The Dark Age
"There’s no way two old guys like us should be getting this many waves.”
That is quite the indictment, and my ego is stung, but then I remember who's telling me this. So I sit up on my board to listen, blocking out the July sun with a dripping arm.
Tom Prince and I are out at the peak at Cropley’s Bowl, a wedgy right hander at the north end of T-Street in San Clemente. We’ve been sharing this bit of lineup on and off for 25 years now and today – the Fourth of July, 2007 – we pretty much have our pick of the best waves. The swell isn’t half bad, either.
And that's Tom’s point.
Tom and I belong to the kook minority of the surfing world, a caste ridiculed and shunned, disparaged at nearly every turn. That’s right, we’re spongers. Bodyboarders. Speed bumps.
I try to explain to anyone who’ll listen that I’ve been at it for more than 30 years, how Tom Morey made my first board, how I was the editor of BodyBoarding Magazine once, and how I’ve at least paddled out at the well-known North Shore spots. It doesn’t matter. It sounds desperate even to my own ears. I’m still a kook.
But against all reason guys like me and Tom and Jay Reale and others have stuck with it. Why? Old dogs and new tricks? Nope. Truth be told, I still love it.
So there we are, on what should be the most crowded day of the year, getting pretty much all the waves we want under the protective banner of the Black Ball flag flying from Tower 4.
It wasn’t always like this. Through the mid 1980s, the lineup at T-street was rabid, finding a set wave nearly impossible. Back then bodyboarding was in its heyday and a roving band of professional riders planted their flag at my spot pretty much all summer. I watched and learned from Mike Stewart, Keith Sasaki, Pat Caldwell, Ben Severson, Haouli Reeves, Kainoa McGee, and a raft of occasional pros from Australia and Brazil. The other locals watched and learned, too. Pretty soon we were all feeding off each other's energy and progression blossomed.
But then the decline came and we entered the current dark age, a depth so deep that it’s doubtful the sport will ever match its heyday again – at least here in The States and on the Mainland. It’s tempting to lay blame at the feet of the marketing departments of the major surf companies, but the reasons for the sport’s decline are many and some of those reasons were self inflicted.
Bodyboarding was a good feeder for surfing, but it’s unclear whether the standup side of the sport needs any assistance now. Surf schools are packed. Most lineups are clogged. Surf culture extends from animated penguins to pretty much every mall from Maine to Mozambique. Proponents of Morey’s vision shouldn’t expect any help from that corner.
To be fair, according to Prince there's some renewed interest and talent. A few young riders are quickly progressing. He seems hopeful that things are slowly ticking up -- and that it was hype-free organic growth.
A wave swings in from Halibuts and wedges up over the reef. Tom and I look at each other. I shrug and takeoff.
The real Dark Ages lasted from 476 until roughly the year 1000. That’s a hell of a long time. But eventually the Renaissance arrived with movable type and indoor plumbing and all the rest. The wheels of culture finally jumped the rut. Paddling back out to the peak, I wonder what bodyboarding’s enlightenment will look like, and the selfish side of me wonders if I even want to see it at all.
--Sean O'Brien