A North Shore almost blood bath!

Five days ago, Pipe habitué and singer Landon McNamara, born and raised at Rocky Point by a daddy who invented the chop-hop and whose own Pipe appearances were electrifying, came within inches of losing his face after an ill-timed drop in.

Landon, who is twenty-three years old and who likes to snatch the Second Reef chip-shots on his eight-o Gerry Lopez, just like Liam did in the nineties, says he saw the board coming for him in exquisite, vivid detail.

“Everything was going slow-mo,” says Landon, as he readies himself for an afternoon surf at pumping twelve-foot Pipe. “It was the most slow-motion I’ve ever experienced surfing. I could see, exactly, where the guy fell, where the board went, and where I could go, what line I could take to escape it.”

https://www.instagram.com/p/B49GAXpBqd0/

Now, it ain’t an exaggeration to say that Landon wasn’t overly impressed by the event.

“There’s so many situations out there and when they occur and nothing bad happens, you might be, like, well it wasn’t that bad, it’s all good. But it’s not like that at all. If it happens it can be deadly.”

Still, what he’d like to happen is for surfers to do a little self-examination before they paddle out at Second Reef Pipe and join the boys in that prized take-off area.

“It’s the guys who’ve earned their spots that sit there,” says Landon.

His daddy, Liam, picks up the phone, tells me they don’t want not hassles with anyone. But.

But.

“There has to be an international understanding of the dangers and the pecking order and about earning your stripes there,” he says. “I spent three decades out there to earn my stripes. It took those decades of broken femurs, hips, hands and knees to win it. And, now, I’ve handed my stripes, my war jacket, my medals, to my kids – I’ve taught ’em where to sit, what boards to ride, what waves to look for. But, while Landon has my spot in the lineup, he had to earn it. He had to have the balls to take off. You don’t go out to Second Reef unless you’ve got your stripes. It’s like a war out there. It’s a battle zone and if you haven’t earned the right, and you’re not at the right level, you shouldn’t be there.”

How do you get them pretty stripes?

“There are guys from every different country that come out, humbly earn a wave, ride it well and get that respect. It doesn’t matter what country you’re from. Pipe is the most dangerous wave in the world and it takes years of surfing the wave to earn respect and to understand the lineup. Respect the locals and you will get respect.”

Says Landon, “We want to spread the message of tread lightly, wait your turn and stay out of people’s way.”

Like many beginners, the Surf Witches have been seduced by a vision that only rarely exists.

Earlier today, I went down to the beach and went for a surf.

Some rugged windswell had rolled into the neighborhood, which meant fun waves if you knew where to look for them. It is no longer bikini season here, in case you were wondering, so bikini updates are suspended indefinitely.

We apologize for the inconvenience.

When I paddled out, I was the only woman in the lineup. Later a couple women more joined us. But for most of the session, a crew of bros and I competed for waves. Most of us knew one another, if not well, at least in the “I’ve seen you around” kind of way. The vibe was happy, competitive, mellow, all at the same time. I didn’t really notice I was the only girl in the water. No one burned me. No one burned anyone else, either.

The midlength guys had an advantage and used it. The shortboarder from a nearby college with the golden retriever personality chased every peak in his time zone. It was fine. It was all fine. We all eventually got waves. Some got more waves than others. That’s how it works.

We all want waves. We all can’t have them at the same time. This is surfing’s most basic law.

I came home to an email from Derek. (Chas doesn’t email, his inbox is where hope goes to die.) Derek had sent me a link. Surf witches! I wondered if there would be hats. Obviously, I clicked immediately.

In search of a feel-good story, ABC Gold Coast reports that a crew of women have formed a surf and social group called Surf Witches.

Their goal?

To escape the competitive, negative vibes they have experienced while surfing Snapper and Duranbah.

“There are lots of men in the lineup and they’re very serious, and they don’t want to talk to you, and they’re all dropping in on your waves,” said Surf Witches co-founder Hannah Jessup, who learned to surf earlier this year. “As a beginner, it’s hard to know how to handle that kind of attitude.”

