I’ve been surfing lately. It’s the season around here, as the weather systems start dropping down out of Canadian cold and blow across the still warm lake. A good friend of mine and award winning film maker, Ryan Bigelow, put together a quick video of his session this morning along with some shots of a session from a few days ago. My son is featured which is very nice for me. I made it in just after they left this morning.
Click either image to go to the video.
I walked into my studio this morning and was struck by the colors that seem to have infiltrated it.
Whoaa what happened here? I’m really not a big fan of these pastels, much less this triadic scheme. But there they were.
The boat was something I bought a year ago. I bought it because I have some questions about that particular design. It’s called a Car Topper. It was designed by the innovative and somewhat eccentric boat design Phil Bolger. “Dynamite” Harold Payson has written about building them and sells the plans. This boat was built by the father of a friend of mine. I had been thinking of building it myself but the price was right for this one so I bought it. It needs restoring and I have yet to get around to that.
Anyway, my friend’s father painted that boat those colors. I suppose he may have been thinking of tropical pastels or something. Something like the way houses are painted through out the Caribbean. I don’t know. The odd thing is that my friend is an artist, a pretty well known artist who has many public art commissions in his portfolio and is known for his use of colors in his sculptures.
The surfboard is in for repairs. It’s a Robert August design and was shaped for the surfer I eventually bought it off of. Same color scheme as the boat! What is it about those colors?
Take a look at a color wheel. It’s set up based on the three primary colors arranged equidistant around a circle. That’s 120 degrees apart, which is what is meant by triadic colors, they are 120 degrees apart on the color wheel. Using triads creates a high energy kind of buzz of a color scheme. Adding white tones that down somewhat and shifts the scheme towards a pastel look but it still cries out for attention to me. Hey mahn, look ‘a me mahn, I’m over he-ah. Or something.
I’ve been thinking a long time about getting into boat building professionally. I’ve built a few boats in the past for fun or as the need arose, but now I’m looking to build boats for others. It’s a very daunting prospect. I realized a while ago that I needed to learn a lot more about boats and boat building before attempting this. I’ll be posting more on all this in coming posts. One of the reasons I bought the Car Topper was to do some initial tests on the water and to get my hands on a boat about that size. I’ve moved into a very different direction since buying it and am going to build a very traditional design, lapstrake boat but I still plan to restore this boat and use it for odd jobs around the water.
The surfboard is being repaired where an earlier repair, done before I got the board, failed a few days ago. I was out on some pretty decent sized waves, the first waves of any size for a long time around here. It’s been a very flat summer. About an hour and a half into the session, as I was paddling out and ducking into an oncoming wave as it broke over me I had my hand on the rail and could feel it flex and as it did I felt a crack open up. Not good.
I took the board into the studio a couple of days later (luckily I have another board that I used or the clean up session the next day, which BTW was awesome!) and inspected the damage. An old plug of pink builder’s foam had worked loose and created the crack. I had to grind down quite a lot of the rail, fill with epoxy and micro balloons and have just layered in some fiber glass cloth and resin. It should be ready in a couple of days.
I’m still working through a lot of material on boat building but hope to be starting a boat in a week or so. The surf season is starting here so I’ll be quite busy for some time. I’ve got a new coffee table design I’ll be showing here as soon as I get it rendered the way I want and I’ve been commissioned to build another coffee table to be shipped down to Florida. Did I say I was going to be busy?
It was the horizontal sleet in my face that was the hardest to take. It nearly blinded me.
Saturday we had gale force winds, sleet and snow. The winds kicked up some good size waves on the western shore of Lake Michigan. We had quite a bit of rain the days before and along with a ton of melted snow the sewage system here in Milwaukee was overwhelmed and the water works was dumping sewage into the rivers and lake. That shut down a couple of beautiful surf spots, leaving few choices if you wanted to paddle out.
One spot far enough away from the sewage release had a hellatious current. That left a spot just south of the ruins of a once well maintained beach resort. All that is left these days are three groins made of jumbled concrete that go from the beach directly out into Lake Michigan and the rotting slabs of concrete along the shore of what were once large structures, bath houses, concessions, and even a tramway. Now the slabs thrust rusting rebar up into the waves near shore making surfing there especially dangerous.
With north winds the groins create a point break of sorts, bending the waves around in clean arcs of peeling grace. Saturday was a different story. Saturday was just this side of manageable chaos, near washing machine conditions.
