Surf Is Where You Find It (Revised and Expanded)

Racing the fast and seemingly endless wall at G-Land was a lesson in how to be an efficient wave rider … any mistake, and in a blink, it was all over. Photo: Art Brewer

Surfing is whatever one wants to make of it. With the fluid stage and the cast of characters, anything goes is usually the rule … actually there aren’t any rules. This is what makes surfing so appealing. But in my almost fifty years of surfing, I’ve made a few rules for myself.

Lopez Rule #1: Surf to surf tomorrow, never surf like there’s no tomorrow. Leave that to the young guys: Their bones are strong and heal quickly and they have more enthusiasm.

Lopez Rule #2: Pace yourself. This goes with a corollary: Sitting in the lineup is always better than sitting on the beach. When traveling around the world for surf, one may as well spend as much of the daylight hours as possible out in the surf.

Lopez Rule #3: Don’t talk in the lineup unless you want to get caught inside. There is absolutely nothing worse than taking a ride around the horn for not paying attention.

Rules notwithstanding, there was one time I got really caught inside down at the surf camp in G-Land. What follows is a cautionary tale.

The surf was coming up. There were solid ten-foot sets. That is about the maximum size G-Land can hold. The waves don’t get much taller there, only more powerful and more consistent. A great set started to come in. The lineup was crowded. Most of the guys were trying to play it safe. The first wave rolled in. I saw it was perfect, big, and no one was even looking at it. They were all looking at the rest of the set. Breaking Lopez Rule #4—never, ever, take the first wave of the set—I spun around and paddled into the sweet-looking first one.

The takeoff was very late. The lip was already pitching out down the line. I was riding a 7’4”, giving me a lot of horsepower. Ducking under the heaving lip as I got to my feet was a tricky, delicate maneuver. Lightly setting an edge, I threaded a high line in front of a few guys paddling for their lives. Moderating this precarious course, I banked down the face slightly as the wave began to tube.

G-Land’s best feature is that even when it’s smaller, once the tube starts spinning, there’s a lot of room to run a deep line. At this size, there was room enough to stand straight up, but I stayed crouched in the attack stance, racing for the daylight. The wave started from the main takeoff at Outside Moneytrees. In what seemed a blink of an eye, I had traveled a considerable distance down the line.

The next section at the Launching Pad loomed ahead. Looking out from inside the tunneling wave, the upcoming section had the appearance of wanting to break before I got there. If it was hollow enough, there was a chance to slip in the backdoor. From my position, it didn’t look that way. We named this part of the wave the Launching Pad because it was just that, a mushy, relatively speaking, easy launch into the run at Speed Reef, the inside and most hollow part of the main break. The Speedies section was easier to make if the ride started at the Launch Pad.

I was coming in behind the backdoor. To have it collapse on me would be roughly the equivalent of having a 400-pound gorilla jump off the roof right on my back while all his pals were waiting on the bottom with baseball bats. There is always a slight pause between sections of a wave. I took this opportunity to sweep down to the bottom. Turning there as hard as I could to square it off, I wanted to punch straight into and through the wave.

The 7’4” was as long a board as I would ever use here, stable on the open face but not able to make tight turns. My turn wasn’t as perpendicular to the wave as I needed for penetrating through the face. Just then I noticed the section ahead was throwing out a lot more than the first time I looked at it. Now it seemed to have room to ride through, except I was already midway into a Hawaiian pullout.

It was too late for anything other than the thought to cross my mind. I punched into the wave face and knew instantly my board wasn’t going to make it. On a clean pull out, I would have come through the back of the wave still standing on my board with time to paddle and escape the wave behind. By abandoning ship, I knew I was going to pay a price on the next wave. The wave I was riding was simply too big, too hollow, and too powerful for any gamble. My first priority was to save myself; the board was on its own.

Kicking off my stricken surfboard, I could feel the passing wave’s suction, trying to pull me back into the turmoil where my board was headed. I swam hard, turning over, facing back toward where the leash began to pull.

