This story stars Brad, a Marin native and Ocean Beach transplant like so many of us. Brad is a highly competent surfer. He shreds. He has stood tough in barrels all over the world including well-known spots like Salsa Brava, Mexpipe, and Uluwatu as well as less notorious spots in the Mentawais. His wiry, small frame does not mimic his charging aura that is humongous. And yet, ironically, he faced one of the sketchiest situations he would ever have to face right at his home break, the infamous Cronkite. A giant wrap around swell was mashing the Bay Area coast, and needless to say, as is always the case with swells of this nature, the Potato Patch was showing white, frothy caps way outside. After some milling about in the parking lot and nervously checking the surf, long time West Marin charger Llewelyn shows up and dampens the mood. "No way," he said, "am I going out there, bro, you're on your own."

Now, ordinarily, if one of your surf bros gives the thumbs down sign on a potential paddle out into big surf conditions, you just don't go. This is magnified quite a bit when a gnarly charger like Llewelyn is glued to the beach, unwilling to give it a shot. We are talking about the only guy I know in the Bay Area surf scene who has come close to equaling the challenge of the psychotic Doc Renneker's efforts to actually try to paddle out to and surf the Potato Patch. The gigantic, long golden locked specimen of a surfer has tried on various occasions to surf outer Palomarin on huge winter swells, so if Lew Ludlow is chilling on the beach and saying "no, bro, you go for it though," you should not feel overly confident about your chances at: A) getting out B) actually catching and riding a wave or C) surviving the session. But Brad is not your run of the mill surf aficionado. He has nearly drowned on endless south sets depositing on his head at Pascuales, gashed himself in the South Pacific islands on reefs, and considering the fact he just moved to El Granada, it's safe to say that his first season at Maverick's is impending. Suited up, he goes for it despite his companion's protests, and he gets in the surging sea right on top of the reef.

He gets sucked out relatively unscathed by using the current; after just a few duck dives he is ready to position himself for his first wave. When Cron gets big wrap around action like on this particular day, it can be a little dicey trying to go left into the rocks, because you can get caught in there, and rocks hurt more than sand when you land on them. The reality and mortality of taking lefts into the rocks can be recognized by the fact that Scott Miller pulled a drowned sponger off the rocks a few years before this incident. Well, because he's Brad, he of course goes left on his first wave instead of taking the safer route by going right away from the point. Kicking out of the double overhead wave just before it crunches into the rocky pit below, he is quickly back on his chest scratching, clawing, paddling and kicking his way out of the impact zone.

Soon he is looking over his shoulder to gauge the distance from his toes to the rocks. Meanwhile Llewelyn has sensed Brad's predicament and has run up to the top of the bluffs, and climbed over the "do not climb over" sign on the fence guarding the precipice overlook in order to better spy his companion's predicament. Brad continues to struggle. Somehow, someway, an absurd amount of northwest swell has been pointed directly at him from some 1200 miles away. After fifteen minutes, Brad has not been able to move out of the dangerous situation. He could hear his friend's cries and those of a small group of on-lookers from the cliff, and he decided he would not be able to take the traditional route of just paddling straight through to the outside into safer, deeper waters. He then paddles north, around the cliff, and spends ten minutes trying to time the onrush of the swell in order to get into reaching distance of the rocks. He manages to grapple to the rocks, and climb himself up to the top with his leash still attached to his leg and his board tucked under one arm. The small crowd that had gathered cheered happily seeing that he was safe. But to his or her dismay, he grinned, and then jogged back around to the beach without saying anything to anyone. He then proceeds to paddle back out, catch a few waves in a semi-conservative style, and walk back up the beach shaking his head. What a charger! I do not suggest trying this until you have surfed for many years like Brad.

ER Harris