Story by James Charles Paine
Frothing harder than an overflowing cappuccino, might be an understatement on my enthusiasm while I was driving up the Central California freeway to the WSL Surf Ranch. I am a hard-core surf fan. I watch every heat, in every contest, drink copious amounts of Redbull to stay awake when they are running comps in a distant land and a far off time zone. Hard-core as in I don’t just watch just the Men’s CT, I watch the chicks, I watch the Q’e, I bet on every heat, breakdown my internal predictions vs the spreadsheets, I set up to pick my fantasy teams. Driving up the freeway I record a snapchat with one of those voice changers and send a funny video of just how pumped I am to the boys in my fantasy surf group chat. ‘Kelly, I’m just one short hour away from seeing your creation.’
I live in Puerto Rico and am meeting up with some legends from San Luis Obispo to spend the weekend watching waves, sinking piss, and gambling like total gens at the casino. Pulling up at The Ranch parking is the first bump in the road, we are informed that the parking lot is only for VIP ticket holders and we can drive a few miles away and take one of the buses to the event. Well that traffic director can f&*k right off because it’s 8am and Filipe is hitting the water in no time. So we drop $30 each to park across the street at one of the local’s front yards. They were stoked. I’d say 200 cars between about 10 houses did the same.
We are out of the car, walking to what we think is the entrance about 50 yards away from the street. We’re singing; USA pride is beaming off all of us, we’re rocking a Brother Andino jersey, Billabong American Flag hats, and I even went and got a huge TEAM USA American flag henna tattoo. Pumped! Me and the boys are told by security that this entrance is only for VIP tickets and the security dude points to the “main entrance” 700 or so more yards down a very dusty parking lot…You can’t kill our spirits, we are ecstatic! Even with our backpacks we jogged down to the other end but weren’t tired at all. It was almost as if Kelly’s spirit, a purple and white unicorn, ferried us the entire way down to the GA entrance. We jumped in line, and even though it is only 8am and it’s already cooking hot, the desert sun is beaming down on our gringo backs. Getting to the security check at the front of the line we are told we’ve gotta get rid of all our spray sunscreen. Excuse me? What did you say? I can’t hear you…. We all had a bottle of spray running $17 a pop and we just had to throw it away. I get it, you’re trying to be environmentally friendly but you’ve gotta give us a warning. Normally I use the spray because although I’d love to have the stones to walk up to a random hot chick in the car park and ask her to lube me up, more often than not you’re asking a mate to spray your back or doing the arm twisting leprechaun hop trying to spray yourself down. F&*k it, skin cancer is worth watching these waves fire down the pool.
We get into the pool area and we post up toward the end of the right, in front of one of the main big screens. Luckily, it turns out we picked one of the best spots for viewing and it is blessed with a generous amount of shady trees. And the end of the right is by far the most critical, important part of the wave; it’s what separates the donkeys from the dominant.
The wave is SICK! It starts out about chest high and moves to a foot or two over-head in the middle section…so call it 4-7ft in California, 1-3ft in Hawaii. The right starts out with room for 2-4 turns then moves into a very makeable 8-14 second barrel…no joke I think Kelly, Gabby, and ADS all got 13 second plus slots. On the webcast and in insta clips you see a lot of people get two barrels here and they weren’t really underscored for it but they should be. The correct way to ride this section is to stay behind the poop brown curtain the entire time.
Honestly, I think everyone is going to start adding 100 weightless squats to their daily workout regimen to be able to handle that burn! Then there is room for between 2-3 turns. This is probably the area that gives the surfers the tallest part of the wave….or maybe it just looked that way. I’m still not sure if anything that happened this weekend in Lemoore was real or just the longest acid trip ever; a psychedelic carry over from Coachella a few weeks ago. Watching live, the last part of the right was MENTAL…like lose your mind….a mirror reflection of a Restaurants barrel. The first time I saw one of these cones throttle through the end section there was some solid, visible movement in my boardies. I never knew a wave could be arousing I that way.
After watching some mental pits, good surfing, and feeling the energy of the crowd for every wave, every turn, every fall….it’s time for some beers. Freaking OUT! I’m literally skipping the 700 yards we have to walk to the entrance that morning to get some beers…we wait about 40 minutes for beers… again we are full positive-vibe warriors right now, you can NOT kill our stoke….we’re even throwing shakas to random crowd members.
Over in the main area there are food trucks, beers, a concert stage, and the entire VIP area…waiting in line for these beers we’re laughing at the VIPs in their spacious, covered cabanas with cute blonde waitresses attending to their every culinary need.…The end section of the left has a short barrel and then dribbles off into nothing, these clowns weren’t going to get to see the drainers and airs we had basically front row seats for.
We procure our allotted two beers each and we start the walk back, another 700 or so meters to our side of the pool. The sun is a bit higher and without enough sunscreen, due to the rent-a-cops taking it, we are starting to feel the burn. We get back to our little camp where we marked one small area against the viewing wall with two towels. There are three guys standing on our towels….we got snaked…we pull up and these guys hassle us about moving, not even saying sorry for stomping their shoes all over out towel and muttered what I can only assume to be insults at us.
After reclaiming our territory, my boy Kevin says, “Well you boys ready for another?”
