| The Rincon Paradox |
| by Surfer Bob |
A rumination on the dog-eat-dog conditions in the midst of classic point waves and the duality of the world class point break that is Rincon.
I gotta tell you how Rincon was yesterday afternoon.Very small when I paddled out. I was starting to wonder what we were all doing out there (about 25 of us) when I picked off the wave of the afternoon. Shoulder high, from the outside cove past about 3 long, fast, steep sections. I was stoked.
I swear, no one will ever have a mellow soul session again at Rincon. Not in this life. As I came down the line, a dozen guys on the shoulder eyed me intently for any sign of weakness, then reluctantly pulled back one after another as I made each section. As my friend BJ said later, "A lot of folks on the inside were counting on you to fall on that wave, Robert." This is fitting and proper: no scrap goes unsurfed. But it makes for a whole different vibe in the water.
Then I hit another long section and my apparent odds on making it dropped to about 50/50. I was starting to come out of the foam when this guy looked me right in the eye and preemptively stuffed me to surf the tail end of it. Oh well. Twelve guys out of 13 did the right thing.
I gave a wave to a friend. Later I paddled hard around her to take off on one (a little unkindly). My bad karma was instantly repaid with interest as a 9 wave set poured through and worked me in the impact zone. Suddenly my "wave of the day" was looking like a cocktail frank before the oncoming glut. I was getting pounded while everyone else was having a wave feast.
Incredible how fast the crowd filled in after that. Two good sets and in minutes the crowd went from 25 to 50. More were on the way when we left. I got a few more fun ones, but none of the real bombs came my way.
It's the typical Rincon paradox: Lots of beautiful waves, a whole lot of real hungry surfers, and some pretty heinous stuffs, drop ins, and generally uncourteous behavior. If there is any justice in this world, this one older dude in a bright blue hat is going to a landlocked, horrific dustbowl surfer's Hell when he dies. If this was you, please repent now and mend your ways before it's too late! Lots of loose boards, close calls,and general mayhem in the lineup after the first few on each set. And some incredible, steep, hollow rides all the way to the freeway.
Will I be back? You bet. Me and 500 of my leanest and hungriest brethren. Try to show a little courtesy out there bro's. Take some and leave plenty. That place will hold 100 courteous surfers well on a good day, but ten or fifteen snakes makes for a pretty crowded lineup.
The west swells are here!
Happy fall y'all,
Surfer Bob