From rtaylor@geog.ucsb.edu Sat Jan 18 01:25:19 1997 Newsgroups: alt.surfing Subject: Atheism at the water's edge (Re: Surf Report) From: Surfer Bob Date: Fri, 17 Jan 1997 17:25:19 -0800 CC: rtaylor@geog.ucsb.edu Timothy B. Maddux wrote: > > Date/Time: Thursday, January 16th, 8:30 am - 11:00 am > Location: Rincon Point > Conditions: Pristine glassy perfection, as good as it gets. > (Rave review of a great session) So I wrote: Hmmm... I drove south about noon and got to the Big R about 12:30. It looked small but terrific. For some foolish reason I continued south and checked a few other spots that weren't NEARLY as good. Then I came back. Saw a guy getting barrelled in the cove as I hit the northbound turnoff, narrowly missing a BIG truck due to my divided attention. I suited up and noted the first gust of a southeast breeze at the very instant I pulled the zipper up my back. It strengthened as I fussed with the velcro collar fastener. I trotted down the path nervously hoping I hadn't come too late. At the bottom a freshening onshore breeze blew my hair back and uggly chop was already moving across the lineup. As I picked my way across the cobble and driftwood towards the Rivermouth, the breeze became a bona fide onshore WIND and conditions deteriorated drastically before my disappointed eyes. People began leaving in droves. I stood at the water's edge, stretching and fretting. "Maybe it'll drop again. After all, it's been pretty glassy all morning..." but somehow I didn't believe it. I thought about one other totally worthless session at Rincon last year under similar conditions when I had concluded, "At least I'll get wet." Wet was absolutely all I got that day and the swell was bigger then. I stared out at the slop and the Hand of Fate beat down my spirits. I watched and watched for a stoke-able wave but none came. I couldn't even find it in myself to muster a conversation with The Big Kahuna. I couldn't bring myself to plead, or cajole Him for waves. Couldn't even bring myself to shake my tiny fist and offer laughable threats to the All in All. "Dude, you should have been here earlier...," echoed in my mind. I was in the right place at the wrong time and that was that. Kahuna the Implacable, Kahuna the Utterly Regardless, Kahuna the Absentee Surfgod was hosing me. No, the surf was just sucking really hard and I was competely irrelevant to the process. What Kahuna? God is dead. More likely God never was. We're just bread mold, growing on the leftovers until our star goes red giant on us and cleans the refrigerator that is our little Earth. We must deal with the outrageous vagaries and vicissitudes of weather and climate which we cannot influence, but oh, how we try. We celebrate the days when it's good and we make up myths to help us bear up to the weeks and months when it sucks. We surf while we can but when we die, we're dead. With thoughts such as these, I started back towards the trail with dry hair and low spirits. Talking to myself, I gave The Big Kahuna a half-hearted insult and forgave Him in the same breath, then promised myself to come earlier next time. I took comfort in the thought that although I'd been skunked, I wasn't going to Hell. I found a broken bucket and reminded myself that we must make the best we can of whatever cirumstances we find ourselves in. I put the bucket in the trash but salvaged the rusty handle to use on a handle-less bucket at my house. At least this session wasn't a total loss. Life's like that sometimes. I hurried home to get some work done.