Holly Beck on the North Shore

Dec 10 2006 / North Shore, Oahu

UPDATE: December 10, 2006

Chasing the swell back to the mainland

A couple of days ago, the trusty Triple Crown of Surf forecasting website, www.surfnewsnetwork.com predicted the swell to grow to “advisory levels”. Translation: it’s gonna get real big! The wondrous thing about swell forecasting for the Hawaiian Islands is that there are multiple buoys bobbing around at all angles in the waters surrounding the islands, taking constant readings on wind and swell. Tuned in surfers know exactly how many hours it takes a lump of water to travel from buoy to surf spot and can predict the exact hour when the first sets of the new swell will arrive. This is valuable information. In California, because of the complex underwater geography of the continental shelf, swells seem to filter in slowly and unsteadily. Hawaii is a different matter entirely. The waves will be fun and manageable and then suddenly a swell will march in and takeover from the very first set. This situation can be very unsettling to a surfer caught unaware.

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I won’t ever forget the first time I got caught in the lineup with a swell on the rise. It was my very first trip to the North Shore. I was sixteen years old, staying at the legendary house owned by Gerry Lopez and located just across the street from the infamous Pipeline. It was rented by my sponsor, Rusty, and as a Junior in High School visiting during Thanksgiving break, I couldn’t believe my luck. I was a very shy and wide-eyed little girl, simply awestruck by the pro surfing circus that I found myself apart of. One morning I followed one of the Rusty team riders, Damien Hobgood down to Rocky Point to paddle out for the first time. I remember the beautiful, sunny and sparkly, long left lines peeling down the point as vividly as I remember what it looked like yesterday (significantly less sunny and sparkly, but crowded with just as many people). I don’t specifically remember paddling out or any of the waves that I caught. I do remember my first acquaintance with the surprising force of the current that pulls you deeper into the lineup and the impact zone. I had been spending most of my time and effort fighting that current just to stay close to the channel. Then a big set came in. I was lucky to be able to duckdive it without mishap, except that by the time the set passed, I looked back to the beach to find my markers and realized I had been swept very deep. I started paddling harder to try to gain back my desired placing, but the current was too strong. I figured that if I caught a wave, I could just go in and start over from the beach. I started trying to get a wave, but there were too many better surfers out and I just couldn’t get one. Every time I would sit up and look for a wave to try to catch, or paddle for one, the time spent not paddling against the current would see me pulled even deeper along the reef. Eventually I was pulled past the peak and completely out of range to catch the lefts. I didn’t know it then, but I was in the area of reef called Gas Chambers. The reef is shallower there and the waves much more hollow. Catching a wave seemed less and less like a safe exit strategy. It was my first week on the North Shore ever, I was much too shy to ask for advice, and I had no idea what to do.

I did remember that further down the beach the rocks gave way to sand and figured that if I was going to have to just go on a big one, or frantically paddle towards the beach in between sets, it would probably be safer for me if the bottom was softer. The current was pulling me that way already, so I figured that if I stopped fighting it and just paddled with it, I’d be able to go in. I came a little too close to taking a massive set on the head at Gas Chambers, which breaks a lot further out than Rocky Point, but made it down to Ehukai Beach Park and even caught an inside wave to ride to the beach. I returned to the beach unscathed and learned a valuable lesson. From that point on, while in Hawaii I always pay very close attention to the buoys.

So a few mornings ago, I woke up early and checked the buoys. It seemed like the swell would definitely be picking up throughout the day, but I had a few hours before things got out of control. As soon as it was light enough to see the surf conditions and verify that the waves at Rockies actually looked fun, I made coffee, drank it quickly and ran out there. Before the sun comes over the hills and lights up the waves with golden rays, the crowd stays relatively mellow. From 7am to about 7:30, I caught a handful of waves and was feeling good about the day. Around that time I looked back to the beach and saw the photographers setting up and the sponsored surfers beginning to attack the lineup. Almost instantly it was packed to capacity with aggressive photo pros.

At one point, I found myself a little too far inside as a set approached. There was a surfer on the outside paddling for the first wave, straight towards me. I wasn’t worried about it, assuming that by the time he got to his feet and pumped down the line, he would be way out of the way of my duckdive. Unfortunately for both of us, the wave closed out and he had to straighten out. “Uh-oh,” I thought, “I’d better duckdive deep.” He was on a collision course coming at me and due to the bright glare I don’t think he could even see me. I dove deep to save my head but felt a sharp hit to my foot. I yelled out a yelp of pain underwater and was sure I would come up to see my foot torn open. To my surprise, there was no blood, but the arch of my foot was very sore. I caught two more waves and went in. From the beach, the scene was simply out of control. There were three guys on every wave, effectively ruining the photo opportunity for each other. I walked up the beach in pain, and over the next two days the bruise would blacken the bottom of my foot from the ball to the heel. Ouch!