The wave period, the time between wave peaks was a mere 6 seconds. The waves were waist to chest high but were being blown in as chaotic peaks. The air was 38 degrees as was the water and the sleet came in horizontally. Looking out into the lake to watch for incoming waves hurt like hell.
I paddled out by myself around 3:30 Saturday afternoon, turning around just in time to catch a great wave. That is the sucker wave of course. Not because you’d paddle for it and miss it, but because that one great ride would entice you to stay out in the storm looking for another great ride. Tim G. joined me before I could catch another wave. There wasn’t much chance of talking. Occasionally we shouted a few words, but mostly we watched each other over the tops of the waves as we traded rides.
I was done in after an hour. My face felt sunburned from the pelting it took from the sleet and I headed back up the bluff. Here’s where civilization comes in.
From the time I paddle ashore to the time I was soaking in the most delicious hot bath was no more than 30 minutes. It was there, lying in that tub of hot water that I realized what has to be the best mark of a civilized society, the ability to heat water and to bathe, to luxuriate, to spend time thinking and philosophizing, letting your mind wander down lazy pathways, soaking in that wonderful warm, nay, hot liquid.
Yesterday.
The sky cleared after sifting 7 more inches of snow down on us all day Saturday and into the Saturday night. Cold Canadian air was sucked around the back side of the stormy low as it swung up the Ohio Valley, the wind backing a little northwest as we shoveled out. The phone tree lit up as friends checked to see who had actually seen the waves, who was going out today and when.
The air was 24 degrees.
It took me a good hour and a half to shovel out our porches, sidewalks and two vehicles. I grabbed the snow shovel after a breakfast of waffles, raspberries, walnuts, yogurt and plenty of coffee. Shoveling was a good way to get warmed up for the paddle out.
To paddle out into water that’s around 36 degrees Fahrenheit you have to be a little crazy. A good wet suit helps too. I packed an extra pair of long johns, my 6mm wet suit with 7mm booties and 7mm mittens, a extra pair of wool socks and a cooler 2/3 filled with very hot water. It was a little difficult navigating around the snow hills between my house and to the street where my truck was parked with my 9′6″ surf board under my arm but I managed to slide the board into the back of the truck.
Yesterday the surf was likely to be the best at a spot about 20 minutes north of where I live. It’s now a park but was once a fancy resort where large ships would bring folks from big cities around the lake to vacation along the shore or for day trips to cool off in the summer. The ruins of some of the docks and concrete footings along the beach are all that are left. It is a very wide and open bay with a point 4 miles to the north and another point a mile south of where we surf. A NW wind will bring in clean, long lines that peel over the outer and inner sand bars and rocky reefs.
I saw the vehicles of a couple of friends parked along the road above the bluff that leads to the beach as I pulled up. John and Bill were out on an outer break catching shoulder high peelers, Dave was just paddling out.
I started up my truck so that I could run the truck’s heater as I stripped off my clothes and changed into my surfing gear in the truck cab. Over my surfing booties I wore my Sorel boots outer shells and over my wet suit I put on an XXXL down jacket I picked up at an army surplus store last year. I grabbed my board out of the back of the truck and waded down the trail in snow that was almost 2 feet deep. At the bottom of the trail I saw a pair of snowshoes I left my outer boots and jacket there and carried my board down to the beach.
The sand was starting to freeze with large, irregular panes of ice and sand jumbled about just above the wave wash. Above that was deep snow drifting up to the wood line and the concrete remnants of the old resort. Bill and John had been surfing the reefs to the south but it looked as if only Bill was left. Dave and John had been joined by Ryan and Max on the sand bar way out to the north. I strapped my surfboard leash to my calf and watched the waves to make sure my familiar channel was still the best spot to wade out towards and have the best chance of an easy paddle through the bigger waves.
The nice thing about yesterday was that there were quite a few friends out surfing, people I know and have surfed with many times before. And, one other thing, the sun was shining. I can’t tell you how important it is to feel the sun shining in a gorgeous blue sky just at this moment when I’m the most uneasy, this moment of sliding into the very cold water going from an upright, walking, bipedal primate with some easy access to dryness and warmth to a prone, paddling, surfer with expectations of only cold, cold water and wind.
