Planet Ithaka: March 2012

[published in the book "Surf Story" -2009]

"Miracle At Malibu"

August, The Summer of Hate

It was a
summer
marked by
a ridiculously
high number
of road rage
incidents.

Had the
congested
streets
themselves
caused
the anger ?
Or
had the
temper-fueled
occurrences
spawned
worse than
normal traffic ?

Who the
fuck knows ?

But this was
the subject
of endless
rhetorical
debate on
every local
news program
in Southern
California.

Without doubt,
the several
spells of record
Santa Ana heat
had contributed
monumentally
in either case.

Sadly it
was already
August and
there’d only
been two
mediocre
Souths all
season.
Surfers were
irritable and
crowds were
out of control,
with everyone
contending
for the minute
scraps the
southern
hemisphere
was discarding
northward
to the wolves.

Paralleling
the insanity in
the streets,
there were
probably more
surfing-related
fights in LA
county during
that summer
alone then
there had
been in
the previous
five years
combined.

And to
make it all
even more
intolerable,
the smelliest
bloodiest-
colored
red tide
anyone
could ever
remember
had been
lingering
for weeks,
dramatically
symbolizing
The Summer
of Hate.

I’d just gotten
out of high
school
and during
the day
attended
summer
classes at
El Camino
Community
College.

At night
I was working
as a cashier
at a hotel’s
coffee shop
near LAX.
Not as shitty
as a first job
as you might
imagine,
considering
that Singapore
Airlines and
several other
international
companies
housed their
entire flight
crews
at the hotel
during their
U.S. layovers.

EIGHTY
PERCENT
of the diner’s
clients were
female flight
attendants.
And for the
most part
sweet,
beautiful,
and smelling
like flowers.
Just being
around these
exotic women
made me
want to
visit the
countries
they were
from.

My bizarre
schedule
actually worked
out pretty well.
My good surf
bro Deebo,
a seasoned
schralper
a few years
older than me,
worked an
evening shift
just down
the street at
the DHL freight
wherehouse.

Our solution to
that summer’s
dementia
(and our
unusual hours)
was to
surf nights.

We both
usually
got off work
around
1:15 am.
And Deebo
would pick
me up out in
front of the
coffee shop in
an old flat-black
stoner van,
both of us still
in uniform
(mine was
beige nylon).

Occasionally
we’d roll
to Huntington.
HB was well lit,
but we preferred
Malibu,
a night surfers’
utopia….such
a predictable
wave you can
practically surf
it by Braille
anyway.

During
the six weeks
since we’d
begun our
graveyard
patrols we
hadn’t had
a single
memorable
session,
but at least
we’d surfed
without
masses of
nervous
shoulder-
snakes
and human
buoys
in the lineup.
And had been
avoiding
the recent
almost nuclear
sunshine.

If it was
too small to surf,
we just do a
quick wardrobe
change and
swing by the
Sunsplash Club
for last call.
This was
Southern
California
vagabond
decadence
at its finest.

One night in
mid-August
as we left the
airport area,
planes were
silhouetting
in front of
a big full moon
like bats on
a Hallmark
Halloween card.
The weather
had become
much cooler
during the course
of the last couple
of days, an
overdue break
from weeks of
monotonous
hot-and-dry-cloudless
desert weather.

During most
of our commute,
the sky directly
overhead until
the horizon
remained
crystal clear
with stars visible.

But nearing
our destination
up the coast,
we noted an
extremely dense
wall of fog
a hundred
feet high
about a
quarter-mile
from shore.
With NO wind,
it was absolutely
motionless, just
parked out there
like a gigantic
cotton cliff.

When we
pulled up
to Malibu
the lot was
empty, not
a good sign.

First Point
looked
micro so we
walked down
the beach to
look at Third
from in
front of the
bamboo patch
hiding the
Adameson
Mansion.

The red tide
was maxing
and the
foul smelling
two-footers
were reeling off
Third Point
with magical
bio-luminescence
(the first
hors d’oeuvres
of that season’s
only substantial
swell).

For a month
and a half
we’d been
surfing the place
uncrowded,
but we’d
never had it
all to ourselves.
Tonight though,
no one was
was around.

Even so…
there was
no real rush
to get out there.
If nobody was
here by 2am,
it was unlikely
that anyone
would be coming
around at all.

With the fog wall
sitting just outside
the lineup,
it was almost
as if this little
light show
was taking place
in front of a
gigantic stage
backdrop.
Crazy to think
that the
mesmerizing
spectacle
in front
of our eyes
had been
manufactured
by trillions
of dying
phyto-plankton.

We must have
watched about
six or seven sets
glowing their way
down-the-line.
The last two pushing
all the way thru to
the inside.

Incoming tide
with a growing
swell. It was not
only beautiful
to watch,
but the waves
were getting
much better.
It was absolutely
hypnotizing,
our eyes
super-glued
to the lineup.

Even though
we were standing
next to each other,
Deebo and I
were quietly in
our own separate
worlds. He’d been
acting weird ever
since Lori Pangrati
had dropped his ass
for a C-grade pro
skateboarder.

Although the mass
of fog had been
dead-still since
we’d arrived,
for a milli-second
there was a
movement from
within the
cloudbank itself
just past the
end of the pier
to the right.

Probably
a small
fishing boat,
I thought.

I looked
back to an
approaching
set, but the
fishing boat
rocking
in the fog
distracted my
attention again.

It couldn’t
be a fishing boat,
it wasn’t
the right shape-
too narrow
and vertical
and had no lights.

Maybe
a windsurfer,
I rationalized
vaguely.

Whatever
it was,
it was still a
few yards
back inside
the wall of
the fog .

Eyes back
to the lineup.

Then….
the movement
AGAIN !

I was getting
annoyed
(wanting
to devout
my attention
strictly
to wave
activity).

Still couldn’t
tell exactly
what it was,
but now,
thinking more
consciously,
ruled out
windsurfