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| Pompadour and Buttercup: The Diary of Southside |
| Written by Larry Kuechlin on Wednesday, 17 June 2009 16:50
 Printer Friendly | ||
| The waves were definitely building, and pretty soon I was out too far to hear his barking, but still he stood watch over me from the headwall until his owner pulled him away and left me alone with Poseidon.
Pompadour and Buttercup: The Diary of Southside
6/16: 2-4’ from a deep south angle; outside sets to 8 feet. The water is 67 degrees and glassy, despite rain showers all over the county. At Mongo’s Reef all by myself on the Mickey Munoz Glide.
We’re finally seeing a little hint of summer, here in San Diego. It’s been a cold, grey spring, and the worst spring for surf that we’ve had in quite some time. I got in the water yesterday, mostly out of boredom, but once I got out there, a little gleam of deep southern hope started rolling in over Staircase. I kept this in mind all day yesterday.
A swell was building, and coupled with the very low tides that we were seeing early in the morning, the odds of really good surf conditions were looking very good.
As it worked out, I didn’t need the sun to wake me. I woke up to the sound of a hard summer rain. It poured for about 15 minutes, and then vanished into the morning sun. I was down for the surf check at about 6 a.m. and what I saw finished the job that the rain had so thoughtfully started: perfect 2-4 foot surf pouring over the reef at Mongo’s.
Mongo’s Reef hasn’t been breaking for a few years now. I believe that the huge swells we had a few years back changed the bottom, most likely by moving sand away from the rocky structures. I’ve been quietly watching it get better and better over the past few months, but what I saw this morning was summer perfection.
I was suited up and walking down the stairs at Santa Cruz by 6:15 a.m.
As I walked the final few steps down the rock escarpment to the beach, I was greeted by a curious snarling that seemed to come out of a puff of white hair just at my feet.
Pompadour, come here! I’m so sorry!
Upon further inspection, the clump of hair was indeed a dog;
of sorts. I am certain that if an investigation of its DNA was performed, this little sniglet of poofy bravado would indeed be placed into Family Canidae, but it certainly didn’t fit into any definition of a dog that I recognized.
Pompadour was quickly joined by a clump of black hair, named Buttercup. The snarling now came in stereo.
I had to smile. These two, together, weighed less than half of the foot that would have been used to punt them out to Poseidon had they made good on their threats. Pogo could have whupped them both, and she’s tiny.
I’m so sorry…they really are harmless.
I sat down to put on my leash, and was immediately overwhelmed by a flood of poofy puppy kisses. Now that’s the way to wake up.
Pompadour was the most insistent. He was so happy to meet me, he seemed to start the wag of his tail from about the tip of his nose. Buttercup tired of this after just a bit, but not Pompadour. We had become fast friends.
I quietly laughed to myself over the irony of a dog named for a hairstyle becoming enamored with a surfer who has a shaved head.
He followed me right down to the surf as I jumped in. All of about 8 inches from ground to ear tip, he stood next to me as a wave 10 times his sized rolled in. Again…I had to smile at his loyalty.
What a great animal. What a great dog.
Look…I’m going to be right out there. You can watch.
He ran back and forth along the shore as I paddled out barking so hard his front feet came off the ground. He ran around frantically until he made his way out to the headwall. I sat in the lineup and spoke to him. Every set that rolled through, he followed me barking with all his might as I ripped down the face of these perfect summer waves.
The waves were definitely building, and pretty soon I was out too far to hear his barking, but still he stood watch over me from the headwall until his owner pulled him away and left me alone with Poseidon. As my newest friend made his way back up the stairs to his next adventure, Poseidon showed up in force. I was already out beyond the first reef, and this set coming in was going to break even farther out.
I started to scratch outside.
Everything slows down;
you’ve been out for over an hour; a chill sets in maybe I’ll catch this one in
feel your shoulders set into the rhythm of deep strokes feel the water splash off your hand’s release hear your breath against the clatter of morning sun on your back digging hard into the face of a big set find the peak; let the first one go drop down off the back see the second wave; perfect set your mind and your heart snap around
thrown forward, insignificant against the sea 20 miles an hour and you are in the air counting the hours you fall into the trough carve your bottom turn in a knife edge of time trim the board forward for speed set up for the inside reef
the wave forms up a thin veil of white along a line of curving gold way too close to the headwall way too far inside
move back and kneel down nothing else matters; nothing but the burning hand of Poseidon reach out and grab my rail set my shoulder back
and everything is gone
the pain that digs at you every conscious moment the memories you carry to the accusatory ends of sanity the questions that have no answers but the deeper blade
I look up to see everything I have ever lost in life and everything I will never be
and it is all gone
here in the quiet hours of this talisman I hold against the dark.
It has taken just 2 seconds.
You can never know what beauty actually is until you see the morning sunlight through a filter of Pacific jade.
Until that moment, beauty does not exist.
Larry Kuechlin Copyrighted, 2009
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