Surfing

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For a surfing instructor, teaching in calm water means teaching patience

By Elisabeth Gause

July 31, 2006

San Diego--Halfway through a weeklong clinic, my students were ready to venture outside. Fully preparing any novice surfer for the outside is impossible. It’s like telling an eighteen-year-old what it will be like to live on his own at college.

As we were paddling out, I mentally checked off things that I had explained: how to push up and turn turtle through waves; how to pick out a wave; which way to go and turn around—there was so much I’d gone over and so much more that needed to be covered. Of course, there was one thing I hadn’t touched on and it was more important on this particular day than a well-balanced breakfast.

Well, mild was an overstatement. It was practically Lake Pacific out there. We got out and bobbed around en masse.

Now this is not entirely a bad thing for a student’s first day outside. It gives the beginner a chance to check things out without getting nailed and enjoy the novelty of waiting to ride nature. There are plenty of reasons why this was a perfect first day,…except for one.

“How long do we have to wait for a wave?” A student finally asked.

“Sometimes a while,” I answered calmly.

Then another asked, “Is it usually this long?”

Feeling this can of worms opening and, not wanting to bait my hook with any squirmy creatures, I smiled and said nothing.

Finally, as I felt all twenty eyeballs focusing on me, I relented. “Ladies, this is what we call a lull.”

It’s true that waves do come in sets, but you can’t ride every wave when a set comes in. Beginner surfers usually fail to realize this. They’ve been playing inside, where they’ve been getting more rides than a ten-year-old trail horse. So when they paddle outside and have to wait, it’s eye-opening. It’s also a little disappointing.

Lulls are unpredictable. They can last fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes. They can be a welcome or an annoyance. However, the most intriguing thing about lulls is the reactions they spur.

On this day, some ladies loved it. “It’s so peaceful out here.”

Others were less keen on the waiting. “I don’t like just sitting out here. I need to be doing something.”

Someone asked the inevitable question: “What do surfers do when there are lulls?”

“We do different things,” I said with as much positive energy as I could muster. “Some of us actually meditate. Some stretch, or even do a little yoga out here. Some catch up with other surfers, make new friends, bond with old ones. Some tell jokes. Some plan out their days.”

“So people just sit here?” a restless one, call her “Type A,” asked.

“Some people swim around, but, yes, most of us just sit here.”

“I should have brought a fishing pole,” one lady mused.

“It is like fishing!” Another got so excited at the familiar comparison that she almost fell off her board.

“I don’t like fishing,” Type A weighed in.

“Here’s the thing,” I told her. “Lulls happen in surfing, just like in life. Think of relationships, work, moods, anything. Lulls happen. If you can manage them in life, you can manage them in the water.”

“Well, I don’t do lulls,” she quipped.

“If you want to ride glorious waves,” I said calmly, “you’re going to have to learn.”