The first longboard I’d ever surfed was truly a defining moment. Never had the scales of ecstasy and horror been tipped in stark contrast. How could something so beautiful be so evil?

The setting California, early September, 1983. It feels like it was yesterday…

The night before in a small-world-coincidence I ran into an old friend from West Palm. Both of us had joined the military, went separate ways, and ironically bumped into each other at a bar in San Onofre.

The surf had been flat for a week. A swell was forecasted and when friends who unexpectedly meet, a plan had to hatch.

As we reminisced at the San Onofre beach bar, you could see the shore pound was small and only a couple of feet. It was music to our ears hearing that shadowy hiss as the little waves would reach upward. The cobblestone would click around as the surf dumped it back toward earth.

He warned me, “I’ll pick you up at Oh-Six-Hundred, be ready.”

I didn’t need an alarm clock I was ready. The anticipation of seeing the place in the dark only added to the upcoming mystery. I had just bought a 6’5” Dave Macaulay board and was anxious to try it out. I looked at it so many times, and it seemed to keep asking me where the hell was Bobby?

At 0700, and with no way to get a hold of a person who was three-sheets-to-the-wind the night before, I started loading up the car for the short trip back home. With the board strapped and ready to go a screeching truck came from around the corner and it could only be one person.

Bobby with a longboard sticking out the back.

Half dazed and barely able to stop his beater truck before he hit the curb, Bobby apologized and said, “Just throw your board in the back, we don’t need straps.”

I asked while hurriedly jumping in the passenger seat,“When did you start riding logs?”

“Dude, I take it out when it’s small,” he poked back in his hung-over garble, “I just love the glide of a long board.”

The swerving truck careened down the hilly road while my board slung around the back of the bed. Finally it got trapped under his 10’ vintage, old-dude-wave-riding-vehicle.

“Oh, Yeah!” Bobby screamed when we first caught glimpse of the surf.

We arrived just as a set of pure glass came in. This wasn’t the little shore ticklers we heard last night. One surfer was out and he dropped into an overhead wave and started S-turning. He rode forever and ended up kicking out as the industrial juice machine peeled off 5 more un-ridden behind him.

There were no crumbling sections, quite the contrary, each wave looked like a clone of the last, and it was a picture perfect point break day.

I tried to look like Tom Curren stretching before a heat. I wanted to be loose because I had waited for a day like this a thousand times before as a fantasy.

It didn’t take long for Bobby to throw his wetsuit on. He laughed because I wasn’t going to wear one. But we both nodded in agreement with waves like that, who’s going to get cold?

We walked up to the point while hooting. This swell had some size! The timing of the sets made the last punch out through the impact zone tough. Adrenaline made the difference getting out.

Bobby was on the log and he grabbed the first wave. It was effortless as the spray peeled off the back and dropped like a 5 second rainstorm. I was inside of where he took off and turned as the next wave jacked up. A few gentle pulls and I felt the transition. As I think about that wave the ease and inviting view down the line was surreal.

Churches is a thick wave when it gets big. The wave places a large half-pipe in front of you. The only thing that holds you back is what move to do next. My buddy was right though, after a magical hour of relatively clutter free surfing the line-up started to double every 20 minutes.

Just before noon I was surfed out. The long paddle back out had taken it's toll. It was a building swell and what started out as six foot glass in the morning was now 6’-8’ with 50 guys out.

I was sitting with Bobby outside of everyone and that is when he sent me up the proverbial creek without a paddle.

“Hey, let me catch a few waves on your shortboard?”

I told him that I never rode a longboard.

Playing it off I said, “I’m getting a little cold and let’s grab something to eat. I’ll let you ride it, when we go back out later.”

I was desperately trying to find an excuse for not getting on that board.

“Awe, come on man,” he pleaded, “I’ll take a few rides and we’ll switch back and go in.”

Though it wasn’t a complete lie, I really just didn’t want to get on that aircraft carrier.

His begging had worked. Reluctantly, I switched and put the leash on that tied me to that giant piece of foam. Bobby immediately paddled in leaving me 20 yards further than the rest of our hundred new friends.

