The winter swell season was coming to a close in South Florida, but my thirst for more surf had not been quenched. My friends and I needed to surf those great winter swells one more time. A swell pushed down from the north but the tides were super high; our local break just wasn't showing. We stood at our local break and intuitively knew the answer to our need was north.
The aqua treasures we sought were north - everything was north. Waves, unspoiled beaches, surfers who could really surf, surf shops, everything to include Santa Claus and the great Valhalla....were north.
And north we traveled; along A1A, past the garish hotels with the '50s style architecture, past the rich homes on the beach and over the inlets and cuts we motored towards the uncharted. For the three of us, we might as well have been headed to Cape St. Francis.
We were bound and determined to find this elusive swell. About every 10 miles we'd pull over and check the surf. Finally, after about two hours of driving we spotted white water. Like the mariner up in the crows nest on Moby Dick, someone bellowed - "there it is, white water, breaking outside!"
We found it. We found our Cape St. Francis.
Unfortunately, we had no idea where we were. Oh, we knew we were in a beach community south of Jupiter, but that was about it. At this point, all we wanted to do was surf. We parked the car, grabbed our boards, and headed for the break. The fastest way to the break was through an old Mom and Pop motel.
The motel was old but neatly groomed and well kept. It consisted of two parallel one-story structures perpendicular to the beach with a small pool between the two structures. At the front, connecting the two buildings, was a covered walkway. We passed under the walkway and were making our way around the pool when either the owner or the maintenance guy came around and spotted us.
This guy, who was fairly large to begin with, went absolutely crazy! You would have thought he spotted communist infiltrators trying to take over the great state of Florida. If he was a veteran of some war, he was having a flashback and we were the enemy. He called us everything but human. He started to come after us, but by this time we were down the few steps to the beach and running north a few yards to paddle out. Thankfully the surf spot was not directly in back of the hotel. Just as quick as he became angry and almost violent, he stopped and quietly continued about his business. This guy was a human junkyard dog.
The spot consisted of a very shallow sandbar, not very wide, about 25 yards out from the beach and about 50-75 yards long. The small waves would hit the sand bar, jack up, and just peel left down the length of the sand bar. As the tide dropped the waves got faster and allot more fun. We must have surfed there for 3-4 hours - just the three of us.
We three chased a swell north, discovered our own secret spot, been chased by a lunatic and were now surfing fun waves. One of my friends said this was such an exciting day that we should write Bruce Brown and maybe he would do a movie about us. I recall saying that was a stupid idea because we didn't have a name for this spot. We never continued the conversation; it was getting late and we wanted to catch some more waves. However, in the back of our heads I believe we were all thinking of a catchy name for our own secret spot. Soon it was time to leave this treasured little break.
There’s a children’s book from the Berenstain Bears series about the young Berenstain Bears going into an old spooky tree. Each bear goes into the tree with an item in his hand: one with a rope…one with a light… and one with a stick…. Did they dare go into that spooky old tree! Well, we were three surfers…one with a Weber….one with a Bing…..and one with a Gardner…. Did we dare cut through that old hotel! And like the bears – we did!
Suddenly, as we were just opposite the pool, the same lunatic appears out of the shadows with a machete in his hand! The three of us stopped dead in our tracks. The lunatic didn’t move a muscle. He just ever so slowly, with eyes focused on the three of us… raised the machete. We ran like hell! To this very day I can hear him scream, “I’ll kill you son of a b…….” The three of us never looked back. We ran full speed to the car, threw our boards on top, strapped them down, and sped off.
GO, GO, GO were the only words we said when we got in the car. After about a minute we looked at each other and just started to laugh hysterically. What a day, what an adventure, what fun surf. Where was Bruce Brown when you needed him! Then we realized we were missing something, something traveling surfers did when they surfed a strange place.
We needed a name.
No one said anything for a few minutes, we were all deep in thought trying to come up with a catchy name for this place. After a few moments of eerie silence one of my friends ever so slowly, ever so quietly said, “Madman’s Reef.”
There was no discussion. The name was perfect. Madman’s Reef was it. Our day was now complete. We traveled south along A1A that late afternoon recounting the lunatic, the sights along A1A, and the fun waves we had surfing.....Madman's Reef.
No matter how much time or distance separates me from my old surfing friends, to this very day if I said to them just two words - Madman’s Reef - they could relate.
It’s great to be a surfer.