on surfing's anarchism

At its root, anarchism is the absence of rulers, not rules. If everyone were to abide by the agreed-upon codes of conduct, everyone would be able to live in happiness, liberty, and peace. This is especially relevant out in the churning swells; surfing is essentially an anarchistic activity. There are no police, no time keepers, and no crossing guards, wherefore it is necessary for everyone trying to catch waves to act honorably and with due consideration for all the other people risking their fragile health and spending their precious time trying to float across the face of a piling heap of water.

Some people are better surfers than others, and therefore believe they are for some reason entitled to a greater share of waves. This is a spurious notion. Since they can better read the waves and keep themselves in the correct position for riding them, they tend to charge on every arriving peak, regardless of how many waves they've already ridden and how long every other salty soul has been waiting. Plus, they tend to drag themselves past the other people inching toward the peak and put themselves at the front (this is called snaking) instead of displaying a modicum of self-respect and putting themselves at the back, there to wait their turn. Without honor, without patience, without generosity, the act of surfing degenerates into an ego-boosting pissing contest that frequently ends in vocal or physical violence, externalized aggression, and general sadness (for everyone but the snake). Outside of an official competition, there is no justification for stealing others' sea-time by jumping to the front of a line of surfers, every time. Just as today's consumption-oriented capitalistic system encourages the individual to grab as much shit as he can without regard for and often at the expense of the rights and desires of the people around him, consumption-oriented surfing – that is, paddling out just to shred as many waves as possible in the shortest amount of time without giving a floating fuck about the others guys out there too – taints the majesty of the shared experience called surfing, reducing it to something akin to masturbating in public.

There are few conditions as pitiable as greed, few traits as undesirable as blind self service. Without a healthy respect for community and the notion that we're all in this together and none of us is getting out of here alive, a person tends to get wrapped up in what is going on inside his head-space, believe what his ego is telling him, and lose his connection to the less tangible things in life – honor, giving, sharing, and joy. The sea is always a dangerous place, rain or shine, and a person knocked unconscious has but a few score seconds to live. Here, in Bali, there are not many lifeguards; a surfer must rely on the other people bobbing in the brine to save his ass if things turn south. Hence, it helps to make and keep as many friends as possible out there, to display poise and self restraint, and to conduct oneself in a manner respectful of everyone else's time and right to exist. For many people, happiness means the absence of suffering; if everyone were to follow a few simple surfing rules (wait your turn, keep hold of your board, don't snake, don't paddle into a breaking face if others are trying to jump on it), the beautiful justice of anarchy could truly work, at least out at sea, everyone going home having happily ridden a few. In one model of the Universe, the person who gives the most receives the most; give way, give thanks, and receive the ultimate gift – love.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

a surfing paean

It's not just for any old wavelength we'll settle; we seek out the big ones that punish our mettle that drag us and tumble us into the deep with harsh pulling suction and swift faces steep. Between them we float bobble swim through the sea to wherever our chances greatest may be to snatch fleeting glory from a swollen peak – our serious business is not for the meek. There's crab sea-lice jellie trash urchin and shark, there's thunderstorm board-rash log impending dark, there's lobster-net newbie and lightning-strike too, there's shattered plank sunburn and discarded shoe. And still we will go out and enter the churn because deep within us a passion does burn for danger excitement and warm muggy climes; we dream of the perfect wave all waking times.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on secret spots

I cannot explain where they lie, break, or pack for I have been sworn to a secret compact. To get to them we took the regular ways once we to the Goddess had given fair praise, once we had awakened and strapped on our boards, once we'd made sure all our bikes pointed forwards. They'll not remain secret much longer, I fear, perhaps a few months or maybe just a year, until they'll be crowded with Russian beginners who don't read the rules and are thus surfing's sinners. The breaks are near cliff-sides, sometimes they're near reefs where creeping fish linger with long, spiny teeth, where poisonous starfish and their polyps float, where wee male seahorses their progeny tote. Now come with us on this here new adventure to witness the ocean's ceaseless overture, that's written in current, peak, swell, chop, and wave, that dictates how we think, dream, talk, and behave. I will not say more lest I spill all the beans and ruin what's left (if you know what I mean), and give up the very last Bali secret, a spot that tourism has not ruined yet.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

whence others flock

A new set is coming straight into our teeth, we're ready and waiting with our boards unsheathed. The riptide is dragging us all toward the rocks, where one person ventures the others soon flock. The setting sun dazzles and shines in our eyes while not far above us a white drone now flies. I give it the finger as it passes by, a white mote bobbing against a clear blue sky, then turn on my axis to look at the waves, afloat in these majestic briny enclaves. The first peak we just watch, to study its shape, then off to the breaking point frantically scrape, our arms do the digging our legs merely rest while sticky wax irritates stomach and chest. The first guy he scrambles but is far too slow, then sits there the noobie disrupting our flow, whereupon we others venture farther out to improve our chances and display our clout. I'm in the position to ride this one in, with a few arm movements complete a half spin, then push up and plant my feet onto the deck, for obstacles I with an eagle-eye check, then turn at the bottom and back up the face, continuing onward at a dashing pace. Near two hundred meters the wave lets me ride as within my bosoms there wells up much pride, I dismount amidst a vast school of beginners, regardless of skill-set we all end up winners. Baruna is calling, ocean deity, he delights in fortitude and gaiety, so shine up your board-lines and come to the shore, adventure is waiting not far from your door.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