Live from Surf Ranch: “Perhaps imperfection is important”

The waves blurred one into the next. Only a few stood out.

I got barreled at Surf Ranch. Or at least, I got the closest thing to getting barreled that I could find. You see, if you stand near the middle of the pool, and wait patiently, eventually the water slops over the wall. And if you stand right up next to the wall, you can get totally barreled. 

So that’s exactly what I did. I stood right up against the wall. The spray covered me entirely. Bystanders looked on in awe. It was beautiful. 

I began the day by standing in line. The sun was hot, the line long. My feet already hurt, which is the kind of harbinger that you try to ignore, but it’s hard. It was entirely my own fault for wearing inappropriate shoes, which is a habit I’ve tried and failed to shake. I once ended up surrounded by spiders while taking photos in flip flops. I squealed and ran. It was extremely dignified. 

When I got to the front of the line, they turned me away. I was totally scared! Again, I was going to have to turn around and not see the Surf Ranch with my own eyes. And this time, I had come so close. They tried to take my food and I wouldn’t let them and then they told me to go to the other entrance. 

I didn’t know there was more than one entrance, but I found it! And when I did, at last, I entered Surf Ranch! Nirvana! Also, I still had my food, because never surrender.

The wave. You want to know about the wave. You don’t care about my sore feet. It’s my job to have sore feet, you’re saying. It’s my job to have sore feet and tell you about the wave pool. I am going to disappoint you. It looks exactly like the videos. Because of it’s totally improbable location, in fact, Surf Ranch might look less real when it’s right there in front of you than it does on the internet. 

I thought the train would be louder and hearing the wave pool compared to a fish bowl, I expected everything to be closer. I expected to see spray flying off the waves right there. It was oddly far away. I felt like it needed bridges maybe. Bridges so I could walk across and look down on Surf Ranch. Bridges so that I could walk over, rather than around. 

You want to know about the heat. The heat was everything I imagined and more. It was fabulous! Like a living thing. In the morning, there was a brief period of delusion. I sipped an iced coffee and ate something baked. Maybe it won’t be that hot today! 

Maybe we will not die out here, shriveled into dried up piles of cells on the cracked earth. We were wrong. By mid-afternoon, the wind died, the sun blazed. I almost cried, but I knew I couldn’t come back and face you all, if I cried at Surf Ranch. Somehow I’d wandered into a Steinbeck novel, all dust and heat. 

The waves blurred one into the next. Only a few stood out. Medina, Florence’s final air, Carissa Moore’s deep front-side barrels, Moore’s turns – pretty much all of them, really. The airs looked weirdly slow and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. Somehow they just seemed to lack the punch I expect to see.

But Steinbeck is dead and we’re still alive and we’d gathered around the wave pool in some kind of strange fellowship. All hail! The train is coming! We fell into step with its hypnotic rhythm. 

The wave itself looks as perfect as ever. A succession of them feels like too much of a good thing, as though perhaps imperfection in surfing is as important as that one amazing wave you caught back in 1985 and remember forever. If all of them are perfect, what will you remember? 

The level of surfing was uneven, as some competitors had learned the pool’s quirks better than others. Fanning’s board worked beautifully. Florence’s, much less so. There were still no true bottom turns to be seen and the more waves I watched, the more it nagged. 

The waves blurred one into the next. Only a few stood out. Medina, Florence’s final air, Carissa Moore’s deep front-side barrels, Moore’s turns – pretty much all of them, really. The airs looked weirdly slow and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. Somehow they just seemed to lack the punch I expect to see.

The crowd was enthusiastic, though not in the stadium roar kind of way. People were into the surfing, especially the barrels and wipe-outs, which are maybe the easiest things to understand out of it all. 

The general admission crowd gathered around the pool’s edges and seemed happy to take it all in. They appeared amused by the novelty of the setup. The VIP’s were more picky, more likely to pick and choose their favorites, but on the whole, it was a very Slater-friendly crowd. He drew the loudest applause each time he appeared.

I was there! At Surf Ranch! But somehow it all seemed to happen at a distance. The athletes appeared magically when it was time for their team’s round. Then they quickly disappeared. I’m not sure where they went. Tomorrow, I will try to find them. Depending on where I was around the pool, I could sometimes hear the commentary and sometimes, nothing at all. I ran into Shaun Tomson and had time to say hey, before he signed a couple autographs for the groms and disappeared. Maybe there was a really cool party going underground or behind a secret door. 

I confess I have no idea what broke during the afternoon rounds. But the whole thing – the wave, the surfing, all of it – stopped for around an hour. At the time, I was hanging around the middle section, trying to finish off my photo set. I had a spot in the shade and a place to sit. These factors won out over my curiosity to ask questions.

While the wave was broken, there was a short musical selection, I believe. I vaguely understood that Carissa Moore sang with a band of some kind, but I might have been wrong.

By then, we’d reached the point where understanding had begun to fade. I never did figure out what Strider was doing with his blue surfboard.

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe my sore feet. Maybe it was the part where we switched to tequila sometime after three pm. By then I desperately wanted to cool my feet in the shallows, the way you do at the beach on a hot summer day. 

Maybe they could add that part.  A place to cool my feet. Or maybe on Monday I’ll just head to the beach and float in the cool water and stare up at the boundless, blue sky. 

At least I got barreled. At least I got barreled at Surf Ranch! A girl could live a long time on that alone.