SPECIAL SPRING SAFARI May 27, 2021

LUNATICO. Lunatic. Maddened by “La Luna.” The Moon.

In my novel “Vedette” the Spanish Civil War is cast in terms of a celestial binary pitting the forces of the Sun (fascism) against those of the Moon (anarchism). The climax unspools beneath a lunar eclipse of the sun that closes the heroine’s spiritual circle and vindicates her world view.

It’s not very modern to use the moon in literature. As early as the turn of the 19th century, the Futurist Marinetti said art must-needs, “Murder the Moonshine” and be done with the tired romantic lament.

But we all have our influences and mine are in large part Spanish; and Spain birthed Federico Garcia Lorca who specialized in making the old, new. And Spain literally murdered him for his modernity. If you go to Lorca’s school, you’ve room for the moon in your toolbox.

I will take the Stones over the Beatles, “Moonlight Mile” over “Here Comes the Sun.” I consider surfing an interaction with the moon as she toys with the rhythms and rises of the waters. The poet Marge Piercy declares, “The Moon is Always Female.” So there’s that, too.

Lunatico. I surf on my birthday for symbolic reasons. This year it coincided with both a night time solar eclipse of the moon AND a full moon. You can surf under a full moon. There’s enough light and it tends to hit the face of the wave rolling in so the surfer can get the perspective needed to time their takeoff. My brother-in-law Clinton took me out under the moon about 15 years ago and it was memorable.

Because the household had double birthdays this week, Clinton was in from Santa Fe, and he suggested we do a Midnight Moon run. I was down. Yes, it is foolhardy to do such a thing at the age of 61. And I’m no spiritual, intuitive person picking up signals all over the place but, c’mon: full moon, eclipse, and the presence of the only man mad enough to propose the run...

Alas, the moon was hidden by clouds. Couldn’t see a thing. The waves rose up, suddenly, out of the darkness, and bitch-slapped you. But First Point Malibu is one of the best spots in the world and that wave just wants to pick you up and carry you home, rather than crash you into the cobblestone boneyard beneath your board. I never surf First Point because there are usually 50 guys out there. But not at night. Joined by Colin Irving, we had sole possession of the break and stuck things out until our other senses dialed up the water's pulse as night fright and cold melted away on the lips of loving waves.

Clinton is my surf sensei. He got me going with a beater board and an old wetsuit; and showed me the ropes throughout the summer of 2006. Whenever we surf together I really suck, because that's how such things go, but I was not, on this night, bothered by his being there; went about my serious business of catching four rides “down the line” that made this birthday the best ever.