“You can’t surf here.” The 6’2 180 lb clean-cut college aged local intercepted me on my way to the path down to the beach. I get it, I looked like entirely out of place with zinc oxide smeared all over my face, dawning a hood, gloves, and booties on a 90-degree day. While surfing I always embrace my inner kook, and this wasn’t the place for it.
“Excuse me.” I replied.
“You can’t surf here, you won’t make any waves with that board. No longboards allowed. Do you see anyone out there surfing a longboard?” The local spoke softly but with conviction. He pointed to the 7”6’ user friendly board under my arm. He was dead serious, standing between me and the pathway to what looked like a world-class wave. There were only 5 guys on the outside, taking turns getting overhead barrels and making it out on almost every wave, with 2 younger surfers getting more perfectly makeable barrels on the inside. The conditions could not have been more ideal.
“This isn’t a longboard, it’s a fun board.” I corrected him, which made no difference. “I knew I should have brought my short board,” I muttered.
“It doesn’t matter, locals only. It’s nothing personal.”
“What if I surf here anyway?” I asked, having serious doubts about surfing the hyper local W. Cliff Drive reef between Merced and Stockton Streets. Prior to finding the gem I was going to surf Natural Bridges. Surfline.com had called Natural Bridges 5-7 feet but it wasn’t breaking. Stocktons, as I later learned it was called, is the first reef break south of Natural Bridges.
Another local walked up and stood shoulder to shoulder with the college kid, He smiled a little as he piped in, “You can’t surf here. It takes years to surf here. You need to work your way up by surfing other spots first and building a reputation. We don’t know you.”
“I’m Andy from San Francisco.” I replied, which didn’t help. Smiley was a couple of inches shorter than me, not quite as young as the first local and likely in his mid 20’s. He had the manner of a man of little means and less intelligence. His purpose in life appeared to be prohibiting people from surfing his home break.
“It’s nothing personal. This is our Pipeline. You can’t surf here.” The shorter guy continued to smile as he spoke. I’ve surfed for the past 40 years, and I’ve never been told I couldn’t surf anywhere. I’ve gotten some heavy local vibes, and I know people who have been attacked by locals. They’ve had their cars broken into and vandalized due to the locals only mentality. I wasn’t going to get into any of that at Stocktons.
Surfers can be territorial all over the world (https://www.mensjournal.com/adventure/surfings-5-most-fiercely-protected-local-breaks/) “It’s nothing personal.” A third local spoke up, this one perched on the short wooden fence behind the other two locals. He was a bit older, likely in his 30’s, killing time on a hot weekday afternoon. At that point I had three people between me and the path, telling me I didn’t belong there.
“So, this is what happens anytime anyone who isn’t local wants to surf here?” I asked.
“Pretty much,” the tall young local said. His arms were crossed, and at that point I had given up all hope of surfing their coveted spot. It was definitely personal.
I got in my car and drove down to Steamer’s Lane, another world-class wave that swarms with surfers when it’s going off. I thought about what it would take to surf Stocktons. I supposed I could have done a stealth parking job a few blocks away and walked to the break so the locals couldn’t trash my vehicle. There would be no guarantee they wouldn’t trash me though, either on the beach or in the water. I wouldn’t put it past any of these locals. One day, one or more of them was going to go to jail for guarding their wave, if they hadn’t been already.
At Steamer’s Lane the scene was the complete opposite. I paddled out to the lower point and caught a few nice waves, but the kelp was extremely thick making for bumpy rides as your fins cut through it. Surfing my third wave my board literally stopped in the kelp, and I went flying forward. I turned to a blonde kid in his late teens who was surfing a small soft top board. “There’s too much kelp here, I’m going up to the point.”
I paddled up to the point where there were less than 10 guys stalking 4-6 foot waves that broke very similarly to Stocktons: drop in, bottom turn, set a line across the face and let the wave throw out over your head. There was an added bonus of racing along the cliff, riding out a combination of backwash and cross currents. The kid from the kelp forest joined me and we talked a lot. There were only 4 of us taking turns catching the majority of the waves, the other surfers in the water were mostly watching us. I started hooting and hollering as guys dropped in. As one caught a wave and rode past me, I held out my hand for a high five. He didn’t reach out, but he did smile and that helped set a friendly tone.
I surf because it’s fun and I want to have a good time. Often surfers are very stoic in the water, and I’m rarely that way. It’s probably because most of the time I surf with good friends. I love sharing waves with my friends, family, and even strangers. It’s the spirit of aloha and it’s infectious. Soon other surfers in the water were smiling, laughing and encouraging each other while taking turns catching waves. Near the end of the session the kelp kid told me, “You’re the man out here right now, catching lots of great waves.” The compliment made me smile.
I guess I didn’t miss that much at Stocktons after all. Every kook has his day, and I just had mine at the Lane.