THE KIDS ARE OK
By Corky Carroll

I read an interesting article in SURFER magazine recently where it discussed the subject of the possibility, or not, of a “surf gene.” We are looking at second and possibly third generation pro surfers these days and so the subject is bound to come up. My personal scientific opinion is the reason anybody gets good at anything is a combination of factors. Most importantly, in a physical medium, there needs to be at least a solid amount of natural talent built in. Some people are athletic and some aren’t. To become a pro surfer takes some natural athleticism, and I guess you could call that “in the genes.” This, I would assume, is something that is at least partly handed down from your parents. But, that said, I have always felt that success most of the time depends on the amount of time and effort you put into something. No matter how lame you are if you do something long enough and with the will and energy to improve you are bound to achieve some amount of skills. And if you start out with sports genes then you are most of the way home. I contend that the main reason the offspring of great surfers have a great shot at greatness themselves though is opportunity. If your dad is a great surfer and takes you surfing everyday and gives you clues it’s a real plus. And if you love it and are willing to absorb everything that is available to you, both in and out of the water, from being in that kind of surfing environment then you have a huge plus plus factor. I don’t think there is a surf gene. But the combo of heritage, the love of it, desire to be good and the opportunity provided by a surfing family would certainly seem to lead to a bright surfing future.

There are lots of examples out there. The Fletcher family, the Curren family, the Ho family, the Buffalo family (never can spell that name) on and on. There is a kid that is blowing everybody’s minds right now by having qualified for the World Surfing Tour at only 17 years old. His name is Kolohe Andino and he is the son of former surf star and San Clemente kid, Dino Andino.

I love Dino. Back in the 70’s I spent some time as the guitar teacher at the House of Music in San Clemente. One day an older lady brought in her very young grandson for lessons. It was Dino and he was about six or seven years old. He had a horrible guitar with a square neck. Was meant to play slide style. But Dino wasn’t really all that into learning the guitar, he was into surfing. We would spend most of his lesson time talking about surfing and he was the perfect little sponge just loving all the good info he could get.

At about the same time my oldest son, Clint, was getting into surfing too. He was playing Pop Warner football and one of his team mates was Matt Archibald. Within a few years these guys were taking surfing in a whole different direction. I remember standing on the beach at the San Clemente pier one day watching Dino, Matt, Clint and Christian Fletcher busting giant “air” moves that I had never seen before. Thought about yes, but done or seen no. These were the new OC fight club.

And now here is the son of Dino on track to do amazing things. Matt’s son Ford is a very talented surfer too. Clint’s son Cannon is just starting, having grown up in Kansas being a huge drawback for becoming a surfer. There is the opportunity factor I mentioned.

I would also like to point to our current Orange County top pro surfer, Brett Simpson. Brett is the son of Bill Simpson who was a star football player with the Los Angeles Rams. That stinking team that I used to love and had season tickets to but broke my heart and moved to Saint Louis. Brett grew up in Huntington Beach. Heritage, desire and opportunity.

We all need to keep an eye on Kolohe Andino. Possible future World Champ from the O.C.

CHEW IN THE LINEUP
By Corky Carroll

The last few days I have had the pleasure of surfing with my old friend and school mate, Rich Chew. We both went through the Seal Beach Elementary Schools and then Huntington Beach High School. I think Rich was either a Junior or Senior when I was a freshman. We shared a lot of common experiences when we were young. We both played Water Polo. Although it was way too much work for me, and I only lasted one year, Rich went on to play for Orange Coast College.

We also both more or less broke onto the surf scene at about the same time. We were the original members of the Harbour Surfboards Surf Team. The very first time I had my photo in SURFER magazine was in a Harbour advertisement that featured Rich and myself.

In the 1960’s Rich Chew was a big name in surfing and he won a number of events here in California. One year he held the United States Surfing Association number one ranking, I think it was like the first or second year they had that. He was also among the top 24 surfers in the world who were invited to compete in the annual Duke Kahanamoku Invitational Championship held at Sunset Beach, Hawaii. A very smooth and stylish surfer and cool guy. He reminded me a little bit of Skip Frye. Very smooth yet able to pull off big moves at the same time.

Rich is a retired career lifeguard and is happily surfing away his out to pasture days. It’s always fun when he comes and visits my pasture. We remind each other of a lot of excellent times. Today we were sitting there waiting for a wave and talking about when we both were on the Water Polo team. There had been a teacher who was there for a short amount of time and coached the team during that period. His name came up and I mentioned that I thought the dude had been pretty tough on us but at least he wasn’t there too long.
Rich smiled and related the story of how this dude was messing around with this hot chick, a student, who had mountainous sized breasts. I am leaving out names here to protect the guilty. He had come to school one day with a bunch of “hickeys” on his neck. That was the end of that and we never saw him again. I had always wondered why he left so quickly.

Ahhhh, school days. My question is this, “do kids still give each other hickeys?” It was such a badge of honor like in the eighth or ninth grade.