As I started out Bill rode a wave in and started wading in to the beach. He was ready to try the sand bar to the north so I decided to paddle out with him. He said that he had snow-shooed down the bluff. Great idea.
The session was spectacular. Beautiful waves, breaking over the bar and peeling, almost tubing, along clean big faces. There was lots of room and time to trim and cutback, slide up and down the face. We were lining up a good 250 yards out for most of the time. Every once in a while I’d wipe out and go under. Did I mention that this was cold water. Ice cream headache time big time.
Here’s the thing that I find really hard to get across and am always amazed at when it happens. A huge storm comes, cold and snow, ice and wind and you know in your bones that you should be inside by a warm fire. But there is something that drives you to go out, to go out into the snow and even crazier to lay on a thin fiberglass surfboard and paddle out into the winter of Lake Michigan. You are essentially, even when others are out, out there by yourself, in the water. Apprehension is all to natural and it really starts to work on you as you are getting ready, as you wade through deep snow and then water and start to paddle through the icy waves. Soon there will be floating ice in the line up where we surf. But then, there is this amazing change. You see another surfer, several, all friends, in the water with you, catching waves and you start whooping and cheering as they glide by you riding up and up the face of a swelling wave. And soon there’s a wave aiming right down the line for you and everyone starts shouting,”ooooo Todd, that one has YOUR name on it”, “go, go, go”.
And…………. off you go.
And nothing could be better.
That’s an amazing transformation.
Ahhh eventually the cold begins to start taking it’s due. My feet feel it first. It’s not long before they feel like blocks of ice and are about as useful to stand on as blocks of ice. Coordination ebbs. The shadows get very long as the sun drops ever lower. The days are very short this time of year and I am a long way out in the lake and a long way from a warm truck.
Soon I take whatever wave I can in to where I know there’s an underwater gravel bar running out from shore. As waves break over it they push water either north or south of the bar. If you get just to the south side there’s a pretty strong current to carry you south to where you can walk out on a sand beach. I catch some whitewater in to that bar and glide in to the beach.
It’s a long trudge up the bluff. Bill’s got his snow shoes on and heads out ahead of me. I lag behind as the cold really starts to seep into my wet wet suit. Once I get to my truck my hands are like clubs and I have a hard time sliding the cooler full of hot water out of the truck and down to the street, but soon I’m standing with my feet immersed in lovely hot water, my mittens off and I’m pouring pitcher fulls of that wonderful stuff over my head and down inside my suit.
What a lovely day.
There are things that are worth some effort, worth a risk, worth some pain. Amazingly deep joy and bliss are really not available online, or over the cable or at slide of your credit card through Megacorp’s one of a gazillion terminals.
Go. Do something real. And have fun.
I opened my latest issue of The Surfer’s Journal last night. I always have to wait until I can sit down for at least an hour to open that magazine, because it takes me at least that long before I can tear myself away from it, at least. Even if you are not a surfer I highly recommend opening at least one issue sometime. I love the paper they print on, the images are magnificent and the writing stands head and shoulders above most “surf writing”.
This December- January 2007-2008 issue has a story about Tom Killion’s woodblock prints. He uses what he refers to as a “faux ukiyo-ë” method of printing. The Surfer’s Journal prints full page images of his work. Really, go find this.
Although I don’t really have the time I went on a web search for more information on Japanese style woodblock printing as it rekindled my interest in it. I use to do some woodblock printing, even printed our wedding invitations on a press I made from a wringer washer roller-wringer. Here’s a good website on Japanese woodblock printing how-to.
Another highly recommended item is again Bob Reitman’s radio show- see my links.
I’ve got to run now, I need to buy some wine before Holly and I go for our run.
Wednesday afternoon my son and I decided to take a drive south of town with our surf gear. The wind had been building from a steady 20 knots to 30 knots during the day. It was coming out of the northeast with gusts to 40. The surf spots near our house were insane washing machines of huge peaks crashing into each other sending waves in all directions. We had to hustle as it was almost 3 PM and the sun was to be below the horizon before 4:30.
We crossed the high bridge over the Milwaukee harbor in my old ‘89 Ford pick-up and could feel the gusts shaking us. The air was getting cold with temps dropping into the low 30’s. Clouds covered the sky. Spray flew high over the sea walls.
