Embrace the face… dance your own dance.
’08 saw my surfing regress after 5 years of incremental growth. Advancing age, injuries (phony & legitimate), and the economy share some blame, but my inability to fan the stoke is undoubtedly the root. Not sure if I surfed enough days last year to maintain my union card. Unacceptable.
Poor board management has left me with a 6’0 quad fish to chase winter swells on. The surf dandy charges sting, but not as much as waveless sessions at my favorite beach breaks. Picture me being bounced around the soup after another drop only ride to the impact zone. Sorry guys, I’ll get out of the way when I can.
“The key to getting better as you get older has nothing to do with desire, and everything to do with joy.” Derek Hynd
Another dose of cold annihilation please.
Krautrock and surfing, ’tis the season.
Surfing L.A County on weekends gives me facial tics. No big deal until a cop mistakes you for a meth fiend and busts out the mace, only to exacerbate the problem.
Hiking allows me to feel better about excusing myself from the dawn patrol. The mountains surrounding this much maligned city force Angelenos to inhale healthy doses of our own pollution, while providing ample hiking opportunities.
I stick to the trailheads requiring a drive up the PCH in order to gauge the mood of the mighty Pacific. This way I also get to check the surf at some of the more infamous spots in the area. Today I’m happy to report that while I saw a few corners, nothing made me regret leaving the board behind.
Hiked Sandstone Peak, just over the Ventura line, down Yerba Buena. Less than 7 miles and never climbing higher than 3300 ft., the trail is taxing without being overwhelming. This is not to say that my unusually tight hamstrings, which have served my surfing so dutifully, were not screaming from the first incline.There seems to be a direct correlation between sucking wind, a burning sensation in my legs, and overactive face muscles. Do serious mountain climbers risk permanent paddleface from prolonged adventure?
Completion had me feeling my age. Nothing a couple of beers at the Dume Room couldn’t remedy. Oh yeah, one of the last places in Malibu with any real character has been closed for a couple of years. It still sucks.
More tambourine please… Sweet Lou is one of the few pop stars we should thank for taking himself too seriously. Vintage moves from a timeless artist. Appreciate.
Check the monster bass of Prakash John. He’s grinding the hell out of those teeth. Not only can this lead to lockjaw, but also severe paddleface. Instead our man remains composed and in the pocket, letting his fingers do the walking, and the talking. As you can see the dude on lead say, hot shit.
paddleface – n. ridiculous expression worn by surfers in pursuit of waves.
Paddleface almost always foreshadows failure, accompanied by flailing arms and more pathetically, fluttering feet, as the hapless surfer falls further behind a breaking wave. However, a truly fierce face might win a trip over the falls.
Like life, paddleface originated in the ocean, but can be witnessed anywhere on earth. Inlanders will recognize it in the f***face of a loved one, digging for more during an unplanned, afternoon session. Those less carnally inclined could imagine a house dog’s fruitless, squirrel hunt.
Trying too hard is the #1 cause of paddleface. This blog celebrates our instinctive desire to reach beyond individual limitations, and provide unintentional comedy to friends and strangers. My own surf experiment, sad, delusional, and humbling, will provide much of the early content. That said, I consider it my calling to expose paddleface wherever it can be found.
Started surfing at 33, now 39. Although I’m verifiably not a barrel virgin, I am and always will be, a kook.