In thinking about this I decided to give my wife one. She smacked me so hard I now have a black eye. Well, not exactly the badge of honor I was hoping for but a good story none the less.

“How did ya get the black eye Corky?”

“I gave my wife a hickey and she knocked me out.”

How many of you can say that? None I bet. My wife’s tougher than yours is… nananananaaaaaaaaaaa.

LAST MAN STANDING
By Corky Carroll

The surf was really good today and normally I would be all happy and glowing after my morning surf session instead of sitting here bruised and battered. It all happened because my neighbor, the infamous Iguana, was in one of his weird feisty moods. Most of the time he is moaning about his morning headache or something. We call him the ultimate “wino.” That is because he is either drinking it or doing it. He loves to whine about any kind of mystery ailment that comes to him at the moment. “Oh my head, oh my back, oh my knee, oh my prostate, oh my black plague, bla bla bla.” He is the worlds biggest hypochondriac known to man or beast.

Occasionally he gets a bit feisty, and today was one of those occasions. I might have said something to do with his morning aroma as he was coming down the beach. Maybe like, “ I smell dead people.”

He came back with something to do with my waistline. I think it was, “Oh yeah, well I smell fat people.” Humph. Childish cruelty cuts deep.

“Well those hideous looking Speedos you are wearing should have been buried with the dead guy they came off of years ago.”

“Oh yeah, well the only air you get anymore is out of your butt.”

“Yeah, well the only fart around here is you, and you are an old one at that, and stale.”

And that did it. It was on. We paddled out to the lineup, past everybody else, and took our positions. Head to head surf off. For honor. There was some circling going on and jockeying for position. We would have duck dove under each other but neither of us can duck dive anymore. Finally a set wave came through and we both took off. He was in the front and went for a “fin first” take off. It was pretty glorious too except for the fact that it left him going straight “right.” And the wave was a left. And I was behind him which put me right in the path of his out of control board going in the wrong direction. He totally mowed me down and we both ate it like rats.

“Foul,” I immediately yelped.

“Foul? What do you mean foul? This is not the APS Gentlemen’s tour amigo. There ain’t no fouls in this thing, it’s LAST MAN STANDING.” And there it was.

On the next wave I dropping in right in front of him and faded him deep into the pit. Unfortunately in doing so I failed to notice the class of six girl beginners who happened to paddle directly into the path of where I needed to go when I pulled off the big sweeping bottom turn that would leave the Iguana in the dust. With nowhere to go except straight off, I went straight off. The wave peeled off and creamed both of us. After banging into each other we had to separate our boards as the leashes had become tangled up. The next wave munched us while all this untanglement was taking place.

“O.K., that did it. One more wave, winner take all.” I am not sure which one of us said that but it seemed like the right course of action. We were both bleeding from numerous places on our bodies by this time.

Then it came. A perfect eight foot wall and we were in position. The Iguana was in the front and I was taking off deep. As we both stood up I saw my opening. He had to drop down the whole face to set up his turn. But I was able to get in early and take a high line across the face with a lot of speed. When he dropped low I whizzed right behind him and pelted him with my spray. Almost knocked him off, but not quite. He climbed into the pocket and banged my outside rail as we both gained speed down the wall. I did a little bit of a floater and almost landed on his deck. He banged my rail again. At that moment I did a bit of a stall and he went by below me. I was able to get back behind him again as we both set up for the inside section that was reeling off like a zipper.

“Catch me if you can fatboy,” he bellowed as he pulled into the pocket.

I got as much speed and distance as I could out of my last bottom turn and came up right below him on the wave face. I was in perfect position to make my move. And I did. I reached up and pulled his Speedo’s down to his ankles. This caused him to lose control and his fin released. As he spun out and slid down the wave face he took me out like a semi truck leveling a VW Bug. I took his board into my ribs. He got mine on the knee. We both got sucked over the falls like two old salmon trying to avoid the rocks and not being successful. It was utter and sheer carnage. Mothers were covering their kids eyes on the beach. People were calling 911. It was horrifying. I heard somebody cry out, “Holy humanity.”

As we were helping each other out of the water and surveying each others damaged boards and bodies there was a short discussion as to who the winner was. Seeing as how there was no last man standing we decided to go with who was the less thrashed. The debate is still going on over coffee.

SURFIN’ JIVE TO MY FAVORITE 45
By Corky Carroll

One of the things about getting older is that we remember stuff that doesn’t even exist anymore. I was talking to a guy in the water this morning and he had one of the new waterproof sound systems where you can listen to your favorite music while surfing. This is something that I have tried to do a zillion times over the years but never quite got it perfected. Modern technology is a wonderful thing.