The danger was enhanced by the big board and heavy-duty leash. A smaller leash might have snapped, ending the terror. Escape was not an option. I was firmly attached to all that was about to happen.

I flailed backward, trying to hold my ground. On the other end of the cord, my surfboard felt like a huge fish on the line about to pull me right off the boat. I couldn’t even go up for air.

At last the power of the wave passed, enabling me to scramble to the surface and breathe. My surfboard was underwater, still within the wave’s power, pulling me further inside. I gasped for some air, then hurried to duck under as the second wave of the set broke right on me.

Somehow this wave must have pitched completely over my submerged board. As I came up, I could feel the tension on my leash slacken. Breaking the surface, I saw my surfboard about thirty feet away on a seven-foot leash. The board came back fast. It flew through the air and plopped down right next to me with such good manners that without thinking I just jumped on and started stroking to evade the wave after and get back out.

The last conscious decision I made was when I foolishly decided to catch the first wave of the set. The drama was beginning to resemble those major tests in life: the ones where people don’t even know they are being tested until waking up in the hospital, at the altar, or just lying on the ground. This was not an ultimate test, but neither was it a pop quiz.

A smaller leash might have snapped, ending the terror. Escape was not an option. I was firmly attached to all that was about to happen.

I was on my board, paddling hard, when I experienced a moment when everything at that precise point in time is absolutely clear. Clarity can be so startling that it transcends before and after. What I saw bearing down on me made me change my mind about what kind of test this was. Maybe it was going to be very close to that ultimate test, very close indeed.

In case the reader doesn’t know what the ultimate test is, let me say that the ultimate test is whether or not one will be able to survive death. Is there something after? That question we spend our lives asking has yet to induce a reply.

No such question, big or small, was in my mind during my moment of clarity. What I did understand was that I was looking up at the biggest, meanest wave that I had ever seen at G-Land during the twenty-five years I had surfed there. In all candor, things could have been better. This wave was Howard Huge, Godzilla, and “The End” all rolled into one. It was bearing down on me with absolute and utter disdain.

Despair filled me like the smell of carrion on a hot day as I snuck a glance up the line. I saw other surfers in better positions than mine jumping ship, headed for the bottom in search of safety. The unfortunate jumpers seemed to fear even making eye contact with the energetic gorgon at the heart of this monster gathering before them. Panic was everywhere and I could feel its icy breath trying to envelop me. No one was even thinking about riding it, they just wanted to get away.

This was one of those pure moments that transcends the emotion of “I don’t like it here.” What looms is beyond the choice of “I don’t want to be here.” Reason can’t form the words to say, “This is too crazy.” If a person believes in destiny, and I do, then he has to believe that fate put him here in this moment to decide what is real for him.

If faith cradles him, he will subconsciously do the right thing. If he has no belief, he may perish. So there it was: infidel or true believer, choose one and make it fast. The sole function of consciousness at a time like this is to clear the parade ground, not intrude, step back, and listen to the band play.

I had been in similar spots before, but with better options. In those moments I was younger and usually in much better condition, so a thrashing wouldn’t worry me much. In this fateful moment, at my age and with my strength much diminished, a set like this one could very well have been the end of me in my current mortal form. This I knew absolutely. I think ultimately that’s what was so defining about this moment. I really thought I might drown, but I wasn’t ready just yet.

To quell my mind and the ensuing panic, I put my head down and concentrated totally on paddling. I focused on each stroke and each breath. Knowing the sight of this monstrous wave alone would defeat me, I dared not look. Nearing the wave, I needed to glance up to get my bearings. Even knowing what to expect, seeing this wave rearing up before me was chilling. I could feel the panic rising like a tub full of cold water about to overflow. I am still not sure precisely what to believe about the moment that unfolded.

This wave was pitching. I was still about thirty to forty feet away. This was too far to make it, but this wave had a mind of its own. It pitched out, and out, and still further out. Picture a wave pitching out more than three times its height. It didn’t seem real.

