So I took my brother surfing for the first time today, to LM, and it blew. Which got me thinking a bit about my first time[s], and what made me decide to come back for more; this in turn, got me wondering about every else's first times/what made them give up a life of warm tea and lazy mornings in exchange for the early greyness of cold rain and colder waves. So, if you have a tale to tell, please share.
I'll start things off. My first time (mid-winter last year) was sortof a blur of being cold, being screamed at by hooded strangers, and being hit on the head with various boards--probably my own board, though some, i imagine, were other people's. I think we did 2 sessions that day (in santa cruz) at what seemed to be two identical crowded breaks. Meh-.
A little bit later, after hearing tales of the fabled break under the bridge, I stupidly (it was late at night, a few drinks deep..etc.) told a friend that I'd surf ###### with her the next morning, and then it was sortof too late to bail on that without losing credibility. So, there we were, at 6am the next morning, ready to jump off the rocks at the point (i'm guessing the tide must have been a bit high, since it didnt even occur to us to paddle out from the 'elbow', or maybe we just followed someone else out). No crowds (1 dude), cold grey sky (was it raining/windy?), black water, a larger-than-life bridge already skewing one's perception of size and self, and waves--the likes of which were inconceivable to my east-coast go-to-the-mountains-beaches-are-for-tanned-jerseyshoresque-people sensibilities. (I'm guessing they were HH, though that might be an exaggeration.) What ensued was terrifyingly elemental (permanently transforming my perception of the relationship between me and Nature). And that was that: I was glowing for the next 3 days, and was hooked.
I forget most of the specifics of the session, with three exceptions: 1) with literally every wave that would start to shape up under the bridge, I was absolutely positive that it wouldnt swing around enough, and would end up landing on my head and smashing me into the rocks---the result, a perpetual state of terror induced adrenaline-heightened-perception. 2) one nipple-high wave did actually swing around enough to reach my absurd spot waaaaay on the shoulder, and i ended up with my first real drop/ride (it didnt even occur to me to try to stand up). 3) immediately after i paddled out, after Friend had just jumped off ###### and started her rather ill-timed paddle: the one other dude commented "hey, your gf is about to get pounded into the rocks," to which my response was "nah, don't worry. thats not my gf, thats my surf instructor." I'm pretty sure that guy is still a douche to me, i guess understandably so (its pretty miserable watching someone floundering by the rocks, and thinking 'oh shit, if something happens, i'll need to go help')...no hard feelings.
So anyway, i guess the other way to get into surfing is to go to mellow spots, and first learn to surf, then work one's way up to bigger sketchier spots. the obvious drawback of this approach is that the emphasis is on learning to surf (popping up, etc), rather than on the experience of `surfing'. (And, after my FP experience, I definitely went to smaller spots to try to learn how to surf, etc, but that FP experience was why i wanted to learn.) So, share your tales, and for all our sakes, please resist the temptation to turn this thread into a debate over the ethics of newbies surfing FP : )