My earliest attempt to surf with music playing came about in the late 1950’s. This was in the days of record players. I used to listen to a stack of my favorite 45’s before going surfing everyday to get me in the mood. Well, I was always in the mood, but I liked the music. 45’s were the small records that had one song on each side that we listened to before most of you were born. One day I took my trusty record player down to my pals, the DeCheveroux brothers, house and put it on their deck. Their house was on the beach right at “Water Tower” and their front deck hung out over the water. This was the closest to the surf that I could get and still be dry. I put as many records on the stack as would fit, cranked the volume all the way up and paddled out. To my amazement I could hear the music from the lineup. How cool, I thought. But before I could catch a wave I noticed the music got weird and slow and then stopped all together. The records actually melted in the sun. I was crushed.

My next serious attempt was when they came out with the first portable cassette players. I think they were called “walkmans.” I had rigged one up to wear when I played tennis and it worked really good. So one day I used a bunch of plastic bags and duct tape and set one up to surf with. This was not a bad idea and it worked. But the big problem was that the cassettes in those days had two sides and there might only be 15 to 20 minutes of music on each side. As there was no way to change the tape while in the water most of the time the music would run out before you got more than a wave or two. I found it too much hassle for too little rockin’. And also mine leaked after only a couple times out and killed my walkman.

So I was really happy to see that they finally have got these perfected and on the market. I have been hoping for this for years and years and I can’t wait to get one. Now I can listen to my favorite Spade Coolie tunes while waiting for a set. Awhooooo.

PROFESSIONAL SURFING
By Corky Carroll

Not long ago I had the unhappy experience of a tax audit. This has happened to me a few times in my life and even though I tend to have my stuff in order it is still not something I look forward too. On this particular day I got a guy who was the exact image of what you might expect a pencil pushing geek accounting blood sucking I.R.S bottom feeding money sniper to look like. Ever see “Big Bang Theory” on T.V.? Well this dude looked just like Leonard except with a flat top haircut. You could rest your coffee cup on his head, it was that flat. (Note: to you I.R.S. tax accountants who I might meet in the future…just kidding..hahaha).

So I sit down on the punishment side of the desk and attempt an air of friendliness and trust. But this dude is all business. He opens up my file and starts to peruse the first page with a hint of a frown that seems to say, “lets see what horrifying things I can find here to gouge you out of more money.” I am getting a light to heavy uneasy feeling about how this is all gonna go. I know I have everything in order and am prepared. But you hear stories about these things and even though you trust that these guys are going to be fair and impartial, you just never know, ya know.

Then all of a sudden the dude gets a kind of surprised look on his face and he looks up at me. Then he looks down at the paper again as if to double check what he had just read. Then he looks up at me again and kind of gives me a once over. Geeze, did I forget to put on my clean shirt or what? Getting a bit self conscious here. Then the dude kind of gets a smile on his face that seems to say, “Ah HA… gotcha.”

“Mr. Carroll, there must be some sort of mistake here.” He states, as if for the record.

“What mistake is that?” I inquire as innocently sounding as a guy who is rarely innocent can muster.

“Well, it says here that you are a professional surfer?”

“Yes, that is true, I am a professional surfer.” Wondering why he is asking that.

He looks me up and down and grins. “Come on….”

“Come on what? Is there a problem with that?” I have been a pro surfer my whole life and nobody had ever mentioned that you can’t be that for your tax base, including the two previous I.R.S. tax auditors.

“How can YOU be a professional surfer?” He states more than asks. It’s then that it dawns on me that he is looking at this older semi chubby not in the least what you would expect a pro surfer to look like kind of dude sitting there in front of him and he is calling me out on how could somebody who looks like ME actually be a working pro surfer. I have to laugh. I guess I can see his point. When you think of “pro surfer” you think of the typical twenty something bronzed god in perfect condition Adonis that I used to be forty years ago. (Shut up, you know it’s true). This dude is looking at a fat version of Homer Simpson’s father and not swallowing the Professional Surfer as a profession claim written on my tax form.

“Seriously sir, how can you be a professional surfer at your age?” He now sounds like he is trying to deal with somebody who could be dillousional or something. Trying to rationalize my mistake and figure out how he is gonna deal with it.

So I have to go into the long version of how I became a pro surfer in the first place and how I have bull headedly insisted on remaining one through thick and mostly thinner all these years. In a sense it was kind of a long confession on why I have refused to let go of my life long desire to have the freedom to go surfing at anytime of day or night at the expense of most of life’s temptations. Surfing is all the temptation I need. O.K., there have been a few other small ones but they pale in comparison with my will to surf.

Finally, less than more understanding of my status, we plod forward into the audit. There are a few water hazards along the way. He questions how I can claim $500 in surf wax, why should Hawaiian shirts be considered “wardrobe,” and why should I list a California State Park pass as a deduction. But for the most part everything checks out and at the end of the ordeal he reluctantly, and with some head shaking, concedes that everything looks in order and with only a small adjustment I have passed and am free to go.

As I am leaving the office I hear him mutter under his breath, “Now I have seen it all.”

Humph!