When I saw the lip suspended, I thought maybe this wave is trying to give me a chance. It would be a very slight one, but a chance nonetheless, if I could get underneath the lip. Later on, I would imagine that perhaps some force of my will had something to do with making this wave throw out in such an unexpected manner.

Even though the wave was still a long way off, I pushed down deep, concentrating on keeping my surfboard level. It had to be perfect or I was done. As I went underwater with the lip throwing overhead, the water being drawn up into the wave accelerated me with such force that I almost lost my grip on the rails. I hung on for my life and could feel when I entered the wave face.

My forward motion slowed dramatically as though the water of the wave itself was somehow denser than the remaining ocean. Then suddenly I wasn’t going forward anymore. I hung suspended. The suction was so immense that I actually could hear it. I was in the bowels of the wave. Then it began to pull me backward with great force. I used what momentum I had, porpoise kicking like mad, even paddling with one arm underwater as I held on with the other.

I think the dynamics of having a big board with more flotation worked in my favor. Its buoyancy squirted me up, and I surfaced with my engines going at flank speed.

I looked at what was next. Like a slap in the face there was another bigger and meaner wave than the one I had just escaped. Cold fear washed over me as I forced myself to look away and concentrate on paddling. Turning my head to the side, again I made the mistake of looking up the line where panic-stricken surfers were abandoning ship in a fear-induced frenzy. If there was a time to call for Mama, this was it.

I put my head down, looking at the deck of my board, putting everything I had into each and every stroke. I knew I couldn’t afford to waste anything. As I felt the wave loom up, I looked and again felt my entrails go icy cold. The wave appeared to be too far away for me to get successfully under it. But again this wave also pitched out beyond any understanding. As before, I knew that if my duck dive was anything less than perfect, I would be instantly sucked back into the blackness. Once into that nightmare, I would entertain scant likelihood of survival. Scratching for my life, I pushed under and kicked through for all I was worth.

Again the big board’s momentum and buoyancy shot me out the other side like a Polaris missile firing. I had made it, or so I thought. But no, the wave behind was still yet more immense and bearing down on me as surely as a hungry shark that scents blood.

I put my head down and paddled like there was no tomorrow. My vision was narrowing down from overexertion and lack of oxygen. I was dimly aware of other surfers in the water, off their boards, not even trying to paddle before they were whisked away in a blur. I had the drill, but the physical reserves were spent. I was making the motions of paddling but without any power.

As I came up on the wave, feathering precariously and standing so tall, again a look at it was almost my undoing. My technique was being driven by something as near to instinct as a human can have. I pushed down into my duck dive. The wave exerted the enormity of its power. It was like a bear pulling at my feet trying to tear off my legs. I kicked harder.

Somehow I did it right and popped up again, believing this had to be finished. How many waves had that been? There couldn’t be any more in the set—but there was. The ultimate King Kong was coming fast. I was beyond knowing or even caring if this was a bigger wave. It seemed huge, but my mind was as weary as my body. Could I go on? What if there were more after this one? I couldn’t let go now. I knew I was finished if I did. I was depleted, exhausted, and my spirit was perilously close to broken.

Then from some faraway place in my mind came the thought that I had made it this far, much farther than I had first thought possible. Like a ray of hope, it seemed to galvanize me, my strokes felt smooth. Like many paddleboard events raced in the past, my whole world at this moment was stroke and trim, smooth out the frenzy, become wholly efficient.

I noticed I was suddenly calm. The thicket of my mind was clear. More power seemed to come back with each stroke. I made it. I wasn’t through this wave or whatever was behind it, but in my mind I felt I had been put through the crucible. Upon finding I was not lacking, another force rose to the occasion. It was an ally I had been aware of but had found difficult to access. I felt I had single-handedly turned the tide in my favor not through any physical prowess, but rather by the simple technique of allowing my mind to work for me instead of for my defeat.

