Southern California surfers are thumb-sucking babies!

"Burrrrrr mommy. I cold."

I woke up this morning in Cardiff-by-the-Sea to another glorious morning, sun burning through the last remains of low-70s (Fahrenheit) haze, birds chirping. It has been a gorgeous late summer, per the usual, balmy and bright with unusually warm ocean waters nearing mid-70s (also Fahrenheit). Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I grabbed my phone and saw a message from the wife. “Surf?”

The daughter had to take a school test but we had enough time so why not? I skipped to the bathroom, jumped into my vintage Vissla x BeachGrit “Backward Fin Beth” trunks, hopped to the garage to grab my Mini Super and met her in the car.

We drove the short distance, parked and made our way to the shore and began paddling. She was also wearing a swimsuit though not BeachGrit collaborated. It is, of course, lightly brisk when first hopping on board, the tiniest of bite after that first duck dive, but, midway out to the lineup, complete acclimation and freedom.

Mini surf was on offer, giving me much time to ponder great mysteries and I looked south and I looked north and I realized everyone, as far as I could see, save one, was in neoprene. Rubbing my disbelieving eyes, I studied again, this time counting.

Thirty-two surfers in low-70s sunshine and mid-70s brine wearing wetsuits, the vast majority of them full arm, full leg.

And I began to seethe.

What on earth happened to even the tiniest morsel of tough? Of willing to be almost a little chilly for almost 30 seconds in order to surf the way Kanaloa intended?

And I began to grow angrier and angrier.

Are Southern California surfers all thumb-sucking babies or am I missing something? Boiling in rubber the new rich flex, for example. Or… Big Wetsuit lining product with addictive bits, maybe.

In any case, if you have been surfing from Malibu to Imperial Beach, during this past month, wetsuited, then take a hard look in the mirror and then drink a cup of concrete.