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Malibu (With Laird sweeping up the place and Sarlo on the set waves? Nuh-uh).Steamer Lane (Not sure this even a good wave, really).In fact, here’s a list of iconic waves that are the least worth dealing with: Little Rincon way, WAY easier than Rincon on the same swell. It was a blast! Zuma is often way more surfable, in terms of waves caught per hour, than Malibu. I paddled out at Pipe once on a day that looked survivable, sat there for a few minutes, watched Mikala Jones get horrifyingly pitched on a small one, and paddled right down to Ehukai to trade closeout sand suckers with the kiddos. The truth about iconic waves is that, for 95 percent of surfers, you’ll have way, way more fun at the closeout around the corner from the famous wave. Photo Credit: Ryan "Chachi" Craig Pipeline. You’ll regret doing it, but you totally could! It’s an incredible thing that you can just fly to Hawaii, get off the plane in Honolulu and paddle out at proper Pipe within two hours. That’s not to say iconic waves should not be visited. The longest waves of my life have been at unremarkable Baja pointbreaks far from everything, especially notoriety. Turns I’ve done that I’m the proudest of happened at closeouts sloshing weakly beneath barnacle-crusted pier pilings at ho-hum state beaches. My best tubes have been at beaches that I don’t even think have names and dot empty stretches of the California coast. It’s a nightmare out there! But the heart wants what it wants.Īfter nearly 30 years of surfing, it occurred to me recently that almost none of the best sessions I think back on fondly happened at famous waves.

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Haleiwa free from terrifying closeout sets and dudes built like brick houses swinging and going on waves regardless of who’s in position for what.

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Rocky Rights without the entire professional surf army descending on every scrap of wave. Memories of surfing V-Land with the angry crowd edited out. North Shore hallucinations will form too. Visions of Rincon and Steamer Lane, with me, somehow, hacking around the face of overhead set waves will tempt. “Santa Cruz is only a couple hours away,” the voice will remind me. “Hey, what about a little trip to Santa Barbara?” a stupid, stupid voice will begin to whisper in my head. I’m remembering this because as November swings in–as the Pacific groggily wakes, stretches its muscles and starts to pound the West Coast with groundswell–the temptations will be there. Photo Credit: Woody Woodworth Queen of the Coast, as iconic a wave as can be. But it was the high-and-lowlight of my session at Rincon that day, probably the last time I’ll ever surf there.īecause surfing iconic waves is, for the most part, bullshit.

He was schralping to death the wave after mine. I thought Dane might be behind me, angrily collecting his board in the soup when I surfaced. Was a lovely gem, afforded a couple speed banks and a too-fast tube I didn’t make. On the next set, a wave snuck through the madding crowds, kinda doubled-up on the cove bar, and Dane was in perfect position–he always is–so I calmly paddled over and snaked the shit out of him.

I decided that was quite enough for Dane. There were dolphins leaping from the face of the wave out on the shoulder, it was beautiful, and I’m almost certain it made it into one of his Mini-filmed edits. He got in behind me, pumped once, did some kind of straight air over my head. Even though he does nothing but surf all day, every day, he needed to catch this wave so badly it was worth back-paddling me for. I’d been paddling for a sweet one while Dane was paddling back out. He aired over me on a cove wave that day, still the most spectacular surfing I’ve ever been within mere inches of. At least the last few times I’ve surfed Rincon, it seems like I end up in the cove with a few stragglers, and Dane.Īnyway, Dane gets lots of waves. Once I’d floundered and paddled around for an hour, praying for world-class surfers to fall (they never do!), I retreated to the cove, the inside, most perfect section of the wave, that, paradoxically, is never as crowded as the point further up–I guess because it’s technically the end of the wave, but, being Rincon, it still spins for a good 50 yards.

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I’d done what I always do on a glorious day at Rincon: paddled out at the rivermouth, heart full of optimism, pretending to not notice the entire population of Ventura County jostling for position on every wave, a handful of WCT warriors among them, the same 15 pros and lifers getting all the set waves, as they always do and always have, since Tom Curren first descended from heaven and sculpted the point from clay. It was a January day at Rincon, must have been…2014? Barely remember anymore. I mercilessly roasted Dane Reynolds once.