on channeling the caretaker

and mocking hot air surfing etiquette

Alo dear reader!

If you hadn’t yet figured it out, I’d like to begin by stating the obvious:

I’m an antisocial prick.

I love people as long as they are not in groups, or communities or or such.

People are fine except when you bring them together.

Given this, I’m a cyclist who despises the goody two shoes cycling community who come together to pull each others privates and congratulate themselves with how eco they are.

Or.

They come together in groups to go ride the same trails or roads in a great big pack.

Fuck those guys. Too many people mean too many sparkplugs just waiting to be offended or worse, too many ninnies ready to make rules.

With this in mind, my ideal riding group size limit is five.

And even then?

I’m so fucking slow I spend 80% of my time on the road alone and trying to keep up. The guys get there first and have a few minutes to talk while I struggle along.

They get companionship, I get peace and quiet. They get to take breaks and let their heart rates slow down and get the reassurance that people are looking out for me.

Beyond that?

There’s not a lot of talking.

Lonely?

NO FUCKING WAY.

It’s great and I wouldn’t have things any other way.

Surfing on the other hand is a highly social activity - think golf for millennials who love doing things next to or in the water.

That and who have convinced themselves that they have a profound and spiritual connection with the ocean.

Surfers are golfers in flakey hippie form.

Rules. Etiquette and status games abound.

Most surf breaks during a big set of swells are breeding pits for the fit and eligible folks of means walking around half naked and all ripped from hours of paddling around on a piece of styrofoam all while pretending to care about the environment.

All of this is me taking a long time to say something very simple: I love surfing but I fucking HATE surfers.

Well…

That’s not entirely true.

I love some of my OG surfer friends (Old goat)

I love George and Louise.

And I especially love (and miss) the Caretaker.

The Caretaker is a crusty old prick, saltier than the dirtiest corner of a gherkin factory.

The Caretaker used to live a mile from our favourite break and sit in his car on the bluff and talk shit about everyone in the water.

He’s been having a hard time lately and wasn’t present during this last big swell.

So, I insisted that Lou and I assume the role of the Caretaker as we sat warming up and replenishing inbetween surf sessions.

The Caretaker is a particularly talented troll and I’ve learned much from his cynicism and misanthropy.

First came the soft top legion. The hurricane swells far exceeded their abilities. Sue and I cackled with delight as they took one wave after another as they mis timed the shore pound as high tide ravaged the beach.

Though the ocean was savage, they were determined and eventually made their way out into the line up.

Once there?

I wanted to give them new names - Bull Tits or Steer Boobies - they were that useless.

But that’s not entirely correct. Watching these twatwaddles paddle into and wipe out on wave after wave after wave wasn’t useless at all. It provided Lou and I with loads of guffaws and belly laughs as these kooks shared perspectives with many of the lobsters and other crustaceans on the reef.

But then?

Then came the moment of perfection. I saw it beginning when a very fit, very blond barbie doll of a gal came up on the bluff. She looked around at the wave, then looked around at us. She seemed eager and action ready.

She was almost as pretty as I was. A few more wrinkles and a bit more junk in the trunk and she may even have been attractive.

I for one was excited to see her out in the water. No, not to see what she looked like in a wetsuit. Most people - other than myself look terrible in a wetsuit.

Surfers have big beautiful backs, well developed chests but tiny little butts - so so small and pathetic they’re almost non existent and terribly skinny legs. Everyday you surf is a great upper body work out. But surfers being surfers spend years skipping leg day.

Eventually she showed up with - get this - an inflatable stand up paddle board.

It wasn’t merely me and Sue channeling the spirit of The Caretaker at this point. There could be nothing more kookish than showing up to surf hurricane swell on a windy day with an inflatable board.

Those things don’t track well on a windy lake let alone on set waves that were well over head high.

And Surfer-girl Barbie with here neon waist leash and paddle board filled with hot air?

She was going to be the main event.

It’s likely problematic to delight in watching a woman get beaten up.

But,

On this day?

All aboard the bluff were being highly problematic.

First came her struggle with the shore pound.

Though it took her nearly twenty minutes, she persisted, pony tail drenched and nose dripping salt water and snot, made her way ‘out the back’ and into the line up.

Once there, it was clear that she had no idea where the take off area was. She had no sweet clue what she was doing.

And oh it was delightful.

First she attempted to paddle over to where the others were. She sidled up along the dudes who were as kookish as her and taking multiple wave beat downs. It was an incredible case of the incompetent leading the ignorant.

That didn’t last long.

Soon, another set wave rolled in.

Woosh over the falls went the the two timid turds while Barbie action paddle high tailed it further away from the shore.

Without the men she had found in the line up, Barbie began drifting in the wind.

This went on for a couple more sets of waves. I was preparing myself to take bets about where she’d wash up and how long it would take to get there.

The safe bet was Martinique Beach - just down the road.

But a troll like me puts his money on a long shot. My bet? Portugal.

This was when The Teacher showed up.

He tut tutted with scorn, she’s going to get herself killed out there, just as Action Paddle Barbie paddled for a wave, planted the nose of her paddle board and was flung violently over the falls.

GOAL! I shouted, jumping to my feet with both hands held aloft.

The teacher shook his head dismissively. She shouldn’t be out there, she’s putting her life at ris.

I just grinned and giggled I know, isn’t it great?

His reply was stern: No, she puts all at risk if one of us has to go and rescue her.

I giggled again. Who told you that you had to go and rescue her? She’s a grown ass woman, she can take care of herself. She’s not my problem.

Again, the Teacher shook his head in scorn. Do you remember that time when we were first surfing together? It was all blown out and windy. And we went into the mush. It was really dangerous. We could have died.

My reply sounded like a broken record.

I know, isn’t it great!

We both had come to know better. This knowledge we earned through experience.

And?

Action Paddle Barbie?

She was learning.

It was at that time my belittling ridicule felt almost protective.

One, I didn’t want to stop mocking her. It was fun watching her struggle. It was a joy to watch her learn how to not take the ocean lightly.

And two?

I didn’t want the Teacher telling her not to surf. One because it would rob her of a pathway to the knowledge and status that his safetyism was a product of.

And two?

It was really funny watching her get pounded down wave after wave after wave, yet pop back up only to have the shit kicked out of her once again.

But I don’t think the Teacher was really worried about this woman.

In fact I heard the Caretaker make these complaints regularly before about who should or shouldn’t be out in certain conditions.

In reality?

These learning fucksticks just get in the fucking way and make it less fun for those of us who know what the fuck we’re doing.

And the safetism at its core?

It’s about protecting the limited resource of few waves.

Surfers are at their core anti social pricks who don’t share. One wave, one person. That’s it. Four wave sets every fifteen minutes.

Anyone who tells you they love ‘the community’?

They love using their place in ‘the community’, in the pecking order to get more than their fair share of a very limited resource.

The biggest lesson in this however?

People are fucking hilarious. They take surfing seriously. Which is so funny because life is a lot like surfing.

And at its core?

None of this is meant to be taken seriously.