By sundown the sets were feathering on the outer reefs and by dawn the following morning it was cracking! Looking at the forecast and swell models, I saw that the swell was going to intensify on its way to California and smash into the mainland with enough force to possibly equal the notorious “big Wednesday” swell of 2005. The idea of waiting out four or five days of too-big-to-surf swells on the North Shore while missing the epic waves breaking in California was too much to bear.  I called Greg Browning, the Body Glove team manager, to make sure I had posed for enough photos to call it quits, changed my ticket, packed up and hopped on the first plane back to the mainland. California, here I come!

Waking up this morning, it’s a lot colder. The air smells less sweet. I have to go dig up my 4/3 wetsuit and probably even a pair of booties. Still, I’m very excited. Catching waves in Hawaii is never very easy. I’m sure that this well advertised first big swell of the season will bring every surfer out to the lineup, and just like Hawaii it will be incredibly crowded. But it’s home. I can’t wait to catch a few waves!

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December 6, 2006

Sunset Beach scares me. It really doesn’t get any simpler than that. I’m not particularly fearful of big waves in general. Then again, I don’t have any fantasies of surfing the behemoth breakers of Mavericks or even Todos, I don’t own a gun bigger than a 7’6” and even that I don’t ride very often, and I haven’t been known to run with rocks underwater for practice holding my breath. Surfing for me is less about survival, more about self-expression. I fantasize about perfecting maneuvers, and even as much as that, about performing a series of maneuvers that complement the wave, rather than dreaming of conquering monsters. I do however like taking a bigger drop on a bigger board, and I have ridden very solid waves during tow-in sessions in Tahiti and felt quite exhilarated. So I’m not afraid of big waves, I just consider myself a cautious surfer. I like to watch the waves, become familiar with the break, and know how to get out of the danger zone if I happen to find myself in it with a larger than hoped-for set approaching. That’s the problem with Sunset. There’s no getting out of danger.


Sunset is just the opposite. First, it breaks so far off the beach that lining up with a telephone pole or even a house is considerably more difficult. Secondly, if you are in range to actually catch a wave, there isn’t much of a safe zone. Of course, some days are friendlier than others. If the swell comes out of the North, the lineup will be relatively predictable. In this case, sets are visible up the point and once an incoming set is detected you can paddle towards the deeper water of the channel to avoid the barrage of salty avalanches. When the swell comes from the West however, waves will heave up on a part of the reef called the “West peak”, and effectively cut off any escape route.

You might be wondering what the big deal is about finding yourself in the path of a steamrolling set. Sure, there’s no shallow reef lurking dangerously close to the surface of the water. When the waves aren’t too big, it’s not too much of a problem to duck-dive. When the swell is medium to large, taking a set on the head becomes a big deal, at least in my opinion. Sunset is a deep-water wave that seems to pack the punch of the entire ocean rearing up and then crashing down. Getting pummeled by a wave breaking on the West peak involves quite a lot of thrashing. The typical strategy is to make sure no one is paddling too closely behind you, bail your board (since 7’2”s don’t duck-dive very well), take a deep breath, and then swim towards the bottom. It is wise to keep your eyes open so that you can watch for lighter colored pockets within the dark churning bubbly chaos, and aim for those while swimming back towards the surface after the bulk of the force has passed. It’s this part of the big wave experience that I don’t particularly like. I don’t think I’m alone in saying that it’s not the size of the wave you’re riding that elicits fear but the size of the waves that break on top of you.


Then again, it might just be that I had one truly uncomfortable experience out there that has scarred me for life. It all happened about 5 or 6 years ago. I wasn’t nearly the surfer then that I am now, and I hadn’t as much experience in dealing with bigger waves. I was staying at a house rented by Body Glove along with Scott Daley, the marketing director, and several other members of the Body Glove team. The XCEL Pro had just finished the day before at huge Sunset. The waves were so big that even veteran North Shore surfers were practically lost to sea during their heats. Massive sets were occasionally completely closing out the very deep Sunset channel. Trust me on this one, it was really big. I sat on the beach, awestruck.

