Diminishing Returns

Theses two shots of George, taken 40 years apart, tell an interesting story. In the top shot he’s riding a Stripes Down Hodgeman in 1969 -- the best surf mat of that era, but a slug by today’s standards -- in virtually perfect, uncrowded surf. In the lower shot, he’s riding a state-of-the-art nylon mat a few days ago in what amounts to a slop wave on a slop day at a slop spot.

I had the same reaction as Dale S. when I first saw those shots of George taken a few days back at Wategoes. It seemed like a shame. Here’s one of the 10 best surfers from the past 100 years, and he isn’t able to express his art in waves that are anywhere near the quality that were once commonplace for him. The intensity of the local crowds have overwhelmed a man who is both in his mid 60’s, and who grew up riding excellent, uncrowded surf. It just isn’t in the cards for him to crack Lennox with 85 guys out in hopes of snagging a few good waves. Even if he succeeded, which he surely would, it wouldn’t be a meaningful experience for him.

So, in many ways, George is being true to what has always motivated him to surf. And that’s why I have so much respect for him as a person. Too many times I’ve pulled up to some out of the way break with him on a marginal day, waited 15 minutes for a rideable wave to barely break, then watched him tear off his civvies, pull on a wetsuit and run into the water. That’s the real reason why George Greenough, and anyone like him, is a great surfer. Whatever perfect surf he once rode -- and the incredible equipment he developed to ride it -- were a distant second to the experience of simply being in the ocean. The fact that he had these experiences growing up surfing in an idyllic place like Santa Barbara in the 50’s is just a footnote.

“Diminishing returns” describes the circumstance most of us are dealing with in terms of surfing and in life…especially if we’re over 50. But it’s all relative. I’m sitting up here in Walla Walla, Washington, of all places, caring for my mother who’s about to turn 91. My wife Gloria and I are watching a woman in dramatic decline. A woman who as recently as 3 years ago was taking care of her neighbors’ homes while they were away. It’s killing both Gloria and I to see her fade mentally and physically. And it’s killing me to do it in a place 5 hours from the ocean. I'd give anything to paddle out somewhere and catch a wave...any wave. But every single day here carries responsibility and has meaning. The next wave I ride, however mediocre, will probably the best wave of my life. The law of diminishing returns will be reversed, if only for a day.

When I saw Simon Perini’s shot of George on the beach with the mat I sent him 10 days earlier, I have to say, it was one of the most surrealistic moments of my entire life. I was a child when I first saw George burn across the wall between the Indicator and the Cove at Rincon on a mat. Now, here I am, some 45 years later, sending mats I made to the same guy. And my mother, who was there for my entire board/mat making experience, is now reduced to being my child, like so many aging parents. For a moment, when I saw that photo, I lost all sense of time. It was truly a case of, “Where did the last 45 years go???”