“You dirty gen, already finished both beers?” I quipped back….only to have the sad realisation that the only thing left in my second beer was one more drink and a bit of backwash.
The darkness of a bad batch starts to creep in…. Jared says, why don’t you two go, I’ll hold down our spot – 1400 yards and this time an hour wait for beers…Kevin and I both sink a beer, give onr to Jared, and split the other….we’re f@#$%d. It’s like 100 degrees, we’re walking a mile round trip to get beers, we’ve gotta leave a soldier behind to guard our land and there is a two beer limit after an hour line! We decide to watch the US team surf before we go get beers and some lunch.
Our USA pride is showing through and through…we are cheering for every single manoeuvre, bantering back and forth about how underscored each US wave was regardless of reality, and full ear to ear cheesing all around. I’m on Cloud 9… as a matter of fact, the wave in the Philippines looks just like the end section we are watching the Gods of our sport make love with!! YEEEEEEOOOOWwww…..We’re jumping up and down like frogs and I’m rubbing my hands together fast enough to start a fire; at a rate of speed even Marzo would be impressed with.
The USA riders finished up and we decided that if we were gonna drink all day we should probably eat….700 yards away we pull up to lines as long as the eye can see….we decide that based on the two beer rule and the long lines, food is no longer a necessity….Only the essentials Harry! So we wait 90 minutes for some beers, and with a nice tip and a lot of sweet-talking we get the ladies to sneak us 3 beers each.
One of the big things either Kelly or WSL is pushing is the whole environmental sustainability thing, and I’m all for it, (we had to toss our sunscreen remember) but the hypocrisy is TOO much to fucking handle. They even announce they won’t have straws at the event, the activists soup de jour, but when we order beers, they pour them out of the cans into cups, HUGE waist of whatever plastic recycled algae fungus cardboard these cups were made from.
Pouring the cans into cups is a huge part of the reason it takes so fucking long to get a little taste of angel urine on our tongues, we’re thirsty here people, … we’re dying in this desert sun Kelly! Another guy we are sitting next to waits in the shortest line he sees, 2 hours and 45 minutes later the old boy comes back with 3 tacos. Get fucked. The cheap seats were starting to feel feeble, the VIPs had endless food, fruit platters, waitresses, and bars with no lines….it’s gonna be a long day for the working class heroes in General Admission.
Some uncountable number of hours pass, the long lines never subside, and food never becomes more important than beer, but the contest is over and we are headed to Tachi.
The casino/hotel that the WSL use is fully booked out. Which on a side note….there are not enough hotels in Lemoore….we were so lucky to be able to snag a Saturday night room at the Best Western and the manager told us the WSL tried to book the entire hotel for the September event as well…If you’re going to a contest at The Ranch, bring a tent and sleep in a farm field. Getting a hotel is going to be nearly impossible unless maybe you’re a VIP.
Back on track, we’re headed to Tachi, where we have an epic time playing Black Jack. ALL the pros are out playing, the fan experience seems very legit when you can give Parko a hard time for not hitting a 15 against a 10 showing on the Black Jack table is classic! Somehow the table we are at is giving away free money, and after 3 hours of playing me and all my boys leave up.
Day two features a lot of lows that I don’t have the mental energy to do justice to besides listing them. The total lack of patriotism from any country sucks. My little crew are definitely the odd balls out. It wasn’t one surfer against another in a heat where you just cheer for who you like best. There are no fantasy points on the line here, this was your f*&^ing country against my f^&(ing country, time for a little friendly banter!
A little competitive shit talking. These spectators, are a bunch of wet lettuces, offering polite golf claps all around for everyone and it’s finals day! Cheer for your country, boo the other team, scream about the scoring, I feel like I am in Bobby Martinez’s worst dream….the wanna be tennis tour has been realised. At some point in the day, I comprehend that.
Although I was sure just 24 hours earlier that I was going to come to the event in September, that ship has now sailed.
The WSL is going to have a very difficult job on the logistics side of things…how many waves does each surfer get? What’s a 3-man heat look like? Priority? Jules style is to wait for the two best waves, where as Seabass will go on any bit of moving water….how’s any of this play out in a pool? How do you get the food lines down to a reasonable 15 minutes?
The final strawless straw that breaks this sunburnt gringos back. In the final, JJF, America’s champ, the wonder kid, pubic facial carpet and all, breaks our hearts with not only his sub-par performance throughout the event but especially his very weak showing in the finals. The dagger through my heart is thrust in the after heat interview.
JJF you’re young, I’m sure you were frustrated, we all say things we don’t mean, and I’ll be able to forgive you soon but in the moment, you enraged me In an attempt to brush off his terrible performance, JJF says that this was really ‘just practice for September’….Wait what? Are you kidding me? With the hearts and minds of your fellow countrymen competing against Brazil and the world and you blow us off by telling us that this was just practice. I can’t speak for the VIPs but those of us in the cheap seats paid $157 for tickets to watch you smash the shit out of the rest of the world and you’ve got the nerve to tell us it was a practice run? This isn’t a joke man we paid good money for you. That sounds weaker than a piss in the pool. Where’s the true grit? Where’s the hustle? Where’s the national pride?…