The group meets up to go surf and wears blue bracelets to identify one another in the lineup. “It actually feels like a party or a sleepover or something,” said Jessup. The women cheer for each other’s successes, however small, and have begun expanding into meeting for brunch and coffee out of the water. The Surf Witches hope to reach beyond Australia to the U.S., in an effort to make women feel more welcome in the lineup.

There is… a lot to unpack here.

Let’s start with the easy part. A social group for women who want to surf is indeed a lovely little feel-good story for your afternoon perusal. Women who want to surf with other women, they should totally do that. I would rather be shot into the sun than join a women’s surfing group, but on the whole, I am not a joiner. I will gladly, however, take my woman friends surfing if they would like to try it out. I do that, because while I’m not a joiner, I do like my friends.

If I did take my beginner friends surfing, we would never, in a million, billion years paddle out a place like Snapper. Like, never.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever burned a beginner. You totally have, right? I totally have. I mean, I’m not proud of it, but I have. Sometimes, my inner asshole escapes.

It’s crowded, you’re surfing a decent spot, you’re pretty sure the beginner will eventually blow the wave, so you just fucking go. We’ve probably all done this. It’s like sharks eating the smallest, slowest fish they can find. Chomp. No regrets, no remorse.

I would like to teach the Sea Witches of the world that there are beginner spots and they exist for a reason. Every town has at least one. Beginner spots are fun and generally super chill and that’s where you go to stand up and go straight and figure out this whole mysterious business of riding surfboards.

Standing on surfboards is pretty fun and I have no problem with new people trying it out. But for the love of the fucking sun, pick your spot and pick your day. That means, not the most famous A-list spot in your neighborhood and not the biggest day of the year. Or even, the biggest day of the week.

An A-list spot will be crowded. It will always be competitive. It will rarely be beginner-friendly. If it’s nearly flat, sure. But otherwise, you can expect to compete for your waves. That’s simply how surfing works. (If you live on a desert island or some other remote spot where no one else surfs with you, I do not want to hear from you! In fact, I am going to send every beginner I see to your remote desert island!)

There are a finite number of waves in the ocean. You might get lucky, but a good wave is not simply going to be handed to you. Like, oh hello there young lady, here’s a fun wave for you! Thanks for coming surfing today! This is not how any of this works.

There’s a significant disconnect between how people imagine surfing and what it actually is. Like many beginners, the Surf Witches have been seduced by a vision that only rarely exists. You know the one, it’s that idyll of a mellow, dreamy session, where it all comes easily, everyone is happy, and the scene looks just like Instagram. They want it to feel like yoga or a meditation session. Or, a slumber party.

You want to know who drops in on me the most often out of anyone? Women on longboards. The old school women never do this and I love them for it. But so many times, I look up, and bam! There’s a woman on a big board dropping in on me from the shoulder. I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t think men are the only problem here.

Once in a while, surfing looks and feels something like this. But more often, it’s messier. More difficult. It’s not just you and the ocean, the way Instagram promises. It’s you and the ocean and other humans. And those other humans, well, they do have a tendency to shatter the dream.

There’s an amusing irony in all of this agonizing over the angry men and the negativity and omg you have to compete for waves and it’s terrible.

You want to know who drops in on me the most often out of anyone? Women on longboards. The old school women never do this and I love them for it. But so many times, I look up, and bam! There’s a woman on a big board dropping in on me from the shoulder. I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t think men are the only problem here.

A challenging thing in life as a woman is figuring out when things are about gender, and when they really just aren’t.

I was out surfing over the weekend, sharing space with a couple of men on shortboards. We’d staked out an interesting sandbar. It was a warm fall California day. Bright sun. A puff of offshore. The sky, the water, a blur of glimmering blue.

There were waves, but not quite enough to go around, and the men in the lineup got more than I did. It had nothing to do with gender. The dudes were fucking ripping. They were quite simply better at surfing than me.

I still got my share of waves and I still had so much fun. This is how surfing works.