Stories: Not Too Far From The Ocean
The End of Polio? • I Was a Long-boarder • The Draft: What's Your Problem? • Timothy Leary? • To Ski or Not to Ski • Butch and Sundance • Dogs, Dogs, Dogs! • Arrivals • It's Just a Car • Fish On! • Music Musings • Walter Mitty Redux • Clamming and Crabbing • Grandpop: Can We Talk?
I Was a Long-boarder
Readjusting to life after polio and spending nearly a year away from school took some time. Time to adjust and time to re-establish my friends. My grammar school, in their infinite wisdom, decided to move me down a grade upon my return—I guess they thought polio makes you stupid as well as paralyzed. As it turned out, I made many new friends I remain in touch with today. Since we were all beach kids influenced by surfing, wanting a surfboard but couldn't afford it, skateboarding became our outlet.
In those days, skateboarding was just in its infancy, so my friends and I built boards with metal roller skates. We would take the metal roller skates apart and screw them down onto the bottom of a piece of 3/4" plywood we cut to 3 to 4 feet long by 1 foot wide. This let us walk the nose as we skated and challenged us to try the steepest Santa Monica streets we could find.
After a fall on the 23rd Street hill, a steep one, I decided to do the hallways at Grant School—my grammar school, yes, the school that put me down a grade after my polio experience. The hallways were a beautifully smooth concrete—wonderful boarding but I longed for a real surfboard, especially after I was sent to the school principal for skateboarding in the Grant School hallways.
I constantly badgerd my dad for a surfboard. He finally capitulated, and on my 16th birthday, he decided to help me buy a board. I remember Dad and me driving to Venice Beach to what is now Marina Del Rey to a surf shop to purchase my first board— a Velsy & Jacobs. Dale Velsy and Hap Jacob's shop was considered by some to be the first surfboard shop in Southern California. We bought a beautiful 9' 2" round tail balsa wood board that got me started—I wish I had it today.
I wasn't a great surfer, but I considered myself a good one. I preferred a point break like Malibu or, Leo Carrillo Beach that we used to call Secos back in the day—great waves as I recall.
A point break is where the rocks or coral underneath allows a swell to break left or right. However, in those days, we would take anything we could get. Our boards were long, heavy, and had no leashes. None of us had wetsuits because we couldn't afford them.
I remember Anton and me cutting school one beautiful winter day and driving up to Oxnard Shores as we heard the swell was perfect—a beach break. There was nothing there back then, and you could drive right out onto the beach—of course, with the proper vehicle.
Legends:
I surfed with some of the legends back then. I knew Johnny Fain casually from high school—Samohi, and we shared a few waves. I did feel comfortable taking off in front of him, but only on certain waves where I knew he was not locked in. Sadly Johnny passed away in 2022.
Then there was Lance Carson; I idolized his smooth style and toes on the nose. I never took off in front of Lance, as I respected him too much and his casual style.
There were other great ones that I disliked, namely Mickey Dora and Wayne Miyata. I took off in front of Dora one day at Malibu on a nice 4-footer. After a bit, I realized that Dora was coming up behind me on the same wave, and before I knew it, I heard a whoosh and wind pass my left ear as he kicked out on me and missed me by inches—I finished the wave.
I encountered Wayne Miyata in Hawaii in 1960, surfing Ala Moana (now called The Bowls) and Santa Monica Beach later. He also tried to kick out on me both times since I was in front of him on a wave. General surfing etiquette is that if someone is locked into a wave behind you, don't take off in front of them, especially someone like Mickey Dora, as you might take your life in your hands. I have no grudge since Mickey and Wayne have passed—they were both legends in the surf world, especially Dora.
Surfing Buddies:
My Santa Monica surfing buddies were a motley crew, to say the least. From left to right, pictured below: Me, well, damn, I was pretty buffed in those days after a few years of surfing. Gary, in the shorts, lives in Daytona Beach and sells ice cream on the beach—at least as far as I know. Anton, with the stylish coat, lived down the street from me, and I recall that he had a full beard and could shave at 12 years old—he has passed on now. Then there was Bobby, the clown. I am unsure what happened to him, but I recall helping him after losing his board on a large wave at Ventura Overhead (Emma Wood State Beach).
Then, my 1953 Ford Victoria hardtop convertible (that means all the windows roll down with no posts between the front and back seats) whitewalls included! I loved that car.
Mexico: Sharks?
Inspired by John Severson and Bud Browne's surf movies from the 1960s and an undying passion for waves, Gary and I decided to take an excursion to Baja as we heard the surf was excellent at San Miguel and K38 at certain times of the year, and swell directions. Being late teens, we had never been to Mexico and were looking forward to excellent street food and some spectacular surfing. We planned to work our way down from Tijuana to Rosarito Beach, K38, San Miguel, and finally wind up in Ensenada and try some Turtle soup, which we heard was spectacular and just delicious.
I recall no documentation was needed in those days to cross the border from San Diego to Mexico other than a driver's license or a birth certificate to prove your citizenship. So we packed up Gary's VW van and headed off for our Baja adventure.
We arrived in Tijuana early in the evening and immediately consumed some street food tacos. The best I can remember since I consider myself a Mexican food gourmet, being born and raised in Southern California.
It was getting late, so we found ourselves in the famous Tijuana Long Bar saloon shooting some tequila—we were both 18-ish then, but no one seemed to care. Scantily-clad girls were roaming the bar and found us young white boys getting a bit tipsy on tequila. Gary seemed to be indulging himself a bit too much, and I decided we should exit. I coaxed him out of the bar, and we wound up on a dark side street, where we spent the night in the van, sleeping on top of our surfboards.
