FLIP SIDE OF THE COIN Garden
State Crew Ventures North For Hurricane Igor To Find Open Faces And Beautiful
Spaces By Luke Ditella
“Heads or tails?”
Heads, New England, tails, New York. That’s
how we ended up leaving New Jersey for Hurricane Igor.
It seems like every time a long interval
groundswell shows up on the swell models, we all begin to talk about going north. I'm
sure everyone can see the humor that, after always planning on going there, it
came down to a coin toss. In retrospect, I think we should all listen to Rich
McMullin from now on about where to go. Being that every other lensmen and
pro surfer from Maine to Florida was descending on Long Island, we were some of
the few that got different looking images from the super-hyped hurricane. Along
with discovering some spots that could actually handle all the swell energy
that was being sent to every beach on the East Coast.
After driving all over New Jersey and then sitting
in my house for nearly an entire day, Ryan Struck, Chris “Quizzy” Kelly, and
myself couldn't wait to do something. Anything. So the coin was flipped and we
left to drive all night. Arriving to my buddy Evan’s place in Rhode Island at 2:30
a.m., we were right to sleep. And waking up the next morning, we went straight
to an unnamed left cove that, although looking about as fun as a head-high left
with an Indo-esque backdrop could, urged us on to search for a slabbier, bigger
wave. Knowing that Kevin Richards and Rich had the southern half of the state
covered as far as swell reports, we went north.
Not really knowing where to check, Bern
Unlimited Team Manager Josh Walker hooked us up with Tim Fater. And being one
of the Water Brothers crew, Tim showed us around. After meeting up with KR and Rich
and checking what seemed to be 15 spots, we went with a little beachie that had
an amazing backdrop and made us feel like we were in Europe. From the beach, it
looked like the most wedgey, rampy playground, but once we got out there, it was
a whole ‘nother story. With 100 of your closest friends and a wind that could
blow a car down the street, scoring photos seemed impossible. So after an hour
of getting blown off the face of most every wave, we went on the search again. And
this time, we found exactly what we were looking for.
An eight- to ten-foot ledging left point with eight
or so people out — until we decided to paddle. The second a board was
pulled out of the car, four carloads of overly excited, over-amped guys showed
up, throwing comments to each other like, “Hey, did you find this place on the
Internet too?” That was obviously directed at the few of us that had Jersey
plates. My parents lived in Rhode Island for the better part of 20 years, and
my father has sailed every inch of the state, but that didn't matter — I
guess that would be the definition of entitlement on my behalf, anyways. So KR,
Quiz, and myself dealt with the comments and stares and paddled out.
Saying it was good is a massive understatement.
It was one of the best lefts we’ve ever seen on the East Coast, complete
with some of the most suspect decisions we've ever seen in the ocean.
People running each other over, going over the falls on top of one another, and
not really letting us get any good ones. After watching 200-yard-long perfect
lines peel down the point for two hours and only really going right on
closeouts, we called it a day.
With the swell on the decline, we were up the
next morning at sunrise to try and get as much done as possible. Checking some
of the reefs, we made the call to go out to a little island off the coast, knowing
that anything sticking out that much further would pull in whatever swell was
left. After a two-hour drive complete with in-depth conversations about
politics, Freemasons, aliens, Brule’s Rules, and history, we finally got to the
coast. At first check, we were all psyched to get in the water. Head-high peaks
were popping up as far as you could see, with a seal every five feet making us
a little skeptical that the men in the grey suits would sample one of us
instead.
That sent us on the search again, this time
finding a sizable beachbreak that was literally dumping on dry sand. Quiz and
myself were obviously fired up to go out and do our best cannonball impressions,
but with the two of us carrying on like we had just found Backdoor, Rich’s
superior practical thinking came into play and convinced us to look for a
better wave that wouldn’t send us all home boardless.
So we drove... again… and again... and again.
But this time, we drove down a four-mile dirt road in the middle of the woods
that looked like it belonged in Central America, not on a vacation retreat
reserved for P Diddy. After an hour of Rich bottoming out his tank of a
Mercedes station wagon, leading to hundreds of dollars in repairs to his
exhaust and suspension, we were spat out onto the paved road we had already been
driving on. Thanks iPhone app, you asshole.
After all of this, we ended up back at the spot
Quiz and I were stupidly giddy about in the first place, only this time to find
it mushy and smaller. So again, we drove. Finally we pulled up to a spot we may
have already checked four times. Who knows, so we just went. What looked like a
chest-high punchy beachbreak turned out to be a little overhead, with a set-up
that looked exactly like France. And boy were we relieved. Quiz and I were the
first ones out after running down 100-foot-tall dunes — Quiz’s first wave
was a double-up tube, mine was a kick-out to broken board.
After sprinting all
the way back up the dune and to the car, I convinced KR to come out. We each
traded waves while Rich swam and Ryan shot from land. With not another surfer
in sight, we were all thankful. Although we were always wishing it was a little
better, we were all fulfilled that we went on our own little trip and didn’t
have to deal with the Belmar Pro coming to New York or the sideshore closeouts
in Jersey.
Instead, we had a two-day
caravan of laughs, “That wave looks like France!” quotes, and “Come on, let’s
just paddle” arguments. All in all, when we finally looked at the photos, our
expectations were met. And believe me, the expectations of an eight-foot at 15-second
groundswell combined with perfect pointbreaks was ridiculously high. We’re all
looking forward to going back and surfing some waves that we “found on the
Internet.” Thanks Google Earth. You rule
THE OLD IN-OUT
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