Surfrider Foundation: MAKING WAVES

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	It's Called Karma MAKING WAVES, Feb.-March 1999 By Wayne Vincent

How do you get your waves? You know, do you drive to the beach hoping for the best, subscribe to a wave FAX company, listen to the weather cube, look out your living room? Whatever works is fine with me, but personally I prefer to buy my waves. Well, I don't actually use money it's more of a karmic barter system between Mother Ocean and myself.
     With the nearest beach at least two hours away from my northern California home, I'm always driving to new parts of the coast in search of that elusive perfect wave with no crowds. Earlier this year I thought I had finally found the spot. Somewhere north of the Golden Gate was a funky little beach town off the beaten track with a choice of a sand bar point and a reef point break. My first go-out was to long head high walls with only two other guys out. The mellow vibe in the water extended into the town and I was certain that this was the new "secret spot". But over the next few weeks the waves got steadily smaller and mushier with each visit. The place had such good promise, but that first day began to look like a fluke and I resigned myself to start searching the coast again. My luck changed the day I turned my focus from what's best for me to what's best for the beach.
     Since that first day I had noticed there was always a pile of trash at the entrance of the beach next to the seawall. Sometimes it was a big pile, sometimes it was a small pile, but the pile was ever present. It seemed that people picked up after themselves at the beach but the trash only made it that far. There were no garbage cans and obviously no municipal collection. During the progressively smaller days I just walked by the pile shaking my head and silently cursing the pigs who left it there, although I was more angry about getting skunked again. After all, this wasn't my trash, this wasn't my hoped for primo spot, and why the hell should I do anything to make this place better. Silently complaining was easier.
     Finally, the day came when the waves were so crappy that my board and wet suit didn't even leave the truck. As I drove by the seawall to leave the beach for the last time I felt like adding insult to injury, so I stopped and loaded all that stinky trash into the back of my truck and took it home. The odor was as foul as my mood.
     Well you know, during the drive back home my mood got better and I patted myself on the back for giving back to that funky little town, the two breaks, and most of all to Mother Ocean. I don't consider myself an intense conservationist but I do like a clean environment where I surf.
     A few weeks later there was a big swell hitting the coast and the direction seemed like it would favor the old "secret spot" so I did a dawn patrol for one last try. Eureka! It wasn't as big as it got other places that day but it had the same fast shape as my first time out. I surfed until my arms could do no more and as I walked back up past the seawall there was another pile of trash. Stoked after such a good session, I gladly threw this new pile into the back of my primer gray truck. As I drove away I made the connection: That first load of trash I took home paid for today's waves, and the load I was taking today was paying for my next time out.
     So you might say bartering with Mother Ocean has been mutually beneficial. Although it's not a fool-proof system I've had more good days than bad and the end of the seawall is always clean when I leave. I'm surely not the only one cleaning up, but I'm doing my bit and a box of plastic trash bags is now a permanent part of my gear. And I must admit it is a great feeling to have the locals (even the homeowners) smile at me. How many outsiders can say that? The only question left is, how are you going to buy your next day of good waves? It's called Karma!

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