Be the guy with the red board

I spent the afternoon at Capitola, missing waves. There wasn't anything challenging about the waves or the break. But I kept paddling and missing, for a couple hours. Eventually I figured out two things: I was too far forward on this board because it was six inches shorter than my usual board. Second, the only guys getting waves were in one particular spot under the curl. As usual I was off to the shoulder so as not to get in their way. Which meant when we all paddled for waves, they got them and I missed.

And I was willing to accept this. What are the deep-seated psychological reasons why I was willing to accept having travelled across the country in search of waves only, once I got there, to forego said waves just because there were other people who wanted them?

Ah, let's count the reasons. I'm a white female ("the whitest person I ever met" according to my old friend W. who is white himself but not as white as me) of a certain generation before MTV, was raised Catholic, grew up in the Midwest, experienced abuse as a child...all of which translates boringly and predictably into: Someone who puts other people's needs before her own.

And then there was the guy with the red board, who was none of the above I am sure, except white. The guy with the red board was always in the right spot. He'd get ride after ride, then paddle right back out to the right spot.

And at this break as the one yesterday, there was really only one narrow zone for getting rides. A few feet away, and you'd get nothing.

Once again I was reminded of the primal rule of surfing, which is the primal rule of life:

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS BEING TOO AGGRESSIVE.

What was I doing thousands of miles from home out in the middle of the ocean? Did I come there to sit politely and not interfere with other people's fun?

Hell no!

So I started going right where the red board guy went, and paddling for "his" waves, and not caring whether anyone was taking off right beside me or sitting in front of me.

That was the key, two hours into the session, to finally getting waves: Just take them. Be the guy with the red board.

I did notice a lot of people (like last time in Santa Cruz) taking off next to each other, taking off with people right in front of them not caring if they ran them over, doing all that stuff that would get you yelled at in New York, but here it seems to be expected and no one gets upset.

After I got my few waves I was able to get out of the water with a shred of dignity.

Then I found my rental car had a flat tire, which was a whole nother adventure. If you happen to be on the West coast, do not rent from Fox Rent a Car, folks.

But that led to my getting my board back to the shop three hours late, which got me to the surf shop after dark, to find quite an interesting scene in the parking lot.

There was a half naked surf instructor, around my age and quite good looking (and not all of them are) and five tall blond men, very young and good looking, replaying the waves for each other over and over, smoking and drinking. You may have heard this phrase before, it's almost a cliche, but in this case it was quite literally true: They were dripping with stoke.

Turned out the guys were from Denmark and probably had never surfed before. The surf instructor offered them all a place to stay at his house, any time. We talked a little as I was returning the board and even glassy eyed with pot and stoke he was still smarter and more interesting than most surf instructors I've encountered. I got his number and an invite to stay at his place, too. I was leaving from San Francisco the next day or I might have called him up. Next time.

Wonder what happens when all the students he's given this offer to show up at his door at once?

Oh yeah, and this encounter in the Cowells parking lot was the first time in my life I've ever been addressed as "dude," which makes me smile every time I think of it.

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