Just like it says,
these are some of the stories from a lot of years in the surf biz.

Surf Accessories

J.F.Milliken wrote
John Ferguson wrote:
Foondoggy wrote
It's funny but no one seems to be considering the greatest accessory of all...wimmin.
If I took one with me, I'd lose the thrill of finding one when I get there.

I met my first wife at the beach......note I said 'first wife', not simply'wife'. Ya gotta be careful about what you find on the sand.

Who said anything about getting married? I think that was your error.

I think you are right. Very, very right.

>My original reply was still in reference to Foon's beach trip scenario.I'm going to the Keys soon to ski, dive, and fish. I'm currently single (and cute) and taking full advantage of it.
Still, I find that beach resorts are filled with ladies who told their hubbies that they "need time alone to think". Then left town secretly hoping to live out one of those weekend romances which they read about in those paperback novels they find in the grocery checkout.

I'm really not that sleasy, but I realize what's out there. I know some surfers that are also such good players that they seldom need to find their own hotel room.

Well, working in a surf shop that does a lot of rentals too can be....interestin'.

A Couple of Years Ago:

So I'm standing behind the counter, relaxing and contemplating the next cold beer. Around an hour before closing, I'm a touch bored. When in the door comes....

You know the type, about 32, recently divorced, recently blonde, been going to the gym again.......prowling. It's something in their eyes, they have been off the market for a while and it's time to catch up, fast. I run across quite a few here, resort area and all that that entails, with their still married sisters for the summer, maybe they get to take their nieces and nephews to the beach a lot. But they are prowling, no doubt.

She looks around the place, some boards, wetsuits, t-shirts and all that. Then she looks in the glass front of the display case. A strange look comes over her. Now, this isn't one of Neal's 'most embarrassing' bits, though I did quickly check to see nothing was hanging out of my shorts that really didn't fit a retail situation...surf shop retail anyhow. It wasn't.

So she looks again, and looks up at me with these suddenly innocent eyes;"What is that stuff?" she asks, pointing.

I see what she's pointing at-a stack of Mister Zog's finest, assorted colors. "Well," I answered, "That's Sex Wax".

She looks at the display case, looks at me, looks at the display case and then looks at me. "But what is it?"she asks again.

I, in my best 'Gee honey, never been out of Ohio before?" tones, very suitable for bus stations, a custom Caddy, fur Stetson and a nickname like Silky, I replied"Well, it's Sex Wax."

She takes a long look at the display case, long look at me, another even longer look at the display case and then she fixes her eyes on me, as if there is something she doesn't know about but she is DEFINITELY going to try and asks, in a slightly nervous little girl voice "But what's it for?"

Oh, I say in a low tone, Robert Mitcham moving in for the kill, "You see, it's for traction'.

Her eyes widen a bit....."Oh......traction." She then goes on to relate which nightspot she is going to be in that night and when. Then she bought a bar of the stuff. Cocoanut.As a technical tip, wax won't stick to cocoanut oil.

Maybe you want to take someone with you to the beach, maybe not. But don't take her to work.....

>>>Happy days,>>John.>>

And don't forget your wax......Doc

I remember a day, waaaay back, when Cape Cod was closed out. Just plain big, with the outer sandbars a half mile out to sea breaking top to bottom. Paddling out? Hooboy. Most everybody with any sense went off-Cape to a place the other side of Cape Cod Bay, where it was gonna be survivable.

Except for three idiots. A former semi-pro pitcher, a guy who used to be a singer in Mexico and this nitwit on a kneeboard. After looking around, break after break, we finally picked Four Mile to try it. If you looked carefully, every now and then there was a hint of a channel. A hint and that was all. Hank and Doug couldn't get through the shorebreak, but I was able to push the kneeboard under the heaviest stuff and make it outside. Waay outside. Doug and Hank were the size of gnats on the shore.

Now, I'm not really sure of why I did it, let alone how, but I was out there, cross current going to beat the band and every now and then a peak coming in that was just.......whoooo.....am I gonna make it over this sucker. There is a point you reach, past scared, where you realise that not only can you die out here, it is kinda probable that you will. And yopu also realise that you are really a land creature, not all that well adapted for being on or in the water. Especially water that is waaaaay up there and crashing down with a sound like the end of the world. I knew that if I stayed out there, something was going to happen. And it probably wasn't good. It wasn't getting any smaller real fast. It was make it or break it time, and I picked the shoulder of the smallest wave I could find. Couldn't catch it. Didn't dare get too far in, 'cause they were jacking up fast inside, the takeoff zone for something with a shoulder, any shoulder, was the impact zone for everything else.

Tried again-no . And again. I realised it was gonna be one shot and that would be all. If I got caught inside, well, there wasn't much chance I wasgoing to hang onto my board and zero chance that anyone would save my dumb ass. That would be it-I'd get a few moments before I got Rinse Cycled to hell and gone, as literally as it gets. So I watched some peaks real careful. And a few more. And then one came in.

Kierkegaard writes about fear and trembling, and I didn't need a whole lot of intro when I read his stuff years later, fear and trembling when you make a decision. There are just some that you make because you have to decide, and there is no going back, you're committed for good or ill. I took the peak, the very barest shoulder of the peak. And it jacked up, so big so fast and time slowed down, every bump on that wave was like a long slowly told story of hanging onto my board and just easing the rail like a jeweler cuts a diamond, with exquisite care and knowing what a mistake will cost. Hanging on for dear life, really for dear life as things got real steep, making the decision to turn in without a conscious thought, just reflex telling me when. My fins getting blasted loose by the white water that I was buried in until I was blasted loose in front of it all. Making it in through the shorebreak-that's something I don't remember at all. Guess I over loaded a bit, just my senses saturated by the idea of getting past it all, the adrenalin making things go dim.

Later that day we all got outside. The swell was a short one, gone the next day. It was still big, later in the afternoon, but there were a half dozen out and somehow it was easy. My last wave of the day, at dusk, I was cocky and it wasn't over head high and I charged it, bottom turn and hit the lip at the same time as the backwash and up and over....they tell me I made it all the way around with the lip and was going down the line just before the section closed out-

But that's another story-

Doc ------------

Are you sick of this yet? Okay, wanna read about fixing dings or go back to the index page.