Hurricane~Queen Jane Approximately~Nettie Moore~Talking World War III Blues~Jokerman~Like a Rolling Stone~Tangled Up In Blue~Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues~Boots of Spanish Leather~Masters of War~North Country Blues~Simple Twist of Fate~Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right~Only A Pawn In The Game~Rainy Day Women #12 and 35~Pretty Peggy-O~Honey, Just Allow Me One More Chance~Talkin’ New York~I Want You~Song To Woody~Bob Dylan’s Blues~Oxford Town

Standing Deep Breathing~Half Moon w/ Hands to Feet~Awkward~Eagle~Standing Head to Knee~Standing Bow Pulling~Balancing Stick~Standing Separate Leg Stretching~Triangle~Standing Separate Leg Head to Knee~Tree~Toe Stand~Dead Body~Wind Removing~Sit-Up~Cobra~Locust~Full Locust~Bow~Fixed Firm~Half Tortoise~Camel~Rabbit~Head to Knee Pose with Stretching~Spine Twisting~Blowing in Firm

Namaste

i got my shit handed to me again while surfing overhead waves at La Punta.  i am finding out the formidable way that a fluffy lefthander it’s not!  i waited on the way outside for about 30 min., when a ten wave set came storming inland.  after scratching over the tops of a few, and then allowing a few more to barge their way in, i opted to stroke into a meaty one.  i was on my trusty longboard.

at first, i performed a slow motion carve off the top with a splash of sophistication.  i actually remember thinking how good natured the wave seemed.  on my return trip to the lions mouth, i stayed well clear of the whitewash because i knew it to be way more strapping than it tries to appear.  first and foremost, i didn’t want to fall.  falling on the outside has consequences.  i will just leave it at that.

so i wrapped my cutback up fairly abruptly, set my next line, and determined that I was going to connect this wave to the inside section.  talk about consequences!  that meant sidestepping the sucking rock where bunny hopping and showing wave command are measuring devices that can determine whether or not it is a wave worth writing home about.  here is where my fortune cookie crumbled.

first i heard the yell, and this HEY had nothing to do with horses.  a couple of local boys were paddling out through the rocks.  they obviously saw what i didn’t.  my eyes were glued on the the big sucking rock and the next pack of surfers that use the rock as their lineup.  with only so much surplus focus, i hadn’t noticed that the face of my wave was caving in hard just in front of me. i was now in a moment.

and that’s when i unofficially blacked out.  not an official blackout, rather a mental one.  i honestly don’t know what happened next.  outside of making a split decision to play it as safe as i should and could, i can only say that i wish i could see the video replay, because the video wouldn’t lie.  when i snapped out of it, i knew i was in a pinch.  there were about four waves behind it, and i was drained.

uncurious, evil eyes appeared to be on me, but appearances can be deceiving in the ocean during even slight moments of panic.  yes i was still amongst the rocks.  and yes, powerful whitewash was still making its way to me.  but yes, i was in only four feet of water.  four little feet!  well i knew exactly what to do in four feet of water.  during my walk home, i thought about how much safer it is on land.

   

March 1, 2013, 10am

GIANT Puerto

100 feet above Sea Level

Wave Theory

by Papa Chango

Waves come and go as an irresistible force. At times the waves are very small and gentle. Other times they are powerful and violent. Sometimes there are great winds or undermining currents, or tides that render the waves near impossible to negotiate. As a surfer, I have developed skills that enable me to mingle with the sea. I have the choice to either swim in the sea or not.

It seems to me that I have come upon a tumultuous sea of ignorance. This sea is filled with floundering souls who are all in sight of a mirage of salvation and struggling to reach there. They are all struggling to be “good people.” They don’t do this and that. They do this and that. They approve of this but not that. They believe this and that is “just wrong.” And they struggle. They want others struggling to think well of them so they adopt ideas, trends, beliefs, fashions, children.

Most of these creatures treading water in the sea have never been taught to swim. Keeping their heads above water just comes natural but they cannot thrive there or move to a more hospitable place. They reach for, but never reach the mirage of salvation. Having done yoga for 38 years is an indication that perhaps there is no goal. Having watched television for 38 years has a similar outcome. Judging one or the other is like fighting over a mirage. So we struggle; you out there and me on the beach watching, but not willing to wade in and turn off the TV.

