San Diego justice!

You’ve certainly followed the story of the paddle swinging SUP pilot Paul Taylor Konen and the surfer Keven Eslinger who confronted him after a breach of “surf etiquette” and don’t need a refresher but in case you do…

Paul Taylor Konen has been charged with assault with a deadly weapon for allegedly striking Kevin Eslinger in the head with a paddle, as the men were out in the water at Sunset Cliffs on June 26, 2018.

Eslinger, 56, sustained a gash to the back of his head that Deputy District Attorney Matthew Greco said fractured his skull and caused brain damage, rendering him unable to speak at all until days after the injury. Greco alleged that an emergency room physician said the injury looked “like a hammer blow.”

Well, last month a jury found Paul Taylor Konen guilty as charged and yesterday a judge sentenced him to five long years behind bars and let’s pick right up from there.

“Today is a good day for the surf community,” said Deputy District Attorney Matthew Greco, according to the station. “When people are out in the water, they are safe. The rules on land apply to the ocean.”

Eslinger, a surfing and swim coach, told the judge he still has trouble speaking as a result of his injuries, leading people to believe he’s drunk or “damaged,” the Union-Tribune reported.

“Two lives are irrevocably changed,” Eslinger said, KNSD reported. “But I feel justice was done.”

Konen’s attorney, Brian McCarthy, had earlier argued in court that his client was only trying to get away from Eslinger, who pursued him on his surfboard, the Times of San Diego reported.

“The question is did my client intentionally assault Mr. Eslinger or was there a situation where Mr. Eslinger got in front of my client’s path and got hurt?” McCarthy said, according to the publication.

But Judge Robert Trentacosta said Thursday he did not find Konen’s testimony that he feared for his life credible, the Union-Tribune reported. He also rejected a plea by McCarthy to sentence Konen to probation.

Five years is a long time to think about being a SUP pilot, sitting there behind bars. I wonder if there are SUP supremacist gangs in prison like there are white supremacist, black supremacist, hispanic supremacist, etc. ones?

I suppose I’m a shortboard supremacist.

Are you?

Should we get matching tattoos?

"Meanwhile, I’m just over here throwing words around and waiting for the wind to stop."

You were thinking I forgot about you, that I wasn’t going to write anything about the women’s round of 16 that took place at Keramas yesterday. I did not forget about you! I would never do that. I am running around like a fool, throwing words all over the place. Out of necessity, I will keep this update short and sweet. Snackable. I do like snacks.

The big story from yesterday’s heats at Keramas came during heat 3. Silvana Lima’s been out of competition since J-Bay with a knee injury and did she ever come back with a slam. Lima beat out Caroline Marks and opened the way for a potential lead change in the world rankings.

I had forgotten how much I love watching Lima surf. She’s so fast and exuberantly unpredictable. Her opening wave featured a cheekly little barrel. Lima highlighted the one weakness that Marks has shown. While Marks had her characteristic strong, vertical turns, there wasn’t as much variety as Lima threw down.

In other notable early exits, Malia Manuel, who came out of Bells as the world number two, lost out to Courtney Conlogue. I’m not sure I quite get the new seeding. How did the two finalists from Bells, ranked number 2 and number 3, already meet in the round of 16? Got me. If she makes the finals, Conlogue could overtake Marks as world number one.

Last year’s winner at Keramas, Lakey Peterson also went out in yesterday’s round 3. There weren’t a ton of waves on offer Peterson’s heat and Bronte Maccaulay took an early lead. Peterson’s highest score was a 3.5. It just really wasn’t her day. In typical do or die style, she surfed eleven waves in an effort to find a score. I understand the desperation, but I wonder if a little more chill might have served her better.

Both Stephanie Gilmore and Carissa Moore made it through to the quarters. Gilmore in small waves is always a marvel to me. She is so long-legged and yet somehow she manages to fold herself down to fit into the tiniest corners. She threw a nice fins-free turn in her opening wave, which, more like this, please, Steph. She said in a recent interview with the crew at Stab that she felt she often didn’t push herself enough to be progressive. Sometimes, she gets too caught up on being graceful, she said. Dear Steph, you can be both. Really.

It was a little sleepy all around out there in Keramas yesterday, with good waves a bit few and far between. I love a skateramp style reef break, but long lulls are a drag to surf and to watch. So here’s hoping there’s more waves for the quarterfinals. The Gilmore-Conlogue matchup should be seriously good times and I’m looking forward to watching what Lima comes up with against Fitzgibbons. Moore meets Hennessey and Maccaulay surfs against Van Dijk.

Meanwhile, I’m just over here throwing words around and waiting for the wind to stop. Please let me go surfing, wind! I have been extra good this week. I totally deserve to go surfing.

Which do you feel is the pièce de résistance?

