Sunday, April 26, 2009

Surfers are Selfish

“Surfers are a selfish bunch, they only think of one thing – surfing!” There are times I would tend to agree, but I’d include “unreliable”, “work-shy” and perhaps even “self-entitled”. Surfers are inherently self-serving; the very nature of the pursuit of riding waves tends to strip away any altruistic intentions, and demands pitiless commitment to being available at the first whiff of a swell. Riding a wave has very little to with other people – simply put it’s not a team sport. Yes, what would surfing be without your brahs, brus, bruddahs, connections and soul-mates? I’ll tell you what it would be like – peaceful and sublimely uncrowded!

From the instant you stroke furiously for that shifty A-frame to the last fantail of spray before you kick out - YOU are surfing the wave, unless of course of one your connections happens to hop along for the ride on your 6’2 quad.

Missed dates, appointments, interviews and even weddings litter the collective experiences of surfers across the globe, but that’s merely fallout. The real selfishness rears its ubiquitous head in the surf zone, amongst other members of the tribe.

Irrespective of whether you’re a surf brand Barbie, neo-retro kinder in a beavertail or a dreadlocked feral type, surfing is essentially about getting waves. Have no fear, I’m not going to pontificate about localism, intimidation or our home grown favourite - xenophobia , I’m talking about a deep seated desire to always snag the best wave of the set, and be perfectly positioned irrespective of our fellow wave-riders.

Virtually imperceptible hustling techniques, silky smooth snaking, beguiling chit chat and a warm smile are more often than not employed to get the best waves. We’ve all encountered that Donovan Frankenreiter look-a-like who spreads brotherly love like smooth peanut butter in the carpark with a magnanimous smile and the warmest of ’Howzit Brus’, but somehow undergoes a metamorphosis once he’s immersed in saltwater. It’s simple, much like you or me, Dono craves the best wave.

We’re almost beyond help – seduced by a drug more potent than Crack, a passion that sparks and then ignites primal human responses like selfishness. We surfers simply cannot help ourselves. Responsibilities tend to wither in the water, and on occasion even commitments to friends and family are diluted by the most alluring of mistresses - waves. Perhaps that’s why we all collapse in hysterics when a surfer is sucked over falls and promptly pureed into fish-paste, or smile inwardly when a couple of mates are caught on the inside by a clean-up set. I’m not sure, but to varying degrees we’ve all explored the twilight zone of selfish surfing.


There are of course exceptions to the rule, like surfing’s Madiba, Duke Kananumoku, whose immortal response to wave-hogging was “Just take your time - wave comes. Let the other guys go, catch another one.”

Nonetheless, something tells me that Ghandi, or dare I add Madiba, would find it difficult to get a wave at New Pier on a good day.