At age 22, I acquired an old longboard from my friend Charlie. Another buddy of mine let me have a new full suit that he had hardly used. Having scored these two choice items, I was ready to attack the waves. First, I asked a few surfer friends of mine for tips on where to start, the best break for beginners, etc. Armed with this new information and my gear, I set out for Ocean Beach.

I parked my truck, put on my wetsuit, and headed for the water. I chose a spot a few hundred feet away from the pier. As I approached the water, I became more self-conscious. I could feel the stares. I thought I heard some call out, “Barney!” Were they talking to me? Fuck. I was already being called a barney. I was pretty obvious, I guess. I shrugged it off, and started paddling out.

I hadn’t paid attention to the size of the waves on my way to the water. Big mistake. It was a big day.

After getting slammed by a couple of sets on the way out, I finally was ready to surf, but I was pretty tired from all the paddling. I ignored this and found renewed energy. A swell was on its way. It was huge. I started paddling as hard as I could. The swell arrived, and I felt its energy pick up the board and propel it. I wasn’t ready, but you don’t argue with nature. I dropped into the wave, still lying on my belly, petrified and excited at the same time. I tried to stand up, but wiped out hard. I tumbled underneath the water for what seemed minutes, and finally came up. I heard laughing somewhere. It was drowned out by the next wave that broke over my head. I hadn’t seen it coming. Apparently, I had been watched the entire time.

The laughing had busted my concentration. I was pissed off, at the surfer who had laughed at me, but more at myself for being there. I felt stupid. The word Barney echoed in my head. I began to paddle towards shore, and then I heard the laughter again, but this time it was accompanied by,

“Get the fuck out of here, kook!”

I looked back, and there was the laugher, displaying his extended middle finger. I smiled at him, and watched his smile transform into an angry scowl. I ignored him and continued paddling to shore. Great, I thought, first I almost drown, and now this guy’s going to kick my ass on the beach. I expected to hear splashes behind me, but they never came. He didn’t follow. I got out of the water and headed back to my truck. I was fuming. I changed and left, cursing my heckler.

Five years passed before I tried surfing again.

Looking back, the heckler didn’t make things easier for me, but I went out there without thinking. I could have hurt myself, let alone somebody else. I approached the waves without respect, and got a thrashing. The next time I went out, I practiced in the whitewater, and later paddled out when I had enough experience standing up. Also, I always went with a buddy. I haven’t had a bad experience since. But I still prefer playing my guitar…