Friday, August 7, 2009

The Advent of “Ballie-dom”

There’s a moment that every mortal surfer will experience, a shadowy epiphany that will mark the beginning of a new life stage; middle-age. This harbinger of agedness might manifest itself by physical means in form of a gammy shoulder or the need for copious amounts of extra sunscreen and a dorky looking sunhat. Perhaps “ballie-dom” will present itself as a sobering reflection of a pregnant looking profile in rear window of your car, as you ponder the mysterious qualities of ever-shrinking neoprene.

For me, it arrived in the water on a Sunday afternoon a couple of years ago. I’d just enjoyed, in my smallish universe, a great wave that I had punctuated with a fantail of spray and an effortless kick-out. As the adrenalin fuelled my paddle back to the peak, an elasticised 20 something year-old stroked past me and sniggered, “Hey Bru, not a bad wave for a ballie”. I should have committed my soul to Davy Jones’ Geriatric Unit right there, but deep down a youthful flame still flickered bravely in the face of the stiffening breeze.

Somehow, if you’re a surfer, “ballie-dom” or middle-age never arrives. There’s always another soul in the water, who appears a little more grizzled, grey or grumpy than you. For surfers, the goalposts of agedness are mercurial; they constantly shift up and down our beach of dreams. No doubt, you’ll be labelled as a “Toppie”, “Ballie”, “Bullet”, “Silver Surfer” or “Old-man”. Wear those labels as you would a Congressional Medal of Honour, Victoria Cross or Honoris Crux, and then go out there and prove all those little rubber people how much fun surfing really can be.

For some surfers, middle-age is fraught with crises and the need to prove that the “Zimmer-frame of surfing”, the longboard or mini-mal is still decades in the future. There’re probably about three surfers over 40 (world-wide) who don’t look a cockroach in its death throes while trying to pump their 6’2” Persian slipper through a flat section at their local beach. If you’re over 40, get your shaper to add some more foam, a couple of inches and less rocker to your next board – you have no idea how much fun you’re missing, and hey, if you’ve got this far, you deserve it.

With middle-age comes a treasure trove of possibilities without having to anguish over what “other surfers think”. Become a Joel Tudor without the neo-hippy baggage and try longboards, mini-mals, fishes, shortboards and eggs BUT never a SUP. Irrespective of the ravages of age, everyone, except perhaps Laird Hamilton looks like a wannbe gondolier on those fibre-glass buses of mayhem.

Middle-age undoubtedly presents one with a daunting array of domestic and financial responsibilities, but more often than not, although this translates to less time in the water, there’s a strong chance you’ll savour every session with the unbridled passion of a grom. Speaking of groms, if you have kids it’s highly likely the little pirates will be joining you in the water at some point. Experiencing a sunset session or dawn patrol with your kids will re-affirm your faith in humanity, and create a bond between parent and sibling that few sports can compare with.

Perhaps the best part of growing older is the advantage of life-experience. I prefer a less Life-coach orientated term - Wisdom. Wise surfers are less selfish, fonts of salty knowledge and the pillars of our lifestyle. They lead by example and influence the future of our sport in and out of the line-up with grace, humility and a smile; NOT a sullen stare, simian grunt or gormless profanity. They might not be the best surfer in the water, but in the long term they have the ability to change the perceptions of the next generation, and that in my aged opinion is more important than a boatload of Alley Oop method airs at 10 foot Teahupoo.