I apologize for the lack of content yesterday. I am very near the end of first rough draft of next book and plowing through from sun up to sun down. Derek Rielly, I assume, is being shuttled from interview to interview talking about the subject of his last book Wednesdays with Bob, Australian PM Mr. Bob Hawke, who shuffled off this mortal coil at the wonderful age of 89.

Today will be better, but if it isn’t you can always dive headfirst into the world’s newest literary genre “My First Surf Ranch.”

Now, for a “subject” to officially become a “genre” there must be at least 6500 defining works detailing its various aspects and today’s story What Happened When I Tried to Surf an Artificial Mega Wave by Dan Fitzpatrick in the Wall Street Journal kicks “My First Surf Ranch” over the line.

Shall we read its opening stanza?

LEMOORE, Calif.—The fantasy of riding a wave engineered for the world’s best surfers turns to panic when a loudspeaker offers my last warning: “CT2, 30 seconds.”

I’m floating in a lagoon that spans the length of seven football fields, surrounded by cottonwood trees and California farm country. The 30-second alert means it’s too late to stop what happens next. First an 80-ton hydrofoil sled will roll forward with the help of a cable and truck tires, producing the rickety sound made by a roller coaster at the beginning of its climb. Then I have to confront a six-and-a-half-foot-high wall of water—CT2—that is picking up speed as it approaches.

In my fantasy of this moment I paddle my surfboard into position, pop to my feet and ride for an astonishing 50 seconds while the action is captured on film.

It sings no?

And now that “My First Surf Ranch” is an official genre it also must be subjected to very serious literary criticism etc. Classes taught in colleges. Doctoral dissertations written. Etc.

Which, do you feel, is the “My First Surf Ranch” pièce de résistance? Finnegan’s? Carroll’s? Doherty’s? Warshaw’s Ferre’s?

Much to ponder.

"Running on Empty" to be exact.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. I was enjoying a mid-day solo surf in fun south swell conditions ay my local quick hit spot. The sun was shining. It was warm for the first time this Southern California spring. There was nobody out.

I was happy.

Then my perfect little wiggle session was horribly interrupted.

Lumbering down the stairs came a man who appeared to be in his mid-late forties. He was carrying an oversized Slater Designs Omni under his arm and a SoloShot over his shoulder. He set up the solo shot and paddled out. I assumed this would be fine. This guy was probably a VAL and was excited about capturing his session.

“It’s the two of us”, I thought. “You’ll get yours, waters warm, the sun is shining, no need for vibing today,” I mentally said to myself.

I WAS WRONG.

As the guy paddled out, I began to hear music. Not just any music, Jackson motherfucking Browne music. “Running on Empty” to be exact. It got louder as he approached so I turned to see that the guy has a Speaqua Barnacle affixed to the nose of his Omni.

There can’t be more you say? Wrong, below the Barnacle was affixed a Trace thingamajigger. Definitely required for the waist to chest one maneuver waves we were catching. Many valuable data points to be extracted from that session I am sure.

I tried to surf but was so distracted by the guy’s obviously incorrectly sized thousand dollar surfboard, thousand dollar robot camera, waterproof speaker (now playing “Doctor My Motherfuckin Eyes”), his Trace, and by the fact that he had been swiping on his fucking apple watch for the majority of the lulls in the swell, that I caught one and went in.

Like Don Quijote tilting at windmills, I wondered, “Was that a tech-nerd VAL ignorant of the lineup etiquette or was it a fat-wallet power move by a guy who didn’t give a singular shit what I thought about him or whether I wanted to listen to Jackson Browne while surfing on a Tuesday afternoon?” I am frankly still confused by the whole thing.

My brain quickly moved past that question when I came to the realization that surfing has reached technology saturation. GPS watches, GoPro, Trace, robot cameras, waterproof speakers, watches that send and receive texts from the line-up. Wasn’t surfing supposed to be a distraction from all of this?

Wasn’t the whole point of the whole thing to paddle out in quietude and catch a couple so you can leave the rest on the beach? Wasn’t the lineup, by design, supposed to be Jackson Browne free?

YES.

Do you, Mister Perepetual Intermediate, really need to know the velocity and turn radius of your wave captured by your Trace? Do you really think anyone at work wants to see your shoulder hopping antics as filmed by your robot assistant from the beach? Were the GPS trace lines of your waves captured by Rip Curl watch really important to capture? Do you really want to send texts from the lineup?

NO.

I understand most surfers bring only their board and a suit, but what I am seeing here is the potential for a very slippery slope. If one man can ruin my entire focus with his techno gadgets, it can happen to you. The more the market gets filled with connected TOYS the more people will buy them. Maybe the lineup will one day get polluted with things most of us wanted to leave on the beach- noise, technology, connectivity, obligation. Where is our escape then?

Please stop the madness, or at least stop it until I build my private wave pool in a cellular dead zone behind an off-the-grid cabin high atop a mountain away from all of you, and Jackson Browne.