And God Saw the Light, That It Was Good

I try to mark the solstices whenever possible. It’s the pagan in me, I guess, but among the ingredients in my personal gumbo of a spiritual life, observing the concrete astronomical and natural forces at work in the universe seems to me like a pretty good hedge.

Edward Abbey said, “I stand for what I stand on.” To Ed’s sage wisdom I would add: “and also what I stand below.” And by that I mean the sun, the moon, the stars, galaxies, nebulae and the like. Those things are real. They’re THERE. We are made up of the remnants of other suns and moons and stars and galaxies and nebulae and…you get the idea. That’s a fact.

Mimosas, baby! Now THAT’s how
you toast the solstice.

So observing the natural patterns of our little dance in the universe makes me feel grounded. Makes me feel like I’m saying “thanks” to all the forces and processes and, well, magic that have led me to what is a pretty cool existence.

From winter camping in the Uinta Mountains of Utah with my pup Spooner, both of us surrounded by coyotes out in the darkness whose eyes were visible in the glow of the firelight, to an early summer morning toast on a hill in the woods of Kincaid Park in Anchorage, Alaska, with an amazing view of the sun rising over the Talkeetna Mountains, I’ve created some great solstice memories that I cherish.

But not all of the locales in my life have been so pastoral. No matter. The sun is the same sun and the solstice still occurs at the same moment no matter where on this planet you happen to be located. There’s no reason NOT to observe a cardinal point in the annual calendar of our biosphere, however subdued that observance might be.

One such subdued observance just took place on the fire escape of my apartment here in Newburyport, Massachusetts. No, it wasn’t the Uintas. Nor was it the woods at Kincaid Park. But it wasn’t as paved over as one of the summer solstices I observed while living in San Diego: for that one, which occurred while I was at work, I walked out to the edge of the parking lot overlooking the canyon below the office building. You could see the Pacific Ocean off in the haze. I marked the moment, nodded, and that was that. It was enough. Back to work.

Rose on a hot New England
solstice. It’ll do.

This year’s observance found me out on my fire escape with the sun peeking from behind the chimney of the neighboring multi-family dwelling. And I toasted not with Veuve Cliquot (my toast of choice) but rather with a chilled rose because it’s just too damned hot here in New England today. First day of summer? And then some. It feels like the tenth level of Hell. This northerner is feelin’ it (although the beach was wonderful today; even had some small waves to play in).

Now I’m back inside, in the air conditioning, praying this apartment will cool down enough by bedtime or else getting any sleep tonight is gonna be a challenge. It’s so hot today that I’m wearing my Park City Muckers tank top. A tank top? I haven’t worn this shirt in probably fifteen years (and if you’ve seen the photo, I’m guessing you’re saying: Luke, make it another fifteen before you dig it out of the dresser again). But anything beyond a tank top feels smothering.

In any case, the point is: regardless of your religious persuasion, the fact remains: you’re a human being, an animal on this planet that is home to ALL human beings that have ever been. That planet that sustains all of us (for the time being, anyway) has patterns that have been going on for billions of years. Taking a moment to observe those patterns is simply paying homage to the forces that have made you YOU. No, I’m not saying God didn’t play a part in making you you (if that’s how you roll). But if that is how you roll, God still made you YOU within the construct of this universe in which you live. Paying your respects to that teeny bit of God’s creation is the least you can do, don’t you think?

1 CommentPersonal, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

Ride the Wild Surf? Umm…not quite.

After a dismal winter surf-wise, northern New England has had a much better run of waves this spring. We’ve enjoyed a series of small swells every week-and-a-half or so, with the most recent impulse showing up over the past few days. It was, to be sure, small. I mean: really small. I’d call it knee- to thigh-high, with occasional waist-high sets. But here in New England, we takes what we gets…

This recent swell coincided with some spectacularly sunny weather and with ocean water that has warmed dramatically. One source put the sea temperature at 62; that seems a bit optimistic, but the water has definitely reached the mid- to high-50s. Throw in warm sunshine and light winds (before the afternoon sea breeze comes up) and it’s been really comfortable out in the surf. I was wearing a full-on winter wetsuit — 6- and 7-millimeter thickness — with hood, boots and mittens as recently as late April. I made the transition to my 4-millimeter suit with boots and thin gloves in early May. But for this past swell, I got down to my 3-millimeter suit with no gloves at all — and I was toasty.

