SURFIN' SAFARI SUMMER TWO - DAY TWENTY - September 8, 2020

 




Labor Day Weekend came with triple-digit temperatures and we took the advice of public health officials for people of a certain age group by inflating ourselves with fluids while sitting in front of a fan.

This discipline entailed lots of movie and television viewing. We were watching “King of Queens,” which usually segues into more “King of Queens,” except on Saturday night when a sports program called “The Immortals” is broadcast. It’s usually terrible. The producers use only still shots while voicing over legendary, on-field exploits, the actual clips of which they apparently could not afford to purchase.

But the immortals this week were surfer gods, Kelly Slater and Mick Fanning. Lots of great footage including a clip of Fanning getting attacked by a shark in the middle of a televised competition Down Under. He uses his board as a shield and even jacks the predator once or twice with his fist and forearm.

Dozing off, I awoke at 6 a.m. with the image of Fanning punching a shark still dominating my consciousness. I don’t believe in signs, but televised sports have always given me a charge and a dawn patrol was in the offing. 

It was yet cool and heading out before the temperature headed up seemed a good idea. Arriving at Topanga around 7:15 a.m., I realized many others had hit upon the same good idea.

It was a traffic jam out there. Guys and Gals, old and young, Hawaiian and Japanese and Californio. Some fabulous waveriders.

You can see from the video how crowded things were, and how a single wave works its way down the point south so that many people can hitch their board to its force. That's why it's so popular.

This kind of surfing entails bobbing in a pod with a bunch of other people you really wish weren’t there. When a wave comes up, everyone paddles at once, in the same direction, like a bunch of barracudas chasing a punctured seal, or a school of freelance writers scooting after a decent lead on “MediaBistro.”

There literally are crashes of boards, people getting cut by the fins of riders sluicing through, and angry claims of someone having dropped in and stolen someone else’s wave.

I don't care to surf like that. I paddled around for a bit, mostly dodging other surfers, and then turned for home and a breakfast burrito. 

That scrum was to be expected. The working crowd must have its day and it must do so as a crowd. There have been other times at Topanga when my only companion was a seal.


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