Opinion: Wavepools are bullshit!

Moving surfing inland, employing freshwater, that shit's golf.

I often wonder what the average landlubber sees when they look at the ocean. Just liquid in some shade of blue or green or brown or grey? I know they don’t see channels and shallow spots and currents and peaks and corners.

I had a fun session at the local beach break today. Nothing special, chest-to-head-high storm surf, lots of water moving, the occasional corner doubling up onto the inside sandbar, sucking smooth, making for a rippable little nugget.

Deceptively powerful, as Hawaii often is, I got my ass handed to me paddling out by a fun looking little set. Duck dived straight into the bottom, just enough time to think, “Oops, I’m gonna feel this one.”

Post session, drinking ice water, trying not to be too obvious as I lech’ed out on some pretty young things, a tourist family pulled up in a bright red Jeep with two epoxy rentals strapped to the roof.  Standard stuff there, but the few guys left in the water were trading off on some fun little waves, and I thought I’d spare them the hassle of two new additions to the lineup, while protecting the kook crew from their forthcoming drubbing.

Further down the beach is an old breakwall setup. Makes for a fun left on the right swell, provides a protected little nook the rest of the time.

“Head down there,” I told them, pointing, “it’s more forgiving, you’ll have more fun.”

“It’s okay, we’ve surfed before.”

Okay. That’s fine. None of business, really. And I got nothin’ to do but hang out and see how things pan out.

Pretty well, actually. From where I was standing.

Two parents, two teens, both kids at that awkward age when they’ve grown taller but failed to build muscle. Gangly limbs. One put his leash on his left ankle the moment his feet touched sand, tucked his board under his right arm, and ran for the water. One step, two steps, three, four, and there goes the leash around his right foot. Ass over elbows, face first into a scattering of driftwood. Play it off, don’t look around, I wonder if anyone noticed?

Little brother decided to hang with Mom and Dad for a bit, big bro dusted off the shards of wood and was out there. A twenty-yard paddle in about fifteen minutes. Not bad. To his credit, he didn’t give up. Splayed legs, no idea how to paddle, but he put his head down and bashed his way into the lineup.  Almost.

He was resting when a little set popped up, board horizontal to the beach, laying across the center of it, legs dangling shoreward.  The best thing to do, obviously, was to try to push the board sideways through the lip as it pitched, frog kicking with all his might.

Upside down and backwards, over the falls he went. Managing to tombstone his board for an impressively long time, given the depth of the water and size of the surf. No doubt terrifying.

He broke the surface climbing the ladder, leash goes sproing!, earned him a nice kiss from the tail of his board, right up the side of his head.

I was enjoying myself, and was disappointed to see him put his tail between his legs and head in.  That’s not how you learn to surf! Shit’s hard, take your beatings, get better. It’s worth it.

His family packed up and headed back to their rental, where I sat.

“Man, you took a beating out there, huh?”

What a dick thing to say, right?  Rub his face in it, should’ve listened dumb-dumb.

Teenagers, yeah? He mumbled something at me. Dad was a lot more verbose.

“We surf behind the boat back home, so he thought he could do it in the ocean too. I tried to tell him it’s not the same.”

Have truer words ever been spoken?

It isn’t the same, not even close.

We can build an ersatz thrill, excavate a pit and slop around water. Fill a $40K boat with overpriced gas, let go of the rope and do airs all day long. But it isn’t surfing, because you’re not going to die.

The ocean is beyond powerful, totally uncaring, always dangerous. And, yeah, knowledge can ameliorate a substantial amount of risk, but more than one talented surfer has lost their life in less than terrifying conditions.

Playing in a medium that can easily kill you is something to be embraced.

Moving it inland, employing freshwater, that shit’s golf. It’s prim and proper and packaged and fake.  It’ll never be the future, ‘cuz it’ll always be bullshit.