3-2-11

Yesterday I bought a new bicycle.  Brand spanking new.  It was $84 US, mas o menos.  I’d be laughing all the way to the bank if it were Made in China, but the truth is, the bike wasn’t really even Made.  It just became.  Plastic crank arms.  Lego parts.  Tin foil rims.  Pretty comfy little seat though.  15 gears.  The kind of bicycle you wouldn’t even find at Target or Home Depot.  So I got this bike, and all of a sudden I felt different.

For those of you at home who may not know, I am a professional bicycle rider.  Of late, I’ve traded in much of my fitness for a different kind of ability on two wheels.  That’s as vague as I’m going to leave it.  Anyway, I rode around the hectic block three of four times, each time having to stop back into the shop for a tune-up.  When it felt about as right as a piece of shit bicycle could ever feel, I soft pedaled away in search of a fan.

The big fan came in a big box.  I’d call it 2’x2’x6”.  The fan cost almost as much as the bicycle.  I cut a hand hole in the cardboard box.  I was going to be on the highway during the heat of the day, which happens to coincide with the busiest time of day on these chuddered roads.  I knew I had to reach into my bike riding bag of tricks to pull this one off.  The ice cream man appeared.  I bought a watermelon stick for 20 cents.

         

I knew it was bad.  I was close to shore luckily.  I covered it with my hand and waved over Papa Chango.  He hadn’t been surfing this particular morning, but thankfully was on the beach.  I can’t imagine the circumstances had he not been there.  “How bad is it?”  “You’re going to need stitches,”  he said. Shocking to hear those words come From him.  I had never been hurt down here.  There was blood everywhere.

Somebody apparently had called an ambulance.  When PC saw them coming towards the scene, he whisked me into his Honda Element, and sped away the other way.  He told me that I wouldn’t have wanted to go with them because they wouldn’t have any clue what to do for me or where to take me.  Not entirely true.  They’d want to know where I lived so that they could first get the money to cover their $400 Gringo charge.  

So we sped away.  He took me to my room and dropped me off.  He wanted me to deal with it on my own.  He suggested I take a shower, put on a dry bathing suit, and then get a taxi to the place that our “buddy” suggested on the beach.  A little more expensive, but well worth it “if you’re flush on cash.”  I looked in the mirror.  It was bad.  A blow to the head from my board with enough force to gash it wide open.  ok, here we go.

I grabbed all my money.  I bought a 20 cent bag of ice at a tienda.  I crushed the mini ice block on the pavement, wrapped it in my shirt, and compressed the gash. I hopped in a taxi.  This is a taxi run town.  More taxis here than in New York City.  Swear to it.  I sat in front.  So it was a gash on a huge lump.  I felt my age.  I told the guy to take me to the top of Avenida Oaxaca, next to Conimar.  I had the shock thing going.

The 19 year Oaxacan Boy dressed in ALL whites sat with me quietly as I waited for The Doctor to arrive.  30 min. later, she came in with likely her husband.  He probably chauffeured her.  She had short hair.  She was in a tight blouse.  Short skirt.  High heels.  She carried a Doctors Briefcase.  she put on surgical gloves, and wasting no time, whipped out her 3in needle and gave two juicy squirts to the forehead.  It was on!

Ten minutes, and $125 later, she was done with me.  I walked across the street and bought five days worth of antibiotics for $14.  And that was that.  I came to find out that I could have gotten away with paying only $40 and $6 for the antibiotics, but there was the modeling career to consider.  She handled the situation so very pro.  I’d still be filling out paperwork had this of happened in the United States.

My eight month stay along the Southern Coast of Oaxaca has all but concluded.  I am returning to Santa Cruz California on Friday March 2nd.  My flight on Aeromar Airlines leaves Puerto at Noon.  I have a three hour layover in Mexico.  I then fly Alaska Air to Los Angeles.  A two hour layover.  Then LA to San Jose.  My plane lands at 11pm.  I plan to be in Santa Cruz for about four months.  The month of June, I will be working in Truckee CA.  I am returning to Puerto Escondido sometime in July 2012, depending on when my sister and family come visit from Israel.  When I go back for my next eight month run, you really might want to consider coming for a healthy stay yourself.   The tacos are insane.

