Why do folks dance with death as such?
I’ve not seen Heavy Water. I didn’t even read Longtom’s review so as to not dilute the potency of my first viewing, whenever that may be in the states.
But I’m getting older. Four days ago, I shredded the ligaments in my foot at the skatepark. For these reasons and others, mortality has been on my mind.
I’m no hero in the water, but I have been known to supplement a lack of skill with an extra dose of bravery (stupidity). Our own limits are relative, but I’ve found mine the only way one can, and thus I’ve had a few closeups with the Maker.
Apart from the love for my son, a more-complicated-but-pretty-good-after-all-we’ve-been-through love for my lady and that for a handful of others, death is the only thing I’d regard as certain. I know… groundbreaking prose.
Not taking into account the natural byproduct of years of drug addiction and alcohol abuse, involving much eye-covering, mono-vision-producing vehicular operation and too-many-but-evidently-just-the-right-amount-of “Gee, hope this next line doesn’t stop my heart” moments, I’ve smelled death’s breath thrice…
The backseat of a car doing unintended 70mph donuts on a highway in Georgia. We teetered atop a slope that led down into a dense forest of stubborn trees. Mid-spin, while getting in an impact-ready position, this sense of not being alone came over me and with it a feeling that, while the odds were good I’d be maimed, I’d still be… you know… fine. Maybe it was God. Maybe it was denial. Maybe it was another piece of my consciousness that was speaking to me from a parallel universe.
Puerto Escondido. May. 2010. Took off on the first wave of a double-overhead+ set, got one of the waves of my life then kicked out to realize it was just the opening act. Having yielded to local custom, I was without leash. Detonation. Then another. Another. I was trapped in some whirlpool rip. Another. My fingertips tingled from lack of oxygen. Another. I thought of my mom. Another. I wondered why I just thought of my mom. Another. I was spared.
Salina Cruz. Point break. April. 2014. Took off on the first wave (why?) of a large, long-period set, did some awkward wiggly shit with my body that was supposed to be surfing until I deservedly fell. Detonation. Another. I was being river-swept 30 feet from the beach. Another. Another. My leash got tangled with some guy spouting French panic-speak who came out of nowhere. Another, now entangled with French panic guy. I recall being leashless in Puerto years before. Another, without my board. Another. Wet terra firma. Dry terra firma. I sit and think about how my wife’s father drowned and that under no circumstances should she have to go through that twice.
So why? Why do folks dance with death as such? I don’t inquire with even the faintest undertone of heroics. Eddie Aikau. Firemen. Good teachers. Hospice workers. Chas’ tolerance for scorn. These are examples of heroism.
But surfing? Not heroic.
Brave? Sure.
Irrational? Often.
Heroic? No.
I inquire with the curiosity of one trying to understand the mind of cat, or why anyone would own a cat.
To a degree, I understand my own drive. I’m a dormant-volcano-of-a-drug-addict with self-destructive tendencies. For me, chaos can provide a sense of balance. Pretty cut and dry.
But what’s your excuse? How close have you come? Have you ever actually died before?
(Apparently, this guy did.)
Do you carry a death wish in the lockbox of your mind? Are you all just addicts of varying degrees of functionality? Were you dropped as babies?
I was.
Do you sniff out extreme sensory experiences like that bear with my food that one time in Yosemite? Do you so yearn for the salinity content of the womb that you’re subconsciously trying to find a way back in? Must you feel the whiskers of death to hear the purr of life? Do you want me to stop making shitty cat analogies?
After recently taking the piss out of others with balls bigger than mine, all in the name of flexing my miserable wit and a quick escape from self-loathing, I’d like to pivot and devote this entire paragraph to paying tribute to the bravery, courage and incomprehensible drive of each and every (gender-inclusive) aquatic astronaut out there who voluntarily stares into the great wide open. Who is contractually-obligated to paddle out. Who does it for nothing. Who does it when nobody’s watching. Who interprets and redefines the limits of possibility. Who strokes into uncertain destiny at the behest of your compulsion and the whim of Mother Ocean. This entire paragraph goes out every single one of you… except Keala Kennelly.
Kidding. She was out at Puerto that day in May 2010, was super cordial in the lineup and took off on waves I wouldn’t look at even if I had an over-sized scrotum full of every Big Wave Tour surfer’s testicles.
No thanks. I like living.
Somewhat.
Much respect, you fucking loons.
If fun, exciting things happen to be dangerous, fine, okay. But purposely doing things because they are potentially fatal simply for the thrill, assuming anybody actually does that, is absurdly stupid. It’s a high that must be constantly chased, satisfied ultimately only in death.
Treat them like vegetables. Just push to one side and keep eating
Progo – that’s before the courts and here in Aus media cannot report or it might prejudice the case. Personally I am pretty disenfranchised with the current conformist identitarian zeitgeist. If YOU make an allegation, it’s up to you to prove it, and not just say “well what’s the implication?” For example, I can THINK you are implying all manner of things and then accuse you of various stances, to which you will respond “ I didn’t say that” – but i have a defence – “it’s the implication!” This is a tautological argument, as i can’t know what you are thinking. I can know what you say and do, however. So, based on what Longtom has said and done, at which point does he demonstrate a hate for lesbians? You have accused him of homophobia. Well, have you asked him directly about his alleged hated for homosexuals that you think is implied in his writing? Do you know him? Do you know anything about his personal life? Neither do I. So I won’t mount a defence of him, but rather a critique of your argument, which is flawed.