I duck-dived the next wave, and just like that it was over, the ocean was calm again on the other side, no more waves. The spirit of the place seemed different after, as if the energy spent on producing that set had drained its tank. The surface texture, the color, even the smell seemed like it had changed.

Maybe it was me who had changed as well. I paddled out and intersected my brother, Victor, who asked how my first wave was and did I see his second one. That was the wave that broke on my head when I was still trying to get my board back. I hadn’t realized that anyone was riding it.

Victor said his wave was great and I told him mine was too. But I didn’t have the energy to go into what came after that first wave just then. The moment was still upon me. It seemed to linger and I liked the feeling, but I needed to examine it before I shared it with someone else.

At G-Land, speed down the line was essential. But once up and running, there were moments where one could relax and go with the flow. Photos: Art Brewer

Victor and I had ridden the only two waves of that set that anyone got. After the first two waves it had totally cleaned out the lineup. Where there had been thirty or more guys minutes before, now there was no one else but us as we paddled back out.

It was strange. I pondered all I had been through, and here was my brother going on about how great that set had looked to him. Victor was just paddling back out after his wave, oblivious as to how it had looked to me. It was as if he was on one side of a time warp and I was on the other, yet there we were, paddling side by side.

I felt that my moment of clarity was like a momentary glimpse of the Truth. The Truth is when things are as they are. I was caught inside and should have been pounded, perhaps even killed. Somehow the situation called on some inner power that pulled me through while everybody else was washed away.

Life is a series of moments. I came through that set to find that all moments are simultaneous but at the same time separate and unique. Victor’s moments were not like mine. And as to the Truth, it is “What Is So.” But after talking with Victor who told me about his own entirely different experience very nearby at the same time, I’ve decided that Truth may also, but not so obviously, be “So What!”

Seldom are there situations in our lives where there really are no choices. But that was my experience with the killer set at G-Land. There was no luxury to tarry thinking, weighing the whys and wherefores and so on. My actions and reactions had to be immediate.

The one choice I found was to believe that the tools and skills to handle the situation were already there. I didn’t believe I was going to escape that set, but I was put into the situation where I had no choice but to try. Usually there is some choice of better or worse options, but in that instance there wasn’t any choice. That’s why it worked for me. No choosing, no deliberating, just do it.

There is a Taoist saying: The way to do is to be. Facing that monster set at G-Land, I did right because I was already right, once I got out of the way of myself. I didn’t panic like the other surfers and allow myself to be swept along with the current. By abandoning the notion of a choice, I was in a place where my innate abilities and intrinsic wisdom were able to rise above my fears and expectations.

The inner self is a great place. It’s closer than most people think and it is nearly perfect. When a person can find the way to access this wonderful state at will, there is no worry about being caught inside again. Surfing has an endless supply of lessons to teach us. Surf realization is about believing those lessons can, and should, be applied to life.

I’ve come to believe that surfing is as deep and meaningful as one wants to make it. At the same time, surfing is as shallow and light as pure fun can be. Do it for whatever reasons a person can want, but keep doing it.

The fifth and final Lopez Rule: The best surfer in the water is the guy having the most fun. I try to remember that one.

The Pipe even after the tube was still a fun wave to ride. Photo: Jeff Divine

Photo: Buzzy Kerbox collection

I managed to find a quiet moment under the pier before the final heat in the 1968 U.S. Surfing Championships at Huntington each. Photo: Art Brewer

The golden sunset and the kids of Bali had the same thing in common: beauty. Photo: Dana Edmunds

While not all Pipe Masters events had good waves on contest day, this one back in the 1970s sure seemed to have one I enjoyed. Photo: Dan Merkel

A sequence of my last truly fine wave at the Pipeline. Photo: Mike Waggoner

Contemplating the waves or waiting for the right moment of the tide … at G-Land back in the beginning days of the surf camp. Photo: Don King

Again i had survived and that was something to relish after a day surfing the Pipeline. Photo: ralph Cipolla/Lost and found Collection