Observations On A Surf Holiday Volume 2

I look around and see nothing but water. Watery water and the men and women who prefer to slide on water utilizing a seemingly endless library of sliding vehicles. Single fins and fun boards, fishes and thrusters, pigs and squashes, big and small, light and heavy, young and old. I see no small population of styles, methods and habits. I watch like an eagle heron frog tourist, smelling purpose, discerning taste and scratching head. I have my own ticks. I like the parallel stance, or at the very least I go very narrow. My drop knee is more like a nod knee. My hands end up in small robotic contortions, fingers splayed and then cupped, a kind of OCD tai chi sparrow-parts-the-mane. I like to go fast, in a straight line, then cut back with the aforementioned nod, not too proud to take a belly or knee ride if I'm late and in no one's way, just for the fun of taking the ride. I like to crouch, grab rail, hoot and laugh. I probably make too much noise. All of this I say only to differentiate my superior brand of bad surfing from other, inferior brands of bad surfing. And I say superior because I've noticed a style that leaves people without smiles on their faces. This style consists of typically using a shorter board, squatting just so for maximum stability, and exerting as much force as possible to contort both body and board into the most muscular thwacking, spray inducing, gut wrenching turn possible. At all costs. No matter how slow they're going.  I witnessed a lot of this yesterday at Sunset Cliffs. Rabid, macho, and snail's pace. Paddling back out from one of my more goofy ones, I can just hear the epic grunts as these low, wide, and earnest shralpers make the most out of a mushy lip travelling at speeds akin to a bullet shot through molasses. And the crazy thing? Not a smile, not a laugh, not a shrug of the shoulders in self-mockery. For these forthright souls, surfing is not for the lazy, it is for those who work hard.