Yeah brah, you can hang ten in the green room and shack yourself all summer bro. Or not.
As someone who has spent a big chunk of his life within a short walk or drive of a decent point break, but has barely managed to get beyond being slightly un-shit at surfing, I cannot help feel anything but pity for the landlubbers who head to the coast each summer in the hope of mastering the sport of Hawaiian royalty.
If riding switch is like wearing a chip hat and being attacked by seagulls, then surfing is like trying to do the same whilst riding a unicycle backwards down a cobbled street past angry yeomen who are pelting you with cabbages. Online snowboard retailers, in need of a steady revenue stream to satisfy their venture capital backers, will seduce you with images of hot babes / dudes, golden sands and the promise that surfing competence (or at least wearing technical boardshorts) will lead to exotic sexual relations with inquisitive foreigners at sundown. In reality you will spend all summer going straight in the whitewash, trying to get the seaweed out of your hair, burning your eyelids and being shouted at by frustrated locals who have had their break invaded.
If riding switch is like wearing a chip hat and being attacked by seagulls, then surfing is like trying to do the same whilst riding a unicycle backwards down a cobbled street past angry yeomen who are pelting you with cabbages.
But since no-one will ever know if you are actually any good at surfing, as long as you learn when to use the word “dude” appropriately and get a couple of photos of you in a wetsuit, you will massively increase your chances of getting laid when you head back to the mountains in the winter – so it’s definitely worth the pain and humiliation.