Lunada Bay, this time next year. Art: Damian Fulton
By now, everyone and their mothers have heard about the ongoing debacle at Lunada Bay. If you haven’t, here it is in a nutshell:
Bay Boys protect wave for years.
Bay Boys throw rocks and slash tires if you’re not a “local.”
Everyone gets mad at Bay Boys.
People go to police. Police are like, “yeah, those guys are dicks! Sorry!”
People are like, “what the fuck?”
Police shrug.
Bay Boys carry on throwing rocks.
Someone sues Bay Boys.
Everyone rejoices!
Undetermined outcome.
Basically, the general consensus seems to be that the Bay Boys are a bunch of entitled, rich, middle-aged men with small-dick syndrome who deserve everything coming to them. I do not know any of them, nor have I seen their dicks, so I can’t attest to any of those things, but that’s what I hear. If reports from a lot of people over a lot of years are to be believed, the Bay Boys ARE entitled, rich, middle-aged men with small-dick syndrome who deserve everything coming to them. BUT. I can see where they’re coming from. Seriously, I can. And playing Devil’s advocate every now and then is a good way to try and understand both sides of a situation, as fucked up as the situation may be.
Localism can be a good thing–not as far as the Bay Boys have taken it, of course, but it is an important part of surfing. In their own misguided way, the Bay Boys are keeping a piece of surfing alive. Where else in Southern California can one find a wave so consistently empty? Nowhere, that’s where. Where else in Southern California is that brand of localism still alive? Nowhere–at least not as robust and healthy as is it is at Lunada Bay. It’s a stronghold for a very specific part of surfing’s history, although it’s probably a bit more concentrated than it ever was in the past. But that concentration might’ve come from a dilution of it everywhere else. Localism used to be spread out, like a thin layer of jam on toast. Sure, there were parts where the jam was a bit thicker, but it was, for the most part, a relatively even smear. With the increase in surfers and the increase in people standing up and saying, “this shit is NOT ok,” the localism jam has been almost wiped off every last bit of the toast and piled up in Lunada Bay. For a bit of a comparison, let’s look at Pipeline, a wave of much-higher consequence and much-higher quality.
Pipe is a cornerstone of surfing’s story, and a long chapter in that story is one filled with beat-downs, head-slaps, and big, scary men regulating the place. Now, though, that’s all changed. The heavy-handed tactics that were a part of Pipe’s allure have all but disappeared, except for in memories and stories. While that may be a good thing for anyone that wants to surf Pipeline–and there are plenty, judging by the crowd–it’s not a good thing for someone that grew up there. It’s not a good thing for someone who put in a shitload of time, only to be burned by a kid who flew there on his sponsor’s dollar. It’s not a good thing for safety, although in reality, if it’s safety you’re worried about, don’t go surf Pipe. They’re always pulling bodies out of the caves, according to Turtle. Listen to what Freddy P had to say about it last year:
Pipeline used to be a place where the best waves were reserved for those who deserved them–the people who took their beatings, learned the wave, and spent years dedicating themselves to it. It’s not that place anymore, and that’s sad. That dedication is a wonderful part of surfing, and although it’s still alive, it doesn’t count for as much.
Imagine, if you will, Pipe in the ’60s and ’70s. There are just a few people out, Gerry Lopez included. Perfect, terrifying waves trip over the reef, offshores dust the tops off, and the circus hasn’t yet come to town. There are only a few small houses set in the trees at the foot of the sand. It is perfect. Isn’t that what we’re all looking for? Wouldn’t you love to have a place where that existed?
The Bay Boys have that place, and they’re protecting it. Of course, they aren’t allowed to protect it, because it’s not theirs in the first place, but much like a child with a borrowed toy, they really, really don’t want to give it back. They’ve seen what happens to waves when the masses find them, and they’re dedicated to keeping a little slice of the pie to themselves. A pie, after all, can only be split so many ways before the pieces get too small to enjoy.
