MY FIRST WAVE

In the early eighties my best friend and I took a vacation to Corpus Christi. We rented two surfboards. We grew up skateboarding, so we figured this would be fun. Each board was about eight feet long and bright yellow. We paddled out into knee-to-waist-high waves. We didn’t have a clue what to do. We spent hours trying to catch a wave, falling off time after time. Finally, after hours of failed attempts, we both stood up and rode a wave for the first time. We looked at each other with huge grins on our faces. We did it. We finally rode a wave, but there is a difference between riding a wave and surfing a wave.

We continued surfing for a while, but we never stood up again. Surfing is a lot harder than it looks. Even though that was my first wave, it didn’t ignite the fire that would consume my entire life. This didn’t happen until almost six years later. The wave that changed my life happened one day after I moved to the East Coast.

My girlfriend lived in Virginia Beach, Virginia. For those that don’t know, Virginia Beach is a magical place. Edgar Cayce once said, “The sand has magical healing qualities.” We were visiting the beach on the north end not far from the Edgar Cayce Center.

My girlfriend’s family lived a couple of blocks from the beach. We would gather up the chairs, the umbrellas, and anything that would float and load it up into a makeshift bicycle cart her father made. The north end of Virginia Beach is very upscale, so we always received disapproving stares from the neighbors as we rode this makeshift cart past the million-dollar homes.

I was helping my girlfriend’s father load some suitcases into the attic above his garage when I noticed a small, old surfboard stuffed way in the back. I reached back and pulled it down from the attic. The board was red and rather thick. It had a wolf logo on it, and it had one fin. It was only about five foot long. I said, “Let’s take this with us to the beach.”

I still feel to this day that was a magical day. We unloaded the cart and played in the waves. After about thirty minutes of playing in the shore break I noticed that the waves on the sandbank were breaking at about three foot. I pulled out the wolf board, which had no wax on it, but I had no intention of trying to stand up. The board was so short it was a miracle it even floated me. I just wanted to play in the surf.

I paddled out to where the waves were breaking. I saw a wave headed straight for me. I turned toward shore and paddled as fast as I could. The wave took hold of me and shot me out into the clean part. I popped up, landed on my feet, and rode the wave all the way across the sandbar. I still don’t know how I stayed on the board. It was slick, and the way I pumped the board was like riding a skateboard bowl. This is the only thing I can relate it to.

The saying goes, “Only a surfer knows the feeling,” and after being on this planet for over twenty years I finally knew what that meant. It’s like kissing God’s face. From that moment on all I dreamed of was the feeling the wave gave me. Would I be able to feel that again? When would the waves be up again?

Something awoke within me. Little did I know that my life from that moment on would be changed, formed, molded, strengthened, and enlightened. Yes, Virginia Beach is a magical place with a lively surf culture. The waves are generally small scale but very rippable. The most famous and favored spot is First Street. No matter the size of the waves you could always find a crew of guys out touching God’s face.

Following that first day on the wolf board, I bought wax. I bought books, subscribed to Surfer Magazine, and begged my girlfriend to go to the beach every weekend we could. At the time we lived three hours from the beach, and we didn’t have a lot of money. City life can be expensive. I worked full-time and helped pay bills by working side jobs. I couldn’t afford to buy a surfboard, but a friend of mine who also lived in the city gave me his board. I don’t know if he realized it, but he was the person most responsible for creating a surfer. My friend John gave me the gift of surfing.

The board he gave me was a classic Lightning Bolt, single-fin, ‘70’s board. John came with me to the beach a couple of months after he gave me the board. We surfed together all afternoon, and when we finished, John told me I was a natural. He said that I was fluid, and it was obvious I was surfing from my heart.

John also introduced me to snowboarding. He told me that snowboarding was like riding a really big wave for several minutes. This I had to see for myself. In those days wetsuits were not very good, and the water temperature in Virginia Beach fell into the forties around February. Paddling out during the cold months was a challenge. The first duck dive would give you an ice cream headache. The second duck dive was so painful it would make your eyes water. By the time I duck dived my third wave all I wanted to do was turn around and head to shore. Sometimes we did, but most of the time we just toughed it out and prayed there wasn’t a fourth wave, but if there was a fourth wave, sometimes we would just try to get over the top.

The idea of snowboarding in the winter months sounded like a great alternative. The first time we ever went snowboarding turned out to be one of the best weekends of my life. We were still living in northern Virginia, and the closest resort was Massanutten. Massanutten is a pretty small resort, but it is a great place to start mountain surfing. Snowboarding was only a couple of years old, and everyone seemed to be into it or wanted to get into it.

When we arrived at the mountain we walked up to the rental department and asked for a snowboard. The attendant said they were all rented out. Shit! I was so bummed out – my first time to the mountain and all sold out. The attendant said that one might become available after noon. We ended up renting skis. The best I could do on skis was the blue intermediate slope. Even then, I would be out of control with my legs going in every direction.

I remember flying down the mountain with no clue how or what was going to slow me down. I think I remember the faceplant option as my safest bet. At least I wouldn’t break my legs. I had snow go up my nostrils, up my jacket, and down my pants.

After more than three hours of this punishment, a snowboard finally became available. The rental attendant informed me that the snowboard should be at least 4 feet 6 inches long because of my height, but this board was a little shorter than that. “Still,” he said, “You should be fine.” Then off I went to the lift chair. As I sat down on the wooden seat the question entered my mind of how I would get off the chair.

I watched the guys in front of me and said to myself, “I can do that.”  When my turn came I experienced my second face plant of the day. I was off to a great start. A bunch of people became irate while sitting and waiting for their turn to get off the lift. I lifted myself up moved out of the way and strapped the board to my feet. I pointed the board downhill, and to my amazement I didn’t fall. It took me only seconds to realize it was all edge control. I used the edges to keep the board under my feet and also to keep myself from gaining too much speed. When you are first learning to snowboard, if you gain too much speed you could blow out an edge and hop four feet down the mountain before you regain an edge on the slope.

Snowboarding is, as John described it, “Surfing on a really long wave, only this wave is frozen, and unless you have an avalanche of snow chasing you down the mountain there was no long hold down like under a waves whitewater when you eat it.”  Up until this point in my life, surfing was the only thing that I was naturally good at. Now, I was surfing the mountain. Within an hour of strapping on a snowboard I was flying down the expert slopes. This mountain stayed open until midnight, so I would usually keep riding until my body was exhausted.

It was great riding after dark, because the lift lines thinned out so much that I could ride a slope, pull right up to a lift, and jump right back on without any lines. I got to the point where I would buckle up my binding while still on the chair, so when I got to the top I would jump off and fly down again without having to stop and buckle up. The East Coast usually sprayed fake snow at night, because that is the only time it is cold enough to blow snow. Many times I would ride through the spray, and when I came into the lodge I would have several inches of ice hanging off my facemask.

We explored all of the ski resorts on the East Coast. The mountains were just not tall enough, and the trails were just not wide enough. I wanted more. I wanted to go steeper and I had never ridden in fresh powder. I loved the waves on the East Coast, but it was the desire to ride longer, wider, and steeper ski trails that moved me farther west.  

As soon as we settled back in Houston I ventured down to Galveston to surf. It wasn’t long before I started making fellow surfer friends. Texas surfers are like no other surfers. For the most part, they all just like to see another face in the water. Many afternoons I drove down to the Flagship hotel that sat on top of a large pier. We would surf next to the pier even...