The spot we were headed to is about 30 minutes south of our house in a small city with a tiny harbor that only recreational power boaters use. To the east and south of the harbor entrance is a wide expanse of wild beach and woods stretching down to a large power plant way to the south. Sand fills in from around the point just to the north and creates a gentle under water slope up to the beach where waves arc in and peel forever.
We pulled up to the small trail that leads down a steep bluff to the woods and eventually to the beach and parked the truck up against the curb. We took turns changing from our street clothes into heavy winter wet suits. My son changed first and headed down the trail as I changed. Grabbing my board out of the back of the truck I was hit with a gust that sent me towards the edge of the bluff that the trail cuts down. I squatted down and went over the edge, down the trail barely able to keep my board from smashing into the trees lining the trail. Once I was below the lip I was in the lee of the wind and was able to navigate past the crumbling concrete and re-bar, broken glass and tree roots to the trail at the bottom.
A small storage area for the power boats is fenced off just to the north of the trail. The boats are covered in plastic tarps that were flapping with an insane thunderous cackle as gusts of wind tried to tear them off. Tall reeds over seven feet swayed and beat against each other in the wind. Every once in a while you could feel the low shudder of the ground as waves drummed on the channel sea wall.
I found my son sheltering against one of the large, steel barges grounded on either side of the makeshift channel into the small harbor. He looked at me like I was nuts to even think of paddling out into this maelstrom. Maybe I was, but what I saw were clean waist high waves peeling off down into the bay, spray flying off the peaks and night gathering.
The best place to catch these waves was up close to the outer wall or grounded barge, right where the big waves from deep water pitch up over the lake side sand bar just outside the channel. Part of the wave slams against the wall shuddering the ground beneath on impact but part of the wave rolls over the deeper channel water rounding off a little allowing a surfer a chance to paddle into the wave just as it is about to peak up again over the sand bar on the inside of the channel. Then you can drop down into the wave, gaining speed to trim to the wave. Then you trim your rail into it angling across the water rushing up the face to create thrust against your fin gaining even more speed. You paddle out into an angry set of waves past rusting hulks, spray every where, wind screeching and the next thing you know you are skimming lightly across the face of a gorgeous, arcing wave, gracefully dipping and turning in the most beautiful dance with water and gravity.
My son took a few then headed back through the woods and up to the truck as I went for a couple more. A good friend joined me but that’s a stretch of the the word “join” as we each were in our own world of wind and spray and coming darkness. There was no way to shout so you could be heard.
After several more long rides with hard, long walks against the wind back up the beach to the channel I decided to find my way through the woods back to the trail and up the bluff. As I approached the top of the bluff, up the muddy trail with my toes barely holding me from sliding back I had to time my approach between wind gusts as I did not want to be blown over backwards just as I emerged over the top. It was like waiting for the set waves to die down enough to paddle out into the line up. I was able to make it with out damaging my board.
The next day, Thursday, Thanksgiving day, was sunny and cold. The wind had backed some to the northwest and had died down considerably. There were a few hours between baking a pumpkin pie and starting the candied yams for our Thanksgiving Day feast that allowed me to grab my wet, wet suit and board and check a spot just north of town.
What a difference the sun makes. Even though the air is colder a sunny day is so promising compared to the foreboding dark of late fall afternoons. Cheer was to be had, glory at the beautiful lake sending in huge waves breaking with frosty white peaks sending spray in gorgeous veils curving back from swelling lines. Time to forget about the cold, the damp wet suit the long paddle out, the very cold water. Time to rise up with the waves, riding high and paddling hard. Down into the trough, off across the face. These guys were holding their size way in. Shouts and cheers could be heard as friends witnessed glorious rides of friends.
This was an altogether different surf spot, altogether different day but the waves were from the same deep weather system. Today you had to paddle straight out, long and hard. You had to time your paddle so you were heading out between the big sets and you had to watch your drift from currents and wind, know where you were and where you were headed. But that was all fine as the sky was clear the sun was bright and friends were around.
An hour of glorious waves and it was time to head back to the kitchen and finish up making a huge dinner. Family, good food, good wine and a warm home were just enough to draw me away.
This is a picture taken by I don’t know who but I will give credit when I can. It was taken in Lake Superior a few years ago.
If you’re a surfer you dream of waves. I dream of big, fast glass peeling lines and peaks.
The night before the wind built out of the northwest. A school near my house recorded gusts to 50 mph. The lake was building a swell that would wrap back towards the western shore. I checked the beaches close by around 10 AM as I drove down to the yard I have Orca stored in to tighten her tarp lines. Clean peelers were starting to show.
