Editor’s Note: The following #RADGEAR was done with our good friends at Hyperflex Wetsuits.
1989’s Major League and Weekend at Bernie’s 2 represent my entire foundation of voodoo related knowledge. This is to say my experience with the religious/spiritual folkway is more closely associated with learning how to hit a curve ball, breaking out of a weeks long hitting slump and watching a dead guy dance his way across the Virgin Islands every time he hears a steel drum.
Forgive me if I wasn’t the biggest believer.
Then I received a package. It was a wetsuit with a little voodoo doll attached to the zipper, appropriately named the Voodoo. The folks at Hyperflex had sent the suit for me to test out and, given my previously described indifference about voodoo and affinity toward new wetsuits, I obliged. Technically the tiny twine doll is nothing more than a clever little keychain but I figured “What the heck? Like those guys who leave the stickers on their brand new straight billed ball caps, let’s just surf with a tiny voodoo doll on our wetsuit.”
The suit itself was great. On the major bonus side, my new 2.5 mil short sleeve was one of those fancy fleece lined suits that often sounds better than it is. I’ve had a couple of wetsuits with fleece panels inside and lining and ended up hating them all, mostly because they quickly become itchy and irritating when wet. I’ve had this suit for two months now and still no itchy chest, back or shoulders. Good fit, comfortable and neoprene that doesn’t seem to have lost its stretch – all good signs of a dependable go to wetsuit and, quite frankly, all you really want or need. So like I said, the suit was great.
I…was not.
Something was off. I was miserable. The first week with my new suit came at the perfect time, with a fresh southwest sending fun surf to Southern California day in and day out. My little voodoo dude and I spent a lot of time in the ocean and my usual excitement for a week of consistent surf was only tempered by actually getting in the water. It’s not that I wasn’t surfing well, but for some reason every soul bobbing around in the ocean near me was driving me crazy. Smiles were rare with approving nods and casual howzits to and from other surfers even more infrequent. Session to session my wave count was frustratingly low, making me even more irritated with the guys who seemed to be making more of this run of swell than myself, despite my best efforts. I have this ritual of finding at least one opportunity to give a wave to somebody each session – sitting in great position for a set wave for everybody to see, then turning to whoever is paddling behind me and inviting them to take it for themselves. It sounds silly but the eternal optimist in me hopes that A) others will see and maybe soften up a little themselves and B) selfishly, it will create a little good wave karma for me by paying it forward. This week, however, that ritual was out the window. On most occasions I was flat out backpaddled and jockeyed. And during at least one session I was so aggro that the thought of being nice to another surfer never even crossed my mind. I was a grump. I had become everything I dislike about the status quo of So Cal surf crowds for the better part of a week.
Then I went surfing with a friend. We went out to the most convenient and accessible wave we could find, LA’s Topanga, but as I’ve come to call it, Topangry. I know hate is a strong word, but I hate this place. The wave is sometimes fun but never amazing. Etiquette doesn’t exist here and my general perception of the crowd is typically that nobody surfing Topanga is ever having fun, explaining their attachment to horrible moods and justifying both the nickname and why I stay away from the place. Considering the hot streak of crap moods I was in that week I was half expecting another horrible session at Topangry.
“You surf with that thing attached to your suit?” my friend asked in the parking lot. And that was when I realized what was going on. You know where the rest of this story goes. I told my friend about the anger filled surf sessions I’d endured all week in spite of the great waves and “It’s just a coincidence this new suit is called the Voodoo, right?” Mr. Voodoo stayed in the car that afternoon and Mark and I surfed our little hearts out in that dying swell. The wind had flipped onshore but we still scored. The crowd was light and somehow I managed to have more fun surfing my least favorite wave in Los Angeles than I’d ever had here before.
So could voodoo be a real thing? You may believe or you may not. But just to be safe, while I can say Hyperflex’s Voodoo is a good suit and well worth getting your hands on, just make sure you don’t try to be cute or cool and leave the tiny little black one-eyed voodoo doll attached. He’ll ruin your surfing if you do.
Note: Check out Hyperflex USA’s wetsuits (with and without voodoo dolls) here.
There he is, all smug and content with ruining your surf sessions.
