it isn't difficult because New York is a difficult place to surf. It isn't difficult because it's New York, that is. As if simply living here were excuse enough. There are waves, breaks, countless breaks, beaches, surfboards, nice warm wetsuits. It's difficult because, frankly, we make it difficult. We make it difficult with expectations, time tables and engagements. We make it difficult because we believe that everything we are doing will set us up for some future super surf future. Yes, it's cold. Yes, the drive out to wherever is a pain in the ass. The drive back, worse. The subway even worse. But it's there. And sadly, we are not. Right now. It is the lament, however, that keeps us hoping and wondering and edging closer and closer to death.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
There comes a time every year when surf chatter grinds to a minimum. I don't know if "grinds" is the right word. More like the showerhead, once a gushing torrent has lost its pressure and now there is only a faint drip. The hearty and committed rightfully scoff at this notion. They look to those "warm weather surfers" and see all that is wrong with the world. I understand this. In fact, not a couple days go by where we don't talk about surfing. Even now. Antonio says "any waves?" And I say "it's red and flat." And he says "that's not even green and flat." And I say "no it is not." And Mollusk Chris has this very tidy habit of asking, whenever I see him, which is often, "Hey, got any free morning? Wanna go out on Tuesday? There will be some waves!" To which I reply "I've been ambushed at work again. There is no let up." And he just grimaces a knowing grimace and nods his head. Surfing in New York is difficult. But it isn't difficult because New York is a difficult place to surf. It isn't difficult because it's New York, that is. As if simply living here were excuse enough. There are waves, breaks, countless breaks, beaches, surfboards, nice warm wetsuits. It's difficult because, frankly, we make it difficult. We make it difficult with expectations, time tables and engagements. We make it difficult because we believe that everything we are doing will set us up for some future super surf future. Yes, it's cold. Yes, the drive out to wherever is a pain in the ass. The drive back, worse. The subway even worse. But it's there. And sadly, we are not. Right now. It is the lament, however, that keeps us hoping and wondering and edging closer and closer to death.
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1 comment:
well said. i haven't been out since December. and i guilt myself over it daily! but work is scarce, and dollars for a 6/5/4 wetty upgrade even scarcer. sometimes missing winter waves--while lovely to not have to deal w/the cold and commuting--just happens. all of which means using the dribbling surf chatter as means to stay connected until water temps surpass 50 degrees again!
maybe not "warm weather" surfer, just "warmer" weather.
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