Besos.  Love & Light.  Hugs.  A Dios

For the past six weeks solid, I’ve been going back to my longboard roots.  It an 8’8” actually.  Thicker stringer.  Loads of rocker.  Heavy glass.  It was shaped with big point break waves in mind.  Main Beach at Zicatela doesn’t quite fit that mold.

When it gets four foot out here, you can count the number of longboarders on your middle finger.  It’s playing with fire.  If you have the strength to manage one, and the skill-set to ride one here at Main Beach, well then Good Luck With That.

But here I am.  Putting in my time.  Increasing my wave count.  Timing gauntlets, managing big equipment without a leash, and getting myself slotted from time to time.  I will say it again.  Getting slotted.  All wide-eyed, and screaming Hell Mary.

I befriended a Rabbi while I was spending some time in The Hamptons.  I told him to come visit me in CA.  He did.  My brother and I took him surfing.  We ate fish tacos.  He kept telling us that ‘Longboards Rule’.  And he was right, they DO rule.

Here’s one for all my surfer friends.  Especially the over-the-hill pseudo athletic ones that watch all the videos, read all the magazines, and surf Pleasure Point semi-irregularly when it’s two foot:

There are waves at Zicatela beach everyday.  Every single day.  When it’s considered a lake, there are waves.  When infants and toddlers can frolic near the shoreline with Papa, there are waves.  When the Norwegians and Germans are paddling around on the back third of their rented nine foot soft tops, there are waves.  It’s a wave pool.  Every single day.

It’s winter here in Puerto Escondido.    As places like Northern CA and Oregon begin seeing their most powerful surf for the year, Puerto Escondido sees their most playful surf.  Some will say the lip softens up quite a bit down here during the winter months.  I am almost ready to agree with that.  Unfortunately I have a fat lip disproving that theory.

No matter what time of year it is here, there are piping water tubes up and down this amazing beach.  Picture perfect almond shaped barrels.  Big and small.  Sometimes there are surfers in those barrels, but most of the time there are not.  Thousands and thousands of water barrels.  Detonating onto the shallow sandy Pacific Ocean floor like a guillotine.

Today it was six foot.  I would say the faces of the set waves were about 20 feet tall.  I watched from the sand.  Ten guys out.  All the action was happening within 150 yards of the shoreline.  Full Magilla Gorilla.  Lights out powerful.  And my back hurt.  And the internet was down.  And I was hungry.  No wait…thirsty.  And it was closed out.  And I was.  And it was.

  

30 ft. above sea level, Calle Bajada Las Brisas, Far Bar @ Zicatela, 12/24/11, 9am

I no longer surf with a leash.  It’s just way to dangerous.  Wipeouts can be so bloody violent here, that I felt it was time to remove the noose out of my surfing equation.  I finally had a leash related incident this morning that pulled the piss out of me.  The fucking thing wrapped around the top of my thigh near the groin, and just before it cinched tight I managed to Houdini out of it.  I’m tired of having to perform magic tricks.

Surfing without a leash removes any chance of entanglement on the takeoff.  All surfers know that a time or two out of 10 or 20, the leash stands a chance of ending up between a toe or under a foot.  End of the world?  Normally not.  Here at Main Beach, where the critical takeoff is 4/5 the battle, having to battle the cord could end up being the difference between the barrel of a lifetime, and a life changing ocean incident.

Thinking of pulling in?  Aware of the consequences if you don’t make it out?  I don’t think you are!  I’m not talking buckets of water with see through lips.  Around here, water is measured in tons.  Heavy water pounding on shallow sand.  Do you want the pointed fiberglass weapon anywhere near you during the heart stopping violence?  I don’t think you do.  I know I don’t.  You don’t even know what you want do you?

Indecisions cost a lot here.  Everything has to be 110% or you pay.  Duck diving is important.  Understanding when NOT to duck dive is more important.  An indecision between the two will haunt you.  I just had one.  Tried to get under an iron curtain.  I was blessed with just a fat lip.  Got pinned under water in a washing machine environment with a rubber rope attached to a surfboard attached to my ankle.  Sketchy odds friend.