The Manifest

by Thom Gunn

My friends Paul and Putnam came out to California for the week and are staying with Paul’s brother LJ, or Little Joe, or L Jeezy, or Lokesta. I went down a couple of times to go splash around in the salt bath not really anticipating catching any of these massive waves that were rolling in. I thought drowning was a more realistic outcome from the day’s activity. Nonetheless, I wrapped myself up in  a skin-tight wet suit and jumped in.

I love surfing. All of my friends would say that a bold-faced lie. The truth is I just don’t love it enough to; suffer through sub-zero temperatures, fight my way through crowds to snag a wave, and wait an hour for a 3 wave set to arrive. You also come out of the water with all kinds of weird rashes all over your body from wax or wetsuit. Not to mention sea creatures that silently attack you. Jellyfish and sea lice are the bane of my surfing existence. I’m not really scared of sharks all that much but sometimes they get a little too friendly.

Sharks on the east coast will nip at you and maybe take a finger or leave a bit scar on your leg. Although they’re much less frequent on the west coast, they bite, you die.

Sharks aren’t the only things that are more aggressive on the west coast. The surfers are too. They will key your car and flat your tires for parking in the wrong spot. That’s what their like on the land, now imagine trying to compete with them for a wave. Much like the sharks, they will probably kill you. Thank god I was with a group of friends though. In actuality, they seemed a quite docile and cheery bunch. They splashed around and told jokes and what-not, and aside from the SoCal “bro” accent seemed much like normal surfing species found around the world. Until a boogie board paddled out into the lineup.

One older bro, I’ll call him “Sheriff,” started sneering with his cronies out on the first peak. The look of disdain and evident racism filled his veins as if his whole family had been raped by a tribe of boogie boarders in some distant past. Like a hawk watching and waiting for his prey to get close enough so that he can swoop down and sink his talons into the poor desert mouse, Sheriff eyed the sponger, who couldn’t have been older than 16.

“No boogie-boarders allowed.” Sheriff called out.

“What?” the boy replied.

“You can read can’t you? The sign says NO BOOGIE BOARDS!” Sheriff paddled slowly towards him on his old beat up Al Merrick surfboard, as if to threaten. (Actually I’m not sure. He might have just been paddling that way anyways, but it sounds better in the story.) All the other surfers followed suit. I even found myself uncontrollably paddling in his direction. The boy froze seeing that he was surrounded by bro sharks. It could’ve been saltwater dripping from his hair, but I believe it was sweat. A cold hard sweat, beading on his forehead as he realized this situation wasn’t promising. Fear showed in the whites of his eyes and he quickly turned back towards the beach. Sheriff grinned.

As it turns out, there was a set coming and everyone was just vying for position. I don’t think the poor kid stayed out long enough to figure that out and I doubt he’ll be bobbing his way out into a crowd of surfers ever again. I was scared for him.

Am I a surfer? Hell no.

Can I surf? Yeah, well… better than most of the kooks out in the lineup yesterday.

I prefer to surf in warmer clearer waters with fewer people. I don’t even like people on the beach watching. I feel obligated to prove something and end up trying to show off or something. 9 times out of 10 I end up falling and/or looking idiotic.  People in the water are worse. It was so crowded yesterday that on two of my best waves, I was preoccupied with avoiding surfers. Get out of my way!

Surfing is fun. Or I should say, surfing can be fun. Much like that sponger, I guess I’m just going to have to find some surferless breaks to splash around in.