The next day, the swell had subsided quite a bit, but it still fell into the “huge” category. I was looking forward to another day of simply admiring the power of the ocean from the safety of the beach, when Scott announced to the team that we were all going out there together! I should have been excited to paddle out with Scott as a guide. But, I remembered one time a few years before that, Scott had offered to take me out to Pipeline and show me how to get a wave. We paddled out together, but then he was gone, sitting at Backdoor getting waves himself and I was left to paddle around and dodge sets and aggressive surfers, trying to figure out the lineup myself. I assumed this time would be no different, and I would turn out to be correct.

In any case, I couldn’t disobey the guy who signs my paychecks or wimp out by playing the “I’m the only girl” card, so I grabbed the biggest board I had, a 7’0”, and walked down the beach with the rest of the team. Sure enough, as soon as we paddled out, Scott disappeared into the crowd. I cautiously paddled out in the channel alone and tried to position myself on the edge of the West peak, planning to just watch it up close for a few sets while working up my courage to take a wave. I sat there, dodging the mammoth crashing towers of water, looking for a friend or another girl in the lineup to make me feel more comfortable. Eventually, I got bored of just sitting there and started half-heartedly paddling for a few waves. Each effort was unsuccessful. Either I couldn’t catch them or had to pull back because someone else already had.

At least an hour and half later, I was still out there with not one wave to show for my efforts. I started getting frustrated. A few of the local surfers had passed me multiple times on their way back to the lineup after successfully riding waves. I can imagine how I must have looked to them, just some silly girl in over her head, sitting timidly in the channel. I certainly wasn’t about to paddle in without getting one!  Finally, an older guy on a long bright red board paused to chat with me. I told him I really wanted to get a wave, and then I was going in. He informed me that it was actually much easier to catch a wave from all the way outside than on the end as I had been trying to do, and offered to take me out there and show me how easy it is to catch one. I was at the point of readiness to try anything, so I abandoned the rest of my caution and followed him out to the top of the point.

Once I was out there, not wanting to let my feeling of bravery wash away, I paddled for the first wave that came in, but didn’t catch it. I turned back around to paddle out again in time to see my instant friend and guide paddling himself into the next one. Getting to his feet, he yelled back at me, “see how easy it is?” and then disappeared with the spray.

“Great”, I thought to myself, “now I’m out here alone.”

There were other surfers out of course. One of them noticed I had left the safety of the channel and said, “uh-oh, you’re out here now?” Followed quickly by, “hey girlie, you better paddle!”

With that, I looked to the horizon to see a very large wall of water gaining height and proximity with every second. Panic is too dull a word for the emotion I felt. I paddled towards it with all my might, even as it started breaking and falling, but miraculously there was one pocket that hadn’t quite broken and I was able to duck-dive through the face and emerge on the other side with a quick sigh of relief. Disaster had been avoided.

Of course, the next wave crashed about ten feet in front of me. I threw my board aside and dove, hoping for the best. After a few somersaults and the feeling that I had traveled a fair distance underwater, I came up very happy to see there was not a third wave of the set about to insist upon more underwater acrobatics, but the second wave had done enough to break my board, leaving me with only three feet of foam and fiberglass with a very sharp broken edge, to try to paddle in on. Catching a wave was no longer an option. Unfortunately, paddling back to the safety of the channel and then in to the beach that way was impossible due to the very strong current rushing out to sea. After consulting with a few different surfers, it seemed the only option was to let the waves wash me in. Eventually the powerful shore break dumped me on the beach in a sandy dejected heap, very tired, a little frustrated, and more than slightly relieved to be back on shore. I took off my leash and trudged back to the house, still with a death grip on the rail of my broken board.   

Here’s the saddest part of the story. I haven’t paddled out since. Yeah, I know, gotta get back on that horse. I’ve been meaning to do that, really.

It’s with these thoughts that I watched the Roxy Pro WCT at Sunset. Luckily for the girls, the conditions for their event were tame. The wind was as light as could be hoped for, and the swell was mostly from the North and on the small side of medium. For the first time since that dreadful day, I actually thought it would be nice to be out there. I can thank Melanie Bartels and Stephanie Gilmore (who finished first and second in the contest) for making me use an adjective to describe the waves that I never thought I’d use for Sunset. They made it look fun. Thanks girls.