All day at work I kept checking a web cam that shows the beach I saw the peelers rolling in. I was threading the needle between allowing enough time for the swell to build (and to get some work done) and having enough light left to be able to surf. Finally I closed up shop and headed down to the lake for an on site surf check.
The first beach I checked had stomach to chest high rights racing in before closing out. Steep and fast, but it looked like the lake was so low that the wave was closing out in very shallow water. On up to the next beach north. From the parking lot at the south end of that beach I could see waves breaking out over a rock reef about 400 yards off shore. I met up with a fellow surfer, Peter, who really didn’t know the local spots that well and didn’t get why I was so excited. I raced home to get my gear, it was getting late with just about an hour and half of light left and told him I’d meet him in the parking lot or he could go check out the break just south, maybe with his short board he’d prefer the fast, steep zippers down there. I wanted to make the paddle out and slide down some of those big ones.
I live pretty close to the beach so it wasn’t long before I was back in the lot and Peter was dejected. He said there hadn’t been anything breaking out there since I’d left. Cool, go ahead and surf the other break, I’m sure it will be good, but I’m paddling out there. OK, he’d meet me out side.
It is a long paddle out there, but with the waves refracting along the shore from the swell far outside the water was glassy with very little swell for most of the paddle out. My heart started to beat a little faster as I started feeling the thunder from the breaking waves the closer I got. I’m a strong paddler for a man my age so I don’t mind mentioning that I measure my paddles by how many times I take a break to let the blood come back into my arms. This paddle out was about 4 breaks, maybe 5. These are good chances to assess the situation and alter my course. I chose to paddle north east around behind the reef and the area the waves were breaking. Peter, still thinking the waves were not that big paddled straight out into the dead center of where the biggest waves were breaking.
When you get out to where waves from deep water meet shallow water you can sit on your surf board and ride the swell up and down something like a roller coaster. As the wave lifts you up the air it’s pushing brushes back sending light spray into your face. You get a really good view from the wave peak of where you are, where you want to be and who else might be around. Peter was working hard to paddle through the whitewash of wave after wave, but he made it.
The setting out there is almost surreal. Waves come in groups called sets and last evening the sets were about 5 to 6 waves each. The sky was dark and overcast, not menacing any storms, but low and moody. The horizon picks up a little more light from below the cloud line and appears lighter than the dark water and gray sky. The sun was below the bluff to the west and setting fast. The wave sets first appear as slight, undulating lumps on the far horizon. You know the direction the waves are coming in, you can see towards shore the line the wave peaks break on and by projecting that line back out into the lake you can see where you have to watch. The lump appears, very dark but only briefly and you know this is going to be good. Then nothing, quiet, smooth water with a little swell and you wait. The first waves approaching in the train before the set are tempting to try for, but you take the risk that that lump you saw is till out there, still coming. You’re riding up and down as the waves get bigger in the train and you start getting a sense of where the real set is. It hides from you behind the early waves but every once in awhile you see the tops of the waves out there.
This is when you have to start watching the wave troughs. You want a really clean, deep, wide trough to start sucking up the face of the wave behind it. The water is slate blue, the sky is dark gray, the waves you’ve let go have broken and are thundering down the line with neon white foam flashing and this trough comes at you. You turn and paddle. A look to the side shows the wall behind you getting steep, steeper, almost vertical and you can feel your board starting to slide and you have to decide, no, you have to feel when to stop paddling and when to get up on your board. Your feet swing under you, you grab a rail and turn hard to angle your descent down the face and you stand. Half the board is clear of the water and in the air, you are standing on the rear half as it pounds down the face, you look for the breaking section, turn a little left, step back on the tail to stall a little then lean hard right and shoot across the face for an eternity.
You start to shout, to whoop, to holler. Life is so good. The city, way, way in shore dressed in lights, glistening in the shrouding dark is like a magic fairyland as you sail across the water, legs pumping to absorb the shocks of the bouncing board you’re riding into the dark. You turn hard, pull out the back of the wave and eventually, after maybe one too many waves start your long paddle back to shore keeping an eye on the fellow surfers that have joined you and Peter to get a glimpse of another’s ride, but it is dark and the others are somewhere out in the big swells.
The dark, glassy, swelling inside rolls you on to shore.