The next morning, we went on our way down Baja toward Rosarito Beach. I can't remember if we stayed there very long, as we wanted to get down to K-38 and San Miguel to check the surf. Checking the surf conditions in those days was essentially non-existent, as there wasn't any of the technology that we have today—we took our chances.
Even though K38 and especially San Miguel are considered the best waves in Northern Baja, they were blown out that day (meaning there was way too much wind), so we continued South toward Ensenada.
We found ourselves at a place they now call Cannery Stacks (Stax) just North of Ensenada. I recall a deserted beach and a cannery with a dilapidated pier jutting out from the beach. It was early afternoon, still windy, but the waves were 4 to 5 feet, consistent right and left off the pier. We were stoked and couldn't wait to get into the water. We noticed a funny fishy smell coming from near the end of the pier as we paddled out but were too excited to give it a second thought.
As usual, Gary set up on a wave, then took off on a nice left as I knee-paddled up and over the wave lip. The swells were growing, and I positioned myself for the next set. The wave was a perfect 4' left, and I dropped in. I remember crushing through an overhead barrel almost to the beach—one of the best.
Exhilarated by adrenaline, I paddled out again as Gary set up for the next wave. He took off on a beautiful 5' left as I paddled out, trying to get out of the way. I came over the lip of the wave and was thrown high in the air but held on to the rails of my board—no leash in those days, and my board at the time was a 9'-6" Dave Sweet weighing around 40 lbs. I came down hard and hit my right knee on my board, which produced immediate pain. I sat there momentarily, gathered myself, and realized I needed to get to the beach.
It was then I noticed fins in and around the pier. Gary was paddling out again, and I yelled at him there were sharks in the area and we needed to get to the beach post haste. We started in and picked up the shore break and slid in to the beach. We fell asleep in the van that night talking about tacos, surf, and of course sharks. We started back to California the following day as my knee swelled into a watermelon. The knee finally healed and the memories of our adventure remain.
To say we were dumb-ass teenagers might be an understatement considering the circumstances. A cannery, a pier, a fishy smell, and the cannery pushing fish guts out of the end of a pier? Well, in those days, we never paid much attention to shark attacks, and sharks didn't even enter our minds as the quest for the perfect wave was our only pursuit. We also didn't look like seals, as wet suits were unaffordable to us at the time.
We never did have that turtle soup in Ensenada!
Overhead:
It was one of those rare winter days at the Ventura Overhead, Emma Wood State Beach. The weather was perfect, beautiful, glassy, and consistently breaking at 10 to 12 feet. The shorebreak alone was 5 feet or more. We had driven up the night before and camped underneath the then-101 bridge.
In the morning, some big wave surfers appeared, namely Peter Cole—no relation. He was a famous big wave surfer born in California and raised in Santa Monica, like me. He made his mark surfing large waves on the North Shore of Oahu. I must admit, I was intimidated, and it took me a while to get in the water and fight the shorebreak to get out. Gary, of course, was always gung-ho and was in the water immediately.
That day, I realized how fragile we are, as the challenge of these waves made me think about what is essential in life. After making it through the shorebreak, I caught my breath and watched Peter and others catch waves—it was magical.
That's when I saw Bobby wipe out and go under, and when he came up, I noticed he was coughing. He wasn't an excellent swimmer, had swallowed some water, and his board was drifting out to sea with the intense riptide. I immediately paddled to him. After he calmed down, we noticed that his board was going out to sea with a strong riptide. We tandem paddled and grabbed his board, and he made it back in.
It was now my turn. I paddled in a bit and noticed a big, thick wave coming with no one on it, and I knew I had to go for it since I was in the perfect position. It was way over my head, at around 10 or 12 feet. I dropped in, looked over my left shoulder, and noticed the curl approaching me to say hello. The sound alone was like a jet on afterburners.
I made a smooth bottom turn; my knees were shaking, and after just a few seconds, the wave started to close out in front of me. I pushed hard on my tail block to stay into the curl but realised I needed to kick out of this wave before I wiped out.
I do recall kicking out as my board and I separated. I flew 5 feet in the air before landing face-first on the backside of that wave. Exhausted, I retrieved my board and went in to the beach. Below is a brief video composite of that winter wave as I encountered it at the Ventura Overhead that day—unforgettable.
That Beautiful Spring Day:
My best surfing day became a beautiful spring day at Malibu—my favorite break. I decided to cut school as I heard there would be a significant south swell—perfect for Malibu in those days. I didn't say anything to my parents, as they thought I was going to school as usual.
I had removed the backseat of my 53 Ford so that I could fit my 9'x6" Dave Sweet board through the trunk and underneath the driver's side front seat—eliminating a rack on top of the car. I even slept on my backseat board arrangement at times when I left home early to meet the morning glass in Malibu.
I arrived at Malibu around 8 a.m. that day and realized virtually no one was there—what a concept! It was breaking 4 to 5 feet with lines out to the horizon. I was so excited that I could hardly contain myself and get my board out of the car and into the water. As I paddled out, I realized that this would probably be the most unforgettable surfing experience of my life. Ultramarine blue, clear water, only 3 or 4 of us out, which was unusual even in those days, and beautiful south swells breaking consistently. I can't remember how many waves I caught that day, but the reef was such in those days that you could ride from the point outside to the shorebreak if you were lucky enough to get through a close-out section about halfway to the shorebreak. I was solo on most of the waves I caught that day and was exhausted by noon. I hung out on the beach for a while and watched the locals show up to take advantage of that beautiful day. I finally decided to go home around 3 p.m. Upon arriving home, my mom had a funny grin on her face, and I knew she had realized where I had been all day. Nothing was said...
