Real insight: This kook don't know.
I do everything here for you, you know that right? Everything. Oh you think all the shark business, all the horrifying tales from our modern and current shark apocalypse is due some weird personal kink?
But also and mostly they are also my counter to the World Surf League’s Wall of Positive Noise, to Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch, to Fake Hurley now selling beard oil to Des Moines, Iowa farmers who hope, dream of one day, of absorbing surfing right into their pores.
Surfing is for us and only us. Like Gotcha’s wonderful founder Michael Tomson once boldly declared, “If you don’t surf, don’t start.”
But how is the World Surf League going to make money if nobody starts? How will Kelly Slater or Fake Hurley?
And so they all crow about about how amazing, how spiritual our Pastime of Kings is while I scream, “Beware! There’s a Great White circling your pale legs!”
In any case, as you may or may not know, I grew up surfing the cold hell of Oregon. The miserable cold rip-tidy, sharky hell and that’s what it truly is but today I stumbled upon a piece in The Oregonian that began thusly:
I’m a mountain guy. A lover of lakes. A backpacker, climber and skier.
As such, few of my adventures pull me toward the beautiful Oregon coast.
But I defied that tendency a few months back, heading west in search of a new thrill: surfing.
Cold hell. Messy hell. Horrible hell. Welcome to hell, now you’re in hell (buy here).
But the journalist-cum-VAL decided to lie and write:
My day started at a surf shop in Seaside, where I met up with surf instructor Lauren Ahlgren and got outfitted with a rental wetsuit.
We then headed south down the coast, passing Cannon Beach and parking our rigs just off the highway at Oswald West State Park, home to the popular Short Sand Beach.
We hiked for a half-mile, hauling our unwieldy boards, and emerged at the beach before too long.
It was, in a word, sublime.
The beach, which is known as Short Sands or Shorty’s, sits in a stunning cove framed by volcanic basalt and sandstone cliffs.
There’s no highway noise. No concession stands. Just classic Oregon coast vibes.
I believe he means “classic Oregon coast vibes” as a positive but take it from one who grew up there.
It’s a meth.
One big giant meth plus the surf sucks too.
And I’m going to hunt down this lover of lakes, this backpacker, climber, skier and teach him a proper lesson. I’m going to take him for a surf around Coos Bay, a bowl of Mo’s clam chowder in Florence then… Well, you’ll just have to stay tuned.
More as the story develops.