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Swell Memories by Dermot

30 Year Reunion

Dermot wrote this article a couple of years ago and probably working on the 40th Reunion soon! -Ed.

30 YEAR REUNION

If you surf long enough the experience becomes a memory of events.

You remember the big winter swell of a particular year, your first surf trip, your best surfboard, your favorite spot, and more importantly the friends you surfed with.

You also remember events that have caused moments of pure happiness, sheer terror or unbridled laughter. In my years of surfing I’ve been blessed to have countless number of events that caused me (and others) those moments of happiness, terror and laughter. Below is the recanting of one such event that occurred many, many years ago; an event that for some still bring tears of laughter.

The wind had been blowing for 3 days and was an overcast sky. As the case in Florida, particularly in early spring, the wind abated and the sun came out from behind a clearing sky.

We knew going to school that morning the surf would clean up and be pretty good. What made it better was that we only had a half-day of school. This day had all the makings of a classic fun day at the beach!

We arrived at our favorite spot to what we had expected … semi-clean 3’ to waist high surf. The beach and surfing areas were crowded with all kinds of people. Out beyond the impact zone and mingled with the surfers were swimmers. As you got closer to the shore there were waders. Waders were those that feared venturing out beyond thigh high water. Little kids and toddlers were playing where the last remnants of a wave washed up on the beach. On the beach itself were locals, tourists, students, the elderly, the tan and not so tan. I eventually made my way out through this mass of humanity; out into the surf to catch some fun afternoon waves.

I found a spot a little further outside and to the right of the main mob. My opportunity to impress the surfing mob came quicker than I had expected. My moment in the sun was now upon me. A waist high wave came my way - and my way alone. This wave had traveled whatever distance - just for me to ride it!

My plan was simple. Pull the 9’6” noserider down into the water, lean forward, let the board spring forward and use that energy and maybe one paddle to catch the wave – cool take off! Then I would delay the turn just a little, let the wave get critical, execute a quick turn at the top, go to the nose and Hang Ten as far as I could and end it all with an island pull out.

This wave had coolness and me all over it!

As the wave came my way, the mob saw me and the hoots started. Shouts of “Go Whelehan” could be heard emanating from the mob. This was it....I was going to be the man! The men would be in awe and the women would fall in love with me.

Well, like most plans, this one didn’t quite go as I wanted. Sure, the takeoff part went as smooth as silk but that’s where it ended. As soon as I stood up and finished my turn I saw her.......

There, rising out of the depth, surfacing like a manatee, was the largest woman I had ever seen.

This human buoy was wearing the world’s largest red swimsuit; in fact I believe the swimsuit label read “Omar the Tent Maker”. On top of her head, and capping off this lovely ensemble, was a white bathing cap that had so much rubber in it “GOODYEAR” was stamped on it. I was told by others this tribute to fashion and the science of water displacement saw me and froze....didn’t move a muscle....she was frozen in fear. I saw this human pier pylon just as I completed my turn and looked down the line. I knew instantly I had a crisis on my hand.

She had waded out into water that was about mid-chest on her. Because of where she was I only had two choices: one, bail and let the board hit her in the chest, neck, or head area and cause serious injury; or two, try to get the board moving in the opposite direction it was traveling – and then bail. I chose the latter. To perform this feat I had to literally run to the nose as fast as I could, dive off the nose of the board and while diving off the nose simultaneously push the board in its opposite direction of travel. I performed this feat and I was ecstatic...it worked! However, I was now hurtling at light speed (or so it seemed), head first into a mass that, as it got closer, took on a gelatin like appearance.

Of course the mob didn’t see this instantaneous decision making process and subsequent Olympic athleticism. All the mob saw from behind was me diving head first, with a crazed look, arms outstretched, baggies flapping, into some poor old woman!

My angle of decent into this huge woman was not good. I realized I was going to impact head first.....face first......straight down.....into the space that the top of her swimsuit did not cover.

Eeek!

Ground zero was right into the upper bosom of the world’s largest woman! I took a breath........ SLAM! The unthinkable occurred. Buried into her bosom was my head, the head of a 15 year old kid, and I could not get out or breathe! She fell backwards with my skull stuck in her bosom and thus, to those that viewed this event from somewhere other than my angle, it may have appeared I was doing a head-stand on her chest. It was human carnage. Waves crashing.....foam everywhere.... I’m gagging underwater and I could hear her screaming and yelling while she simultaneously tried to beat me with her massive arms. I finally extracted myself from this mess only to hear the uproarious laughter of my close friends.

It’s great to be a surfer.

The instant our eyes met I apologized profusely to her. I could tell in her eyes she knew what I did was an effort made to make sure she didn’t get hit by the surfboard. She quietly but kindly replied, “I’m OK”.

Just as she said that the crowd arrived to help her out of the water and save her from once again another crazed surfer. The women on the beach, (to include the girls from my high school) linked by some bizarre genetic code in defense of one of their own, immediately began a verbal tirade towards me and my friends regarding the arrogance of youth, surfers, men, the ocean, waves, and so on.... I quietly walked down the beach, got my board, and paddled back out.

In one month I’m going to attend my 30th high school reunion. Should this story come up during all the “swell memories”, the guys will recall it as when I tried to run over the fat lady and got my head stuck.

For the girls who were there, and who ran to assist this woman and who now themselves are somewhat robust, the genetic bond will kick in and they will only state - “She wasn’t fat”.

~Dermot

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