He caught a wave and went a long way to the inside while I watched from the outside. As he finished the wave I noticed the herd of surfers paddling out towards me. I think to myself, that’s weird, and as I turn in the direction of the horizon, I then realized why.

It looked like a giant tsunami coming towards the line-up. The hoots had started and I took one look back at the scrambling cat herd. I was making good time and distance as the big log cut it's path out.

The set was a mere minute out and I actually thought about turning on the first wave. On a short board, I would have spun and popped, taken a paddle if needed, and gone. But, the first little swirl circles I attempted to get the board pointed in the right direction was embarrassing. The nose moved six inches to the left and I had lost all momentum. I wanted my trusty new shortboard back at this moment!

As the first wave rolled under I rolled down the back I then realized there was a new problem. In my panic, I had not taken the time to read the entire set. You know that scene in the movie The Perfect Storm? When George Clooney saw that rising wall of H2O?

I had that same eerie feeling back in 1983!

The fear factor slowed the next ten strokes down to a snail’s pace. Was I actually moving? Lying on this big log I counted 3 half-hearted strokes up the face of wave number two.

There will be no more thoughts of riding this demon board. I instinctly engaged into survival mode.

As I barely scratch over the top of Number Two the board slammed on the back side jarring me off balance. I flopped around like a big Man-Tuna trying to get square on the deck.

Did I mention that I never rode a longboard up to this point?

Kkkkswwwaaahhhsssssssss, the spray lands as I have stopped forward motion and look up. There was an instance where I was going to bail and dive. As the last wave had gone by it didn’t compute that I had actually been dragged back a bit. Now paddling to save my life the third wall approached. The bottom flow sucked my board towards the sea. I could sense something was different about the climb upwards on this one.

Midway up the face in desperation, I thought to push the nose through by grabbing the rails. I went one-hundred percent weightless in a milli-second. That was a horrible feeling at the time. Gravity had failed me but the true shocking twist of fate was sealed.

All control was now lost to nature. This is the point where you look back on your life in simplistic terms.

Was I a good person?

Was I going to heaven?

Staring at the unfamiliar board was like looking into a coffin face down. When I grabbed the rails, the board lifted off and I had my knee under me to affect the push. Just then the tip of the board peeked over the lip, my direction of travel switched. The top of the wave had all ten feet of floaty foam captured and I was now peeling backwards into the trough.

The scene must have been horrific to those guys caught inside.

It took a long time to hit the bottom. I still remember looking at the stringer. It was like time stood still and that image was permanently etched into my brain stem.

When I hit the water initially it didn’t have the impact expected. However, now one with the curtain, we (the board, the wave, and I) exploded into the pit like a hot knife through butter.

The monster board started moving with my hands in a death grip. That’s when my back hit the rocky bottom. It was a hard impact meeting the ocean floor. The forces had just started to build, the board compressed to my chest as the giant pool of water unloaded.

With the energy firmly crushing downward it had only one direction left to go. Locked and loaded, the trigger was pulled. The surfboard shot out of my hands, the cannonball headed towards shore. Caught off guard, I’d forgotten about that velcro on my ankle. It ripped my leg over top of my head, and banged my oxygen depleted skull off the bottom for insult to injury.

You know those cans that are tied on a Newlywed’s car?

That was me, the can, dragged for what seemed an eternity while bouncing and rolling underwater. I hadn’t taken a good breath on the way down. With lungs starting to burn the joy ride was near over. The human anchor had slowed the devil board with it's own mind. The washing machine pressure began to let off.

I clawed my way to the surface and broke water like a Polaris missile fired from a submarine.

Thinking I would have popped up in front of fifty guys laughing. I had to maintain the impression of a drowning swimmer for a second.

While I gathered my wits, I saw everyone was now way outside of me. I hung over the bastard vehicle sideways for a few minutes, arms draped across and contemplating whether to swim or paddle in on top of this death trap.

As Bobby sat there laughing as I washed in, I knew I had a stroke with death.

It was at least 15 years before the next time I rode a longboard. I was prejudiced thinking about that 10 foot board from hell!

At least now I know what to look for prior to riding something so beautiful, yet so evil. Get to know her first, before it takes you for a ride to heaven!

~BK William