Venice Part 4 - Surf’s Up

Yes, Southern California is the land of constant sunshine, and people are on the beach in Venice almost every day of the year. So it was when I was there in 1970.

After watching surfers catching waves and being still somewhat intoxicated by the myth of the West Coast surf scene (Surfer Girl, Surfin’ USA, etc.) I decide to give surfing a try. Bill, you remember him as the superintendent of our Horizon Ave. apartment, lent me a surfboard. It was one of the older models, predating the era when boards became shorter and more easily maneuvered.

Newer boards were just over 6 feet in length, but this dinosaur was close to 10 feet long, and weighed 25 - 30 lbs. Not to look a “gift horse in the mouth,” I ventured out one afternoon carrying the yellow board under one arm, along with high, if unrealistic, expectations.

The surf at Venice Beach isn’t the record breaking curls you might see in Hawaii or even in other parts of California. Still, the waves were big enough to provide a decent ride atop a 2 to 4 foot crest. I spent the next hour or so paddling out just past where they were breaking, studying the more experienced surfers, and trying to catch a ride. I had some success and even stood up on the board a couple of times.

You could gauge the size of the waves by the spray they threw up when they hit the breakwater on the southern end of the beach, and watch as they rolled in. After a while I could estimate where a wave might break and paddle out to meet it, which meant getting behind it before it broke, then pushing to catch the crest.

I was tired after over an hour of paddling out, pushing to handle a wave, and then doing it all over again. I thought I’d give it one more shot before calling it a day. Almost to the point where the waves were breaking when something caught my attention. Out of the corner of my eye I saw huge curtain of spray blasting up and over the breakwater wall. It was a rouge roller, much taller than anything that had been coming all afternoon.

I wasn’t far enough out to paddle past the point where it would break, but I began to paddle as hard as I could to try to beat the wave, get behind it before it broke. I didn’t make it. The 8 foot crasher broke right on top of me. The force knocked me from my board and pulled me under. Within seconds, I couldn’t tell which way was up, which way was down, or in which direction I should swim to find air.

I opened my eyes to a bright cascade of white bubbles as the wave tossed and rolled me. I could feel myself running out of air. For a brief moment I thought, “This is so beautiful, and the bubbles are full of air, I bet I could breathe down here!” Luckily, I bobbed up and out of the swirl and caught my breath. But, just then the board struck a glancing blow to the side of my head. It had been pulled under by the breaker, but because it was buoyant it shot up out of the water and came down on me. Smart surfers tie their ankles to the board so this doesn’t happen. I was a reckless rookie and almost paid the price.

My arms were lead as I pushed myself toward the shore. At last I felt something solid beneath me, struggled up the sand, and fell exhausted on the beach. I had a gash and a bruise on the side of my head, but I was alive. The board washed up a little way down the beach and when I had recovered sufficiently I walked down and retrieved it. Needless to say, that was my one and only attempt at living the surfer dream.