In this weekly column series, Bernie Shelly explores the strange, funny rituals of everyday surf life — from awkward line-up conversations and endless paddle-outs to bruised egos and near-collisions in the surf. At the centre is Ichabod: intense, stubborn and fiercely focused, the perfect foil for Bernie’s dry humour and sharp observations about friendship, etiquette and the absurd beauty of sharing waves with other people.
16. No Mid-morning Dates. Please.
She could have come out a day later. Or a day earlier. But no. Ichabod’s little niece was a tad inconsiderate. She made her chubby little appearance exactly one year to the day before the merging of all the elements that make for a perfect surf.
Swell: just right .
Wind: Just right.
Sunshine: Well — you get the picture. The glorious picture.
And she’s having a birthday party. Her very first. On a perfect surf morning. Timed within the perfect window.
Starting exactly when the confluence is impeccably aligned. Too early and the high tide flattens much of the swell. Too late and the frantic mob takes over. Even later and the low tide makes for suicide take-offs and crunched boards.
And do they have to live so far out of town that there is no way of fitting in a surf as well as being there for the singing and the botched blowing of the candle? Which she’ll probably eat.
The invitation went out two weeks ahead of the birthday. Plenty time to have looked at the predictions. Plenty time to have worked out a legitimate excuse. Even a week ago Ichabod must have known exactly what the surf would be like. But no, he gives me two days notice.
He tells me how the whole family is excited to see us. Us. As though we are an “Us’.
I tell Ichabod that I’ll have a blinding headache tomorrow morning. Tomorrow. The day of the party. With perfect surf. A blinding headache.
His perplexed look necessitates an explanation.
“Not tonight Honey, I have a headache.”
He still looks puzzled. Confused.
“No desire to partake in shenanigans,” I explain.
A blank look. Nuance is lost on my fretting friend.
I leave it at that.
Addicts need their fix. No less so surf addicts. We all know not to make dates that coincide with flawless surf. Even quite good surf. Any doable surf.
I’m not a monster. To celebrate this auspicious occasion I’ve bought her a wetsuit. On a sale. Okay, so it will only fit when she’s four or five years old. But then we can celebrate her birthday on the beach.
After our surf.
And by that time Ichabod will definitely be talking to me.
Check in next week for more lessons with Ichabod.