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November 26, 2006

 

Women surfers take over Pupukea on all manner of surf craft for the 2006 O’Neill Team Challenge

 

First, I’d like to extend a wholehearted apology on behalf of the entire group of women professional surfers to anyone who was injured, annoyed, or simply bewildered by the reckless dysfunctional wave riding that occurred at Pupukea during the first annual O’Neill Team Challenge. To any surfers who might have found themselves flustered by the sight of no less than fifteen overly excited girls kicking out to the lineup on cheap grocery store Styrofoam boogie boards, only to takeoff three at a time on the first catch-able wave that presented itself and then flop, bounce, or sideslip awkwardly down the face of the wave, through the explosive shore break and all the way up onto the beach, I must apologize. I also hope that any serious body boarders did not take offence to the careless mockery made of the sport, or the seemingly endless string of drop-knee 360s spun by the multi-talented Kyla Langen. You see it just wasn’t our fault. The only explanation I can offer is that we were collectively possessed by a competitive demon that would lead us to perform dizzying oceanic feats and fiery sand-based battles in a variety of divisions leading up to the awarding of the cherished Golden Paddle and a year’s worth of bragging rights.

As the day progressed, those of you in the water quickly realized that boogie boarding was only the first challenge. While O’Neill team rider, Melanie Bartels holds several amateur national body board titles (in the men’s division no less), it became immediately apparent that displaying skill in executing serious maneuvers was not necessarily the best strategy for producing high scores. Barrel-rolls, spinners, and tube rides would simply be no match for Megan Abubo’s impressive extended backwards ride which she performed with her face in the whitewash, mismatched flippers flapping wildly and bikinied bottom pointed high and mightily towards the judges. The move was completed amazingly with a quick turn back to the standard riding position just in time to contend with the shore pound threatening to plant her firmly on the beach. The scorecards flew skyward, proclaiming the first “perfect ten” of the day.

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If the other surfers in the lineup prayed for liberation from the chaos of surfer girls gone wild, the gods seemed to respond with increasing swell and current, not to mention a forcefully intimidating shore break. It was a worthy move considering the next competitive division required each team to swim a large inner tube out into the lineup, place the chosen teammate inside it, and push her into a wave. In this case, points were awarded based on the size of the wave as well as the length of the ride with bonus points awarded for humor. Sounds easy enough, right? I assure you that getting that inner tube out past cascading six foot walls of water was no easy matter. After multiple false starts that resulted in entire teams and their tubes washing up together on the shore, a few discovered that the ideal strategy was to turn the tube upside down, have each teammate grab a handle and simply hold on while the wave gods did their best to rip the tube away. After the set passed it was an all out scramble to swim the tube to the lineup, get in the best position, and then, “bombs away!” Once again, Megan Abubo flourished, pulling her team far ahead in the point race.

With a good portion of the Pacific Ocean tucked safely away in the sinuses of the best women surfers in the world, it seemed time to give the lineup a break and engage in a friendly game of Dodgeball. Did I say friendly? Not with this group! By this point in the day, the demon had a firm grip on the puppet strings. Every “out” was contested with vigor. The judges were assaulted for every call, and complete denial of the reality of a loss was widespread. Sarah Beardmore and Serena Brooke refused to stand down. The competitive demon is strong in those two, but they certainly aren’t the only ones. At this point we also suffered our first casualty. Kim Wooldridge sacrificed a finger for the good of her team, not a nail by the way, but an actual finger! She was sidelined with reverence.

 

Time-out was called by the smoking bar-be-que, and six-time World Champion Layne Beachley grilled chicken breasts to perfection. If Mom had been there, she surely would have insisted we wait at least thirty minutes, but the rafts had been sitting smugly in a pile, taunting us all day. At long last, it was time. Each team grabbed raft and oars with something that almost resembled seriousness and paraded them down to the shoreline. Strategies were discussed and timing considered. Both were crucial.

The disasters that occurred in the shore break that sent rafts, oars, and team members flying would prove to be the most hilarious moments of the entire day. A mistimed raft launch would first result in a dumping of the team. While the team members collected themselves from the washing machine-like action of the shore break and pulled themselves upright, paddles in hand, the raft would be sucked out by the surge, filled with water by the churning foam and then propelled back towards shore with enough weight and momentum to literally knock the entire team down in one pass. They would then struggle to their feet anew and occasionally be taken back down immediately by the surge pulling the raft out to sea once more. While getting beat around myself in just this manner, I happened to look down the beach and see two other teams occupied in exactly the same way, and at that moment my own teammate standing not more than an arm’s reach away was launched a few feet into the air by our raft connecting with the back of her legs at a faster than expected rate. She let out a yelp of surprise, and I collapsed in the sand in a fit of laughter. There was sand in our hair, in our bikinis, in our teeth, we had cut ourselves on rocks, tweaked shoulders, and bruised ourselves with errant paddles, but every single girl was smiling like a…. well, like a competitive little demon. Treacherous inside section or not, we were determined to make it out to the lineup, and eventually we all did.

