Memories

Memories

Spent the morning looking at some old pictures.  The pictures  weren’t mine but somebody elses.  I found the pics on Ralph Fatello’s web page, under the archive section.  Ralph is a local legend in NH surfing.  I don’t know Ralph personally but I know OF him.  Besides being a dedicated chronicler of almost everything related with surfing in the Granite State, Ralph is a defender and proponent of surfing and especially, the surfers he knows and loves.  Ohana is important to Ralph, that much I know is obvious given his deeds.  A few years back, Ralph set out on a mission to surf every day for a complete calendar year, in honor of his dad, Gus, who’d passed away.  Surfing every day is not an easy feat by any means, let alone in New England.  Think of all the crummy, miserable rainy, windy days that might pass by in a single year.  Think of the cold and the blizzards.  For a surfer, think of all the interminably long flat spells when it’s not even worth paddling out…Ralph did.  And he caught some waves for Gus.  Every. Day.  365 days in a row.  Ralph garnered some notoriety for his mission, but it wasn’t for himself that he surfed; it was for Gus, and all those who suffered Gus’ affliction.  And then, a few years later, Ralph did it again.  A little girl, Molly, was sick.  She fought the fight.  But in the end, her illness was too strong for a 5 year old.  So Ralph, pulled out the board and surfed another 365 days in a year…for Molly. 

Though I’ve surfed NH many times over the years, I never really fit in there.  During the late seventies and early eighties when I was attending (surfing more than attending!) classes at UNH and living with my parents in Durham, it was an easy shoot over the back roads to Hampton, N. Hampton, and Rye.  I surfed The Wall, Straw’s Point, Lucky’s, Rye-on-the-Rocks, and Fox Hill Point.  One of my earlier blog entries is actually the tale of the day I almost drowned at Fox Hill.   I loved surfing the waves in NH; there is some incredible quality there.  But I never felt I fit in.  In those days, the water seemed to be a much more aggressive place.  Ironically, though it was far less crowded than today, it wasn’t an easy place to catch a wave to yourself.  And the crew was especially tight knit, and scowled a lot at outsiders.  They all seemed to know each other and they all had nicknames.  I felt out of place even though in those days I sported my own “Live Free Or Die” license plate.  I’ll never forget the day I was out at the Rocks…it was solid double overhead and Kevin Grondin (THE local legend in NH) was owning all the best set waves.  But there were plenty of leftovers to go around.  Yet most of my waves were smaller inbetweeners or shoulders I paddled into after someone else had wiped out.  It wasn’t that I was fearful, I was at my surfing prime in those days and full of confidence.  But I wasn’t a local and the locals kept boxing me in and outmaneuvering me into position.  Frustrated, I figured I’d fix their wagon and kept inching ever closer over to the main takeoff peak.  Until finally I was in position, a set came and I was the deepest one in the slot. I actually took off a little behind the peak, but was completely confident I could “backdoor” the section and show those bastards that I COULD surf, and could actually surf better than most of them!  And the drop was amazing, and I squared off the bottom with a hard turn, and shot out onto the wall as an avalanche of whitewater blasted down just behind me.  It was shaping up to be my best wave of the year until…until some big, burly bastard dropped in on me.  This particular, big burly bastard was ALWAYS out there at the Rocks when I surfed.  He had one of those Fu Manchu, walrus looking mustaches and he was the best scowler out there.  Well, so Mr. Fat Walrus not only drops in on MY wave, after all the work and maneuvering I’d put in to just catch myself it, but Mr. Fat Walrus actually turns to see me having the actual audacity to ride, BEHIND him…and then, swings his forearm back, catching me right across the chest, knocking me off my board, and I get annihilated while he continues riding MY wave!

After I graduated, married, and started my own family, I moved to Maine, back to where my family used to summer and where I’d first started surfing.  I’ve rarely surfed NH in the years since.  Usually I would find myself making the drive only when the waves were too big and washed out during a Nor’easter.  The points and reefs seemed to smooth out what was often “washing machine” conditions at my local Maine spots.  I’ve watched NH get more and more crowded over the years as well.  Some days at The Wall I can count over 200 surfers.  Tooooo crowded for me.  The pace, the crowds, the locals are more user friendly to my tastes in Maine.  It’s not that I have anything against NH surfing; I actually still have many fond memories of surfing there.  And who knows, if I’d battled it out a little longer, maybe I too might have been accepted into the fold there.  But I don’t like to battle.  I like to surf, pure and simple.  New Hampshire and Maine, though bordering neighbors, are each unique and special in their own ways.  They both engender a distinct vibe in the water.  I still feel a strong connection to NH but I feel more at peace in Maine.  C’est la vie…

So Maine is my home now, for better and for worse.  I started surfing here, and it’s where I love to surf best.  Looking at Ralph’s pictures today though, stirred a lot of memories.  Not of specifically NH or Maine though, but of the old times…the old crew.  In that way, the memories, my memories, Ralph’s memories, and all of us who surf New England, are not really so different.  Ralph’s pics looked a lot like the pics I have in my own archives, both actually printed negatives in my albums, and imprinted images in my mind that will always be with me.  I remember my old crew too:  Lucas Merrow, John Saulnier, Mark Sullivan, my brothers, Pat, and Tim.  And the Qgunquit locals, both past and present: Crow, Dick Lovell, Ronnie Freeman, Peter Clayton, John Clancy, Brian Aromando, Billy and Rachael Ryan, Laura Breen Brogan, the Lorusso brothers, Billy Woodard, Dave and Neco Evans, Mark Reynolds, Joe Boutin, Doc George…a lot of faces and names I can’t even remember right now…and even old Fearless Fred…  God, so much fun we had in and out of the water, on epic, and even not so epic days.  All of it special.  Missing the ones who I no longer see out in the water…missing already the ones who I see all the time.  I’ve said it before and it bears repeating: I love everyone I’ve met, and have yet to meet in my life, even the ones I cannot stand and don’t even like…because all of them, all of you, are the characters that make up the story of my life.  And as Ralph knows, it’s the characters that truly matter…family, friends…Ohana…the memories are what we take with us as we journey forward… 

Keep paddling, Ralph… and all you other bitches and bastards too…and even to old Mr. Fat Walrus I say: Aloha!