Surfing is such an individualistic endeavor, it's hard to imagine competition being the central factor in a surf session, but many surfers insist on turning the experience of a paddle out into a fight for the best and most waves. That is the one thing that has been so endearing about living near this fabulous and powerful northwest facing stretch of coastline: that even in crowded conditions, it is very possible to paddle away from a crowded peak in order to surf by yourself. I would much rather surf crumbly, less consistent peaks versus jockeying with a bunch of audacious dickheads on a more hollow and consistent peak. I guess that's just my preference, but I would guess that half a million other surfers probably back that call: serenity over scene. Ocean Beach provides that on most days, but on occasion, when every necessary element falls into place for the perfect surf day, everyone and their mother from Cotati shows up.


I can live with it and most of the locals who live around the outer Richmond and Sunset districts in San Francisco can live with it. That's because we are assured to have many solo sessions with the four S's: surfboard, sun, sky and sea. And no P's, as in people. Perfect 6-8' crumblers lining up, with gentle offshore breeze trimming the wave faces like an omniscient sculptor. This picture of perfection transports me back in time to some amazing Taraval sessions that I had during a stretch of consistent swell and calm local wind conditions. Everything came together to form a state of ultimate congruence one winter day back in 2002. According to the swell models, that day was going to see a major increase in swell action sometime in the late afternoon before sunset. Well, of course my second session of the day coincided directly with that ominous projection of macking surf. Whenever a new swell hits OB, things get very shifty. Peaks that you were surfing a half hour earlier are converted to inside sections of monstrous outer bar set waves. The new swell this evening was coming in strong from the Aleutian chain, 310 degrees, 8-10' energy in the 20 second period range. But with it was supposed to be a blast of weather, a low-pressure system that would sweep through and change the winds. Those weather casters are getting good, because that's exactly what started to happen - a thorough disintegration of conditions ensued. It went from offshore, slightly overhead to moderate onshore and double overhead. Time to get one in, sneak past the inner bar close outs, and ride the rest of the way on my chest until feet meet sand.


Just as I completed this ritual of ending a surf session, I gazed out to the shipping lanes at the colors that our precious orb of light was providing. Boom! All of a sudden out of the water a huge Gray whale breaches! It is completely airborne for a hanging split second of time that will forever be emblazoned on my mind. I hooted as loud as I could and then screeched at the top of my lungs, my appreciation for this existence at an all time high. One other hearty soul was still out trying to finish his session with one last ride, and his arms were high above his head, and I could barely make out his cry of joy above the new howling winds. We were the lucky two, and our privilege for all those hard hours of paddling, duck diving and riding green walls was to be able to have the incredible memory of seeing that whale. It was a sacred talisman of nature, revealed only to the hearty, only to those that charge, those that slide ride glide their way through life chasing the adrenaline and serenity that is available out in nature. It's one of those precious blinks of an eye where you catch a red-rumped bobcat cruising through Muir Woods, or when you spot a Brown bear cub scamper through the woods near your campsite.

ER Harris