Lifelong Californian finally hits the waves

Despite being a lifelong resident of sunny San Diego, Calif., and attending a high school that was a mere 1,000 yards from the beach, I had never learned to surf until this past summer. Though I’ve always enjoyed the laid-back “board-riding” culture that engulfs much of Southern California, my experience with the three primary boards — the skateboard, snowboard and surfboard — had been quite limited.

When I was a scrawny 10-year-old, my pediatrician instructed my mother to never let me buy a skateboard because of the number of children my age who’d suffered broken limbs while riding one. To alleviate my dejection, my mother purchased me Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater, a game I would go on to master while my comrades spent their time doing the real thing. Snowboarding had never been an option for me, either. My parents both grew up in India, so they’ve never been to a ski resort. As a result, I’ve never been, either.

But it was always surfing that has been the most enticing to me. Around the same time my doctor told me to avoid skateboarding, I attended YMCA surf camp for a week. The camp looked promising initially, but my lack of knowledge regarding musicians like Eminem, Dr. Dre, Sublime and Limp Bizkit landed me out of favor with the other preteen campers after a few bus rides to the beach. After a few days struggling to surf and socialize on the waves, I finally gave up and spent the last two days of camp making sandcastles on the beach with the other two social outcasts.

Fast forward nine years. At the beginning of this past summer, a friend from high school who is himself an avid surfer laid out a game plan for me.

“Vik, I’m going to take you to the beach a bunch of times this summer and teach you how to surf. Then you’re going to go back to Princeton, and all the East Coast girls are gonna be like ‘Damn!’ ”

I had my doubts about whether any parts of the plan would work, but I decided to give it a go. The first day started out as a struggle but ended with some hope. What I found hardest was balancing. It was easy to paddle slowly while heading out from the beach. But spinning around, aligning myself and paddling extremely hard as the wave approached were too much to handle. I found myself either falling off the board before the wave arrived or idly watching the wave pass after not paddling hard enough to catch it.

After weathering the first few sets, however, I started catching waves consistently. Standing up was another question, though. Again, balance was the issue. Every time I pushed up with my arms, I’d fall one way or another, or my feet wouldn’t land in the correct position. Thus ended my first expedition to the beach.

Over the next couple of weeks, a few more trips to the same beach and one to a beach a few miles north proved equally unfruitful. But I was able to make progress. By my last trip to the beach, I had stood up successfully a number of times, only to immediately fall back into the water. Then came an important declaration from my friend.

“Dude, we are not leaving this beach until you surf!”

An hour later, I’d made little headway. Every attempt at standing up had landed me back in the water. We decided to take a break and meet up with some other friends before returning to the water as the sun was setting. I knew that I was running out of time, and my head was swimming with instructions. Paddle hard. Push and pop with arms directly below shoulders. Twist right so as to land in goofy foot position. Stay relaxed.

Then, it finally all came together.

Admittedly, the wave was only about two-and-a-half feet. But I positioned myself with a struggle and paddled hard as it approached. I caught it and pushed up immediately. I spun wildly but somehow managed to land in a functional goofy-footed position (Goofy is the position employed by acclaimed skateboarder Tony Hawk, among others. In it, the right foot is in front with the left foot behind and is generally preferred by left-handed people like me). After a few seconds, the wave died. I immediately lay down on the board, spun around and caught the next wave, this one about a three-footer. Again, everything went smoothly. In a span of a minute, I’d caught my first two waves.

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“Dude! You know how to surf, dude!” my friend triumphantly shouted as he splashed water on me in celebration.

I went to catch a few more waves before retiring for the evening. Sadly, I won’t be able to surf for at least another nine months, at which point I’ll probably have forgotten everything I learned. But at least I had fun while I was at it. Now, as for those East Coast girls…