We won’t name the place, although that landmark could be a dead give away if you’ve ever seen this place yourself…
The unthinkable happened. I just surfed Kelly’s pool and it was insane. Even better than I imagined, as a matter of fact. I’m a goofy foot but for reasons I’ll explain later, I only surfed the right. Also for reasons I’ll explain later, there was even a cheering section of kids. I scored the longest barrel of my life, hands down, and when I came out, the kids went wild. Oh yeah, and Chris Hemsworth was there. Like I said, it was insane.
As most of you have seen, the wave isn’t that big. It’s roughly chest-to-head-high but man does it just grind. I was riding my trusty 5’11 single-fin — which may seem like a weird choice but I am a weird dude. And have you ever seen Alex Knost ride the wave pool? In my opinion, he ripped it harder than anyone, including John John.
Everything happened so fast on that first wave but time felt like it stood still. The wave just curled over my head and I found myself lined up with that tunnel vision we all dream about, stretching out in front of me. It was like I was inside of the tire of a giant tractor-trailer rolling down a hill but instead of getting thrashed around and around, I held in a tucked stance and watched the water shoot from under my feet, to over my head. My front hand guided the way until the very end when I kicked out the back. The kids went wild, I flipped my hair in the coolest, most nonchalant way possible, and claimed it with my right arm bent at the elbow and thrust down.
So here’s the thing: I wasn’t actually at Kelly’s pool. I was a couple hundred miles away in that sometimes cold, sometimes scary, always beautiful, body of water that surfing comes from. It was a few days before the WSL Founder’s Cup, wave pool mania had reached fever-pitch, and Chris Hemsworth had in fact just surfed the Ranch. Meanwhile, in the real ocean, the swell was tapering off but the magnets were still providing chest-high waves while drawing considerable crowds. After checking my main break, I went further up the road to check a lesser-known, usually less crowded spot.
It looked like a lake, or a pool even, but there was one guy out. I watched and waited for a set to come in; the sole surfer caught the first wave and rode it a decent distance. That was enough for me. It’s better to wait in peace than scramble and scurry against the boys down the road.
As I suited up, the other guy came in and I paddled out by myself. To be honest, I felt foolish when I waited more than my first 10 minutes in the water for anything that resembled a wave. I thought to myself, “I should’ve gone to_____.”
I said I would explain a few things later, so here goes; the spot I chose was a right-hander that broke along a shallow shelf out from a cliffside area running along the water’s edge before hitting a sandy beach. Depending on tide and swell, the waves would break as they hit the shelf and then grind along the cliffs. On big swells and a high tide, they would break in deeper water a comfortable distance from the cliffs. Today was not like that, it was dead-low tide with a fading swell so they were right up against the rocks.
I had to pass up many of the waves that popped up during the first 30 minutes. They were just breaking too close to shore. While I was out there floating (not really surfing yet), a large group of schoolchildren appeared on the cliff’s edge with their teachers. Honestly, there must have been close to 60 kids with eight teachers and chaperones. They were on a field trip to see the tide pools roughly 20 yards from where I was surfing. I didn’t give them much thought, nor they I; until that first wave came in. I saw it coming and almost thought it was going to break on the rocks, but I paddled for it anyways. Maybe I was emboldened by my young crowd, or maybe I was just sick of floating there like an idiot.
I paddled into it with a few strong strokes and hopped up like a cat going for the nip. I slid into my accustomed pig dog position with my backhand on the rail, front hand skimming the wave, and my ass sliding along the surface as I tucked into that perfect, tire-like barrel.
Like I said, when I kicked out, the kids went wild—actually, wild. They all screamed as I did my cool-guy claim. I felt like a G. The wave was perfect.
If this had happened 10 years ago, or even three years ago, I would never have made the immediate wave pool comparison. Yet the timing of it all made the comparison irresistible. Thor himself had just surfed across all of Instagram on Kelly’s perfect wave. All surf outlets, this one included, were dropping regular mentions of its significance and even debating the potential repercussions of surfing’s new paradigm. And there I was, in our beloved ocean as she delivered the perfection only she can truly produce.
By all other accounts, the waves that day were “not that good”, or “super crowded”, and there I was scoring on my own with 60 schoolchildren as my witness. I caught a handful more waves before anyone else showed up, and when that first other guy reached the peak he said, “I saw you pull into a nice lil’ cave, man.”
“Thanks, dude, you should have heard the kids.”
He looked at the cliff and said, “Yeah I guess we have an audience huh?”
“Damn right dude, don’t fuck it up.” I laughed.
Sure enough, once he caught his first wave, carefully threaded the barrel over the shallow rock ledge, and then kicked out, all the kids screamed just as they had for me. He paddled back out and said, “Damn, I’ve never had anybody cheer for me surfing before. Feels pretty good, eh?”
“Haha. it definitely does man.”
A few more guys showed up over the next hour and while at first I was bummed my solo session had been crashed, I was soon smiling watching them paddle in and then momentarily disappear. Without fail, the kids cheered every time. To them, we might as well have been Kelly himself. Or maybe even Thor.