At this point, I need to apologize again. Once we finally made it outside to the lineup, we were not about to choose a mediocre wave. After all that effort, we wanted nothing less than the biggest wave that came through. With total disregard for the multitude of surfers waiting patiently for the next set, we paddled our rafts to the top of the peak and positioned ourselves directly between the surfers just outside of where the average sized waves were breaking, so that the first big one that came in would have no choice but to pick us up and rocket us towards shore and our planned victory. In some cases we plowed right through the pack, sending surfers frantically scattering in all directions. I am sure we ruined at least one surfer’s day, and for that I am truly sorry. At that point we had no control at all. We were simply holding on for our lives while losing ourselves to waves of hysterical laughter.

 

My team placed first in only one division, but I am proud to say that we found our calling in an inflatable raft. While most raft rides were essentially like whitewater rafting over the falls, Lindsey Baldwin, Amee Donohoe, and I paddled our raft into one of the biggest waves I saw break all day. I won’t soon forget the look of the drop we took or the feeling of impending doom that resulted. Somehow, we didn’t nosedive straight down as I expected, but pulled off the drop and began the staccato trip to shore. Somewhere along the way, I was bounced out, but I distinctly remember laughing even while being tossed around underwater. I emerged from the foam to see Lindsey and Amee washing up on shore, still in our raft. The feeling of triumph was immeasurable.

By the time the expression session began and it was finally time to return to the familiar feel of our surfboards, I was so exhausted I could hardly surf. I paddled out just so I could get an up-close look at the antics on display. Young Coco Ho was performing very mature turns while wearing pink fairy wings, a sparkling crown, and waving a star-tipped wand. Sarah Beardmore paddled out in a dress and a long black wig while South African Roseanne Hodge impressed the beach with her single fin riding. Through an innocent grin, Lisbeth Vindas-Dias from Costa Rica announced to the lineup that she planned to “get my butt naked” and proceeded to take off on the next left, pull her boardshorts down, give herself a “wedgie” with her bikini bottoms and then rip through a series of turns and cutbacks all the way to the inside. Once again, the judges cheered the loudest for all-around performer Megan Abubo, who took off in front of some poor guy (sorry), while wearing a Darth Vader-imitation full black helmet with mask, and did three only slightly awkward front-side turns while twirling a hot pink sparkly baton. She was simply unstoppable!

 

The final test was the tug-o-war. Just before sunset, the demon was starting to lose his grip as one by one, team members collapsed in exhausted heaps in the sand. Kim Wooldridge stepped back in to assist her team even with the broken finger, after another teammate had completely passed out from too much fun. Former World Champion Sophia Mulonavich deserves a mention for her impeccable style, un-erasable smile, and determination to contribute all she had even despite her small stature. Putting an exclamation point at the end of quite possibly the most entertaining day I have ever spent on the North Shore, a quartet of young Hawaiians called Lost At Sea jammed away any traces of demon with groovy cover tunes that paused only to announce that Megan Abubo had indeed led her team to victory.

We awoke the following morning with bruises, cuts, and all-over soreness. The waves were pumping and we were too tired to surf. It had been the best day of training imaginable. We spent all day running in the soft sand, swimming back and forth through the surf, and dancing into the night, all while laughing our heads off. I couldn’t imagine a better day. On behalf of all the girls who participated, I’d like to say sorry one more time to everyone who was in the lineup, and thank you to the good people at O’Neill for facilitating this amazing day. I can’t wait until next year!

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After four days of waiting, the surf finally picked up just enough to begin the women’s division of the opening event of the Vans Triple Crown. An earthquake off of Japan the night before had contest organizers as well as local emergency crews worried about a possible tidal wave, and all surfers were advised to stay out of the water until after nine am. Of course, even the aware surfers who knew about the threat refused to heed the warning. With the waves a foot bigger than they had been and ride-able waves breaking at Haleiwa for the first time in a week, nearly every female competitor was in the water at dawn trying to get in some practice time. Around nine thirty there was a noticeable tidal surge, but certainly nothing life threatening. At noon the final WQS event of the season was called on! Finally!