I also made it out with my GoPro camera for the first time. I bought the camera for last summer’s sailing adventure on Polar Bear, but I’d been looking forward to trying it out IN the water rather than just near it. So on Wednesday, 23 May, I finally mounted the the GoPro to my 9’8″ longboard and paddled out for a morning session. And here’s what resulted:

What a blast! Riding the longboard is always such a joyous occasion. Something about the laid-back nature of cruising around on that canoe, casually catching pretty much any wave, and then walking the nose whenever possible always puts a smile on my face that is in stark contrast to the more aggro shortboard riding. I love riding my shortboard — it is very much my preferred method for surfing — but maybe it’s because I’m still (at 46 years of age) trying for somewhat high-performance surfing that I don’t chill out like I do on the longboard. Putting this new gadget into the mix — and being able to see the results — only added to the experience.

Whatever the reason, it was a successful first GoPro mission — right down to the strategically placed water droplet that appears for every wave. Seriously…could that thing have been any better placed?! No, I didn’t do that on purpose, though I do point out frequently that I have a good face for radio and always prefer to be BEHIND the camera. I’m not sure why that water drop was so persistent but I’ll see what I can do next time.

And there will be a next time. I had that much fun messing about on my longboard with a waterproof camera.

Ocean Fun, Sports and Fitness, Uncategorized, , ,

There’s No Place Like Home

Being a surfer in New England is not easy. The water is usually frigid, the ocean usually flat. What waves we do get tend to be locally generated, with winter nor’easters usually creating the biggest surf.

The highlight of every New England surfer’s year is hurricane season. No, it’s not easy to cheer on storms that can wreak havoc elsewhere, but the fact remains that these tropical behemoths typically don’t mess with New England (this year’s Irene being a notable exception), they generate large surf from great distances away so there’s usually nice weather here on shore, and they’re in the fall which is when our water is warmest. Throw in the bonus that they tend to arrive after Labor Day so the crowds are even smaller than usual and it’s a great recipe.

So imagine my delight when I returned home to New England just in time for Hurricane Ophelia to cruise northward through the Atlantic. Ophelia’s trajectory was perfect: a few hundred miles offshore so there was no destruction, and straight north past us here in the north-of-Cape-Cod section of the region. Sadly, Ophelia had one fatal flaw: speed. She blew past us at twenty-five to thirty miles an hour, so she didn’t spend enough time in the window needed to send significant swell our way. What could have been an epic Sunday and Monday turned into a “cross your fingers for Monday” situation. So cross my fingers I did. All weekend.

And there was payoff. Finally.

This afternoon, I had a truly primo surf session. DeLIGHTful, even. Simply wonderful. And not just any surf session. No, this was at my home break, the wave I grew up surfing. A place where I have the most intimate knowledge and the deepest connection. MY place. Home.

For about half an hour, forty-five minutes, I had this break all to myself. It was spectacular, with high-performance waves peeling along an underwater sand bar before unloading in a hollow shore break just off the beach. Head high, glassy, lined-up walls, with warm water (even by SoCal standards: my 3/2 fullsuit was much too warm) and bright sunshine amid puffy cumulus clouds…all to myself. Yes, all to myself. With no one to battle, no one to have to outmaneuver, I got more waves in thirty minutes here than I’d get in an hour-plus in San Diego County. But more than the wave count was just the simple pleasure of being able to surf casually, nonchalantly. Without having to worry about positioning in the lineup, I enjoyed a carefree session where I could instead focus on the act (art?) of riding a wave.

No, the wave wasn’t some razor-sharp, super-hollow Hawaiian reef break. Hell, it’s not even a shitty beach break in L.A. County. But it’s mine and it’s home and it was wonderful. Bottom line: I had the kind of session this afternoon that gets a surfer stoked for days and weeks on end. It was that good. And all I can say is, “thanks.” To the Atlantic, to the planet, to the universe: one big “mahalo” for an afternoon to remember.

1 CommentNew England, Ocean Fun, Personal, Uncategorized, ,