KERIANN BOONE
Staff Writer
Some argue that the surfing is not necessarily a sport, but rather a form of art. Each wave presents a canvas of movements on which the surfer learns to design his or her own masterpiece. It’s an addictive hobby, and some surfers would even argue that it’s a way of life. Dedicated ones will rise before dawn and surf for hours before the day begins.
They leave the water only when they must: for work, class, tides or wind changes. Outsiders find difficulty understanding this concept of dedicating one’s life to a sport. But to truly understand where a surfer finds passion, you have to put yourselves in his or her flip-flops.
Here’s how the typical morning of a committed Pepperdine surfer goes.
The day begins when the alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m. Stumbling out of bed, you grab a wetsuit from the shower. Your toes curl as they step outside onto the cold cement. While driving down the highway, the surf catches your eyes. It is a clean west swell, and you’re stoked.
The sand is colder than the cement. Walking down the beach, your eyes never leave the break. There are only five other surfers today, so you’ll have the waves to yourself. Lay down the board. Today will be chilly. Take a breath before taking off your sweatshirt, and make this quick. With your wetsuit on, you notice the board needs waxing.
Your eyes still haven’t left the break. Staring at the waves curling in, you see the sets coming in threes about 10 minutes apart. You visualize yourself taking the wave, and you’re off. Boom, pop up. Bottom turn. Through the lip, popped an 808. Check, please.
Here it goes. Run into the water and jump onto the board. The water has not gotten into the wetsuit yet. Wait, there it is. You flinch as the iciness seeps through your zipper.
Paddle to warm up. Heading to the break, foam splashes your face. A wave comes, and you turtle. Keep paddling. Finally, you’re there.
Watch for the next swell while you bob in the waves. It’s outside. Paddle out and turn left. Paddle hard. Take off and drop down the wave. Lean forward, bottom turn, tap your hands on the wave.
Then you hit it. Vertical snap: Throw your fins and make a spray before the wave closes out.
Paddle back out and bob some more. The sky turns pink as the sun creeps out. The waves are more visible, and another set is coming. Paddle out. Here comes a right. Take off, bottom turn. Roundhouse to rebound and spit from the tube.
The wind bites your face as you explode out of the wave. Hit the rebound on your backside and cut back into a figure eight. Then drop out as the wave closes and paddle back out.
Two hours later, head in. Peel off your wetsuit and put on dry clothes. Head back to the car and watch the waves again before starting the engine.
Pop Led Zeppelin’s IV into the CD player. Back home, hop into the shower to wash off plankton from the red tide. Better hurry, class starts in 30 minutes.
You look to the right while driving down Pacific Coast Highway, The waves are so good right now. Arriving class, you’re only seven minutes late. Not bad.
Sit down, hair still dripping. The drone of the professor slowly fades out. You stare blankly at your notebook while sketching pictures of waves. Only four hours of class left.
Call it a sport, art form or way of life — this is the devotion surfers give every day. Their creed remains the same: As long as the waves are decent, they must be surfed. If you’re a surfer, you know how this feels. If you’re not, hopefully this snapshot brings you one step closer to understanding.
09-22-2005
