Author Alex Wade's new book 'Amazing Surfing Stories: Tales of Incredible Waves and Remarkable Riders' has a chapter based on one of my recent surfing experiences. Here's an extract from it...
" Ed Templeton was in a quandary. He’d just surfed on his backhand better than ever, he’d been all alone in the water, and he’d had an audience. They’d loved his every wave, cheering and clapping from the shore. Damn it, after a while some of them even got the hang of what he was doing so well that they climbed the rocky headland and whistled to let him know when the bigger sets were on their way.
Better yet, it was a sun-kissed day, a head-high boardshorts session in paradise. There were no tourists for miles. No hotels. No surfers, either. No one had dropped in on Ed all day. He’d been free to ride wave after perfect wave, lost in the purest Dharma imaginable. This is what he’d come to India for. This was surfing a virgin break, alone.
The boisterous shoreline crowd made him feel like a pro at Pipeline, hooting everything he did albeit that, if truth be told, Ed had never surfed Pipe and wouldn’t be rushing to do so anytime soon. And initially, though it seemed that their enthusiasm was the mirror image of his, soon it struck Ed that it was impossible for him not to be the more stoked. After all, they were on the beach; he was in the water. And he was the surfer, the one who’d been waiting for waves – since New Year’s Eve, to be precise. As if to scupper any resolutions to surf more than ever, the swell had dropped overnight, deigning, on 1 January, to serve up no more than waist high, tricky, shallow and fast surf. The pattern continued for over three weeks. Ed knew this place well enough to know that this was to be expected – January is the smallest season – but he was frustrated. There was fun to be had on his fish, and he was finding an awful lot of time to read the Mahabharata but he needed something more. The surfer in him needed some serious nourishment.
It came in the form of 3.5-4ft south-westerly swell with a 14 second period, which on this part of the Indian coastline – where Ed had been living for six months – produces a 6-8ft face on the sets. On flat days, Ed hadn’t just read the Mahabharata. In fact, he’d been pretty diligent, taking his spluttering Honda Kinetic ZX up and down the coast and noting point, rivermouth and even canal mouth set-ups galore. All it would take would be the right swell and an offshore wind for them to hold them up. Today, that swell had come and the wind was right. The beachbreak at Kerala was closing out, but Ed knew that point break perfection was just a few miles away.
Strapping what he liked to call The Green Goddess (a 6’2” JP quad fish) to his scooter with some frayed coconut rope, Ed arrived at a small Muslim fishing hamlet. Swiftly, he untied the Goddess and ran past the mosque to the beach. What he saw amounted to his very own Endless Summer moment. Under a clear blue sky, warmed by the luxuriant Indian morning sun, exquisite left-handers were rumbling into the scimitar-shaped bay, peeling for 200 yards off the headland. A gaggle of local boys were playing in the shallows on the inside; fishermen snoozed in the shade of their boats after a night at sea. Their reverie was interrupted when Ed started to paddle out. What on earth was he doing? Why would anyone want to paddle an odd-looking board out to such ferocious waves? Neither boys nor fishermen had ever seen a surfer before.
Curiosity soon turned to amazement... "
To see what happend next, and for some other great short stories check out the book here: http://tinyurl.com/cdhzjvl