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My first heat included two Brazilians, known for their aggressive paddling tactics, a close friend from Florida, another friend from Costa Rica, and Leilani Gryde from Hawaii, who was on the bubble of qualifying and needed a good result in this event to make her dream come true. Thus, when the horn sounded signifying the beginning of the heat and a set of waves immediately approached, the peak was frantically swarmed. In surfing, priority is established by a surfer’s positioning relative to the breaking part of the wave. Waves break from left to right or vice versa, and the surfer closest to the breaking part of the wave has priority. If both surfers are in the middle of the wave, the surfer who gets to their feet first is given priority, and in ambiguous cases, the judges must decide. If another competitor interferes with the surfer who has priority, they will be penalized by having their highest score cut in half. In inconsistent conditions, establishing priority is of utmost importance. I usually excel in this skill and was able to catch the first good wave of the set.

After I had a couple good waves (a surfer is allowed to catch fifteen waves per heat and every wave is scored by a panel of five judges, but only the two highest wave scores are added to create the total score, so a good strategy is quality over quantity), I began to play defense against the Brazilians and try to assist my friend in upping her total. The commentators announced that I was in first place. Out of six competitors, only the top three advance to the next round, and of course I would prefer my friends to advance with me. I tried to out paddle the Brazilians and block them from catching good waves so that my friend could. Unfortunately, she was unsuccessful. I won the heat, one of the Brazilians came in second, and Leilani squeaked through in third, keeping her chances alive.

Other standouts included fifteen year olds Carissa Moore and Malia Manuel. Both young Hawaiians had advanced through a special trials heat to enter the main event and quickly proved that they were worthy. Amee Donohoe, a former WCT surfer attempting to regain a spot on the glory tour easily won her heat and looked well on her way back to the top. Finally, Stephanie Gilmore, the seventeen year old who has already won two WCT events as a wildcard was surfing true to her winning ability. After one round of the contest, the event was postponed until the following day.

Most of us assumed that the waves would not be contestable in the morning, but with a meager forecast for the rest of the week, the contest director decided to not only hold the second round, but finish the entire event despite the inconsistent head high sets. Catching the best waves became even more important since they were very few and far between. My luck had apparently been worn out the previous day, as I could not find two good waves no matter how hard I tried. Such is contest surfing. With that, my competitive year was over. Sometimes losses are hard to take. This time, I simply turned in my jersey with an “oh well”, shrug and joined the other losers on the sand to cheer on our friends still competing.

The most impressive heat of the day included surfing from Stephanie Gilmore, current World Champion Chelsea Georgeson, veteran Hawaiian and former world #2 Rochelle Ballard, and former WCT surfer Laurina McGrath. After a painfully unproductive year, Laurina would have been considered the underdog by most, which made her amazing performance very unexpected. With solid backside maneuvers she was able to simply out-surf the reigning World Champ and earn a spot in the semifinals. Unfortunately, her bid for the win was stopped there by an on-fire Stephanie Gilmore and former World Champ Sophia Mulanovich, who would go on to win the event.

It was a long day of competing and spectating filled with exciting surfing despite the less-than-exciting surf conditions. Of course, we all celebrated the end of the WQS season with an all-girls dance party at Rochelle Ballard’s beautiful Sunset Beach home, set to the beats of Keala Kennelly’s DJ skills. My contest year is over. Now it really is all about fun. Ahhhhhhh….

 

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--Holly Beck

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November 6, 2006

 

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Imagine a seven-mile stretch of thick grainy sand lined with houses rented by every surf company with an ad in a surf magazine, with balconies looking out over one of the most challenging stretches of coastline in the world. Every evening the aforementioned industry characters straggle into the appropriately named Foodland to fill the fridge with barbeque supplies and beer, and more importantly to find out which house is hosting the night’s party. It is early yet. The festivities will commence in the next several nights and build into the coming weeks, peaking on the nights following the Triple Crown events. This season however has just begun. The surfers are still focused on building up their tans and getting accustomed to their new big boards, pulling the tags off their brand new boardshorts and reacquainting themselves with each other and the lineups.

It’s day two for this surfer and so far it has been a lackluster beginning, small waves and a lot of wind. Then again, it is by far better to show up to manageable surf than the whitewash avalanches the North Shore is better known for. I better go get working on my tan because when the surf finally does pick up, as a pro surfer, my job is to be photo-ready. Back to work…

--Holly Beck

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