Sometimes I feel like a fraud. Like I’m not a real surfer. It’s not bad enough that I’m an East Coaster,
but I surf in Maine! Of all the
godforsaken places for a surfer to live…
I’ve been to California but it wasn’t a real surf trip. Spent 10 days there the 1st year
of my marriage, staying with my brother who was stationed at Pendelton. But I wasn’t there to surf, per se. Oh sure, I brought my board, but I also
brought a non-surfing spouse; it was supposed to be a “on the cheap”
honeymoon. And my non-surfing spouse was
more interested in going to Disneyland and Universal Studios. Out of the whole ten days I surfed exactly:
two. The first was crappy, onshore,
mushy out-of-season Malibu. The second
day was at Trestles. I got there just as
the wind was switching onshore. Surfers
trudging up the trail told me I’d really missed it. I’d checked the beach break across from my
brother’s apartment early that morning and it was offshore and clean but my non-surfing
spouse wanted to finish watching a movie on my brother’s cable tv; cable was
new and exciting back in ’82. So I got
to the beach late. Right as the wind switched.
I paddled out anyway and it wasn’t too bad but I could see it was
breaking much better further down the beach.
Unbeknowst to me, I’d paddled out at Uppers and down the beach where it
was breaking better was still-pretty-damn-good-despite-being-onshore
Lowers. But my non-surfing spouse didn’t
want to walk any further so I missed the best day of the whole trip, surfing
crappy Uppers. The ironic thing is, the same storm that provided the surf while
I was in California and eventually travelled across the continent and went off
the Maine coast as a Nor’easter that I surfed a few days after I got home and
it was far, far better…but damn cold, being March and all…
Over the years a little bit of me died each time I’d hear
about some of my surfing friends’ trips.
I know some who’ve spent months in Costa Rica, winters in the Virgin
Islands and Puerto Rico. One of my old
surfing buddies owns property out at the old Hollister Ranch (prime surfing!) in
California. Even Nova Scotia…many of my
friends have made multiple trips up to that point riddled surfing
wonderland. I’ve not made even one. I’ve dreamed of making a camping/surfing
excursion up there, it just hasn’t worked out for me. I also know of a few that have made dream trips
to J-Bay in South Africa…my ultimate dream destination. And then of course, there’s Hawaii. No self-respecting surfer can call themselves
a complete surfer unless they’ve completed a pilgrimage to the North
Shore. It might as well be the dark side
of the moon for me…
No, the reasons for my being stuck fast to Maine like a limpet
to a rock, are many and heartbreaking.
But stuck I am. Oh, I try to make
the best of it, and I do love it here; Maine will always be my home. “Home” to a former military brat is a
precious thing. You see, even though I
lived in a few places while my dad was still active military, I never felt I
belonged anywhere. But the last few
decades, living here in Maine, I finally do feel that this is home. But…there is that wanderlust too. Cuz I’m a surfer, and surfers are travelers. Least they’re supposed to be…I need to get
out there and do it; I need to find a way…time goes short in this life…
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