Surfing the Great Lakes - Lake Michigan: The Adventure Continues

Aloha Tribe,

So, continuing with my story, Paul taught me to surf Grand Haven in Lake Michigan. And, just like I was totally blown away by the idea of wax of all things, on a surfboard, so to, was the method of surfing I grew up with.

Regarding the wax, I had, as I have mentioned in my last story, no idea that surfers used surf wax on their boards, I had never seen it nor heard of it, thus, for me, mastery came many long hours later through trial and error of learning to ride a very slippery board simply in bare feet.

Since I had no idea that what I was doing was "wrong," or at least not the way everybody on the face of the planet surfed, I simply practiced and practiced and practiced until I could ride the wake of the speedboat my daddy drove, and, not fall off.

So, I took my board to Grand Haven, and saw, of all things, wax on surfboards. At first, I had no idea what it was, other than it looked rather messy and sort of ugly. That, and all the dings repaired with duct tape, stickers, and some odd looking gray stuff (ding repair), I was in for culture shock.

My board was pristine. All white, nary a dent or scratch on it, and certainly no unsightly surf wax. Yet, I must say, in a way, those boards of the boys, the looked, rugged and wild, like some of the lads themselves, and, the look sort of grew on me.

Now of course, all the local were wondering what was wrong with me, my board was so "new," looking. Virginal, in a sense.

Well, I had seen the locals carrying their boards out on the pier, walking out about 3/4 out or so, then, leaping with board in hand, off the pier into the Lake Michigan water, only to instantly be crushed against the huge rocks making up the base of the pier. Sure, sometimes a boy made it and he had a wild ride with his point break cutting and all, but for the most part, most were totaled on the rocks, only to patch up their boards with yet more stickers (so that's what they were for), and try again.

Paul encouraged me to give it a go and I did. And, by pure luck, I made it. Maybe all that waxless board riding paid off after all. Golly I was lucky.

Yet, with that  ride, I was lifted out of kookdom and become a friend with the locals.


Now personally, I thought that the wax the lads used was "cheating," and I found no reason for it at that time, Likewise, I also thought that running out on a pier of all things, carrying your board, to only jump in way towards the end also seemed like cheating. Then again, it simply wasn't my style, nothing more, and I really didn't understand exactly why they did what they did.  My style was to simply paddle out there  to the lineup from shore, based, quite simply, on the fact that I so loved to swim and paddle.  So, I had tried the infamous Leap of Death once or twice, and I so much preferred my method of paddling out. Not that the leap frightened me, it did not, it's just that, after trying it, I truly missed paddling out. 

So, I'd paddle out, surf in, and then do it again and again and again. Meanwhile, the local lads kept crashing and burning until one by one, they began, much to my total surprise, to copy what I was doing of all people. I was simply a girl who loved to swim and paddle and surf.

Well, that surf session ended eventually, and Paul made the next one, I didn't, but he told me about it, and he was telling me that the locals were still talking about the silly girl  and her waxless paddle out style. Weird how some local traditions start. At least for a little while, one fine Spring when all of us should have been in school in one city or another.

The other thing that comes to mind is the lads insistence on riding the point break. There they were, all bunched up like a herd of starved seagulls desperate for a morsel of nourisment, in this case, their turn at a wave, and yet, just down the beach a tad, was miles of beautiful beach break. So, I rode alone alot. And I grew up that way.

Sure, I'd hang at the pier and on occassion swim off of it, but I had tried the jump in method and it just didn't do anything for me, there was no challenge to it, no excitement, no having to figure out how far out to paddle to be in the right place to catch the perfect wave.

So my surfing career at that age was more or less alone. Paul would do his pier gig with the local lads, and I'd be doing my beach break, alone on the waves. And all would be good in the world. I had found paradise.

Bodaciously Stoked,

Lily of the Valley