In the modern word this type of argument has become fucking double-think and used as a way of suffocating ideas. And no, not just right wing ideas.
My implication being that maybe, having the “right” or “wrong” identity does not equate to being right or wrong on any given issue? As if identity is part of ones being, and not the totality? A lens, if you will, through which you see society and society sees you? Systemic oppression based on personal characteristics is a real thing, but so is removing all thought process and hiding in identity politics. It’s a lazy way to characterise an idea, or a person, and like all lazy ideas leads to generalisation. Generalisation leads to falsehood and finally discrimination – the thing identity politics was set up to combat! I am all for positive empowerment of all humans, but I prefer to think about removing barriers, rather than creating further divisions. Describing, critiquing, opposing and finally breaking down asymmetrical power relationships is far more fertile ground for those interested in social change, but it requires getting into the mud and muck and really engaging.
In summary, lazy use of identity politics is a bad thing, empowers no one, and creates hostility and division. And yes, I’m implying you are intellectually lazy.
Longtom lite ? really ??
More than bravery, I think it’s just that anything really worthwhile doing the involves risk. And surfing is a constant calculating of risk.
For most of us, though, there’s a large margin, so that we mostly don’t get close to death. And when we do, it really makes you sit up and take note.
Yeah just watched a mountaineering movie on red bull – David lama and Conrad anker. It is so unbelievably sketchy it’s hard to watch at times – climbing fast and dangerously with minimal protection. I googled David lama afterwards, and saw he made the climb unassisted in 2018, and that he was killed in an avalanche 2 months ago in the Canadian Rockies with his whole team. Climbing mags have lots of articles about pushing the limits, addiction to danger, and losing friends. It’s an interesting area of human psychology, and one I’m happy to watch from the sidelines.
https://www.climbing.com/vi…
Thanks – not seen that one. Meru, Valley Uprising, The Dawn Wall and Free Solo are great climbing flicks to watch.
I heard the WSL is trying to trademark the word surfing.
Progo. Stop it. You’re trying too hard.
Lethal weapon 5
Pushing it just isn’t as fun as it used to be, that’s for sure. 20 years after my accident in big waves my deteriorating ligaments and cartilage make it where I struggle in serious pain just to put on my socks every morning. Waves that make me sweat now (Overhead to Double-Overhead Baja beachbreak) wouldn’t have even registered to me back then. I surf by myself, so I now worry swimming in from a broken leash when it’s double overhead against big rips all alone, except for my fucking paddle. I have to ride a Sup, cause I can’t jump up normal anymore. I can’t pop up on my kitchen floor, much less on a board. If I have to pick something up that I drop, I crawl up one knee at a time, grabbing furniture. Yeah. If you don’t love giant waves, probably better to stay the fuck away. I’d still go if I could, though. Learning my lessons: probably not my strong point.
Tl/Dr: Whining about my failing skeletal frame. Cue the Sup hate.
rare justifiable reasoning.
I’ll make anything everything until I’m reminded that nothing is anything.
Except my boy, he’s something.
This is a beautiful piece.
I don’t tangle often with big wave tendencies, but the underlying contract is there. Lost boards in big waves sucks.. been there man. Not at big Mex though. Round my way, only gets real solid maybe twice a year.
In a car, watching my cat, functionally addicted to multiple chemicals, this piece sings. I’m contracted to go out. This is contrary to my overriding urge to live, given my skill set .. I too have had a dance or two.
Moreover, I see death in my job, it’s real and can be a drawn out, painful, sometimes “routine” (the worst) plain ugly affair.
I’d rather go out via ocean than any other way based on my experiences.
But I do love my drugs.. so you know, let the music keep playing.
I loved my drugs. More than they loved me.
The music never stops.
(And thanks for opening sentiment)
He has implied there is more to the story than what he initially thought.
That doesn’t mean he’s a homophobe or misogynist.
.
Agreed, that two-hole’s ok in my book
No. Longtom, thoughts?
nothing has any intrinsic value. we make it up based off of our egos desires
I make you laugh? I’m here to fuckin’ amuse you? Waddya mean “funny” ? Funny how? How am I funny?, let me understand this cause, ya know maybe it’s me, I’m a little fucked up maybe, but I’m funny how, I mean funny like I’m a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I’m here to fuckin’ amuse e you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?
The Hindus are lucky then
Lots of hands on their gods
I’d like my fate to be in the lap of a female goddess
I like stay well within my comfort zone. It’s mostly the lounge room, toilet and a small area of the kitchen that leads to the fridge. I once saw a bloke who had a t-shirt with bold lettering stating “if you are not living life on the edge you are taking up to much space” . I bet he would have a story or two.
Who is the slightly awkward bloke with the toilet rider stance in the lead photo?
Sarcasm I hope.
is that you Elo?
your mom
BGers are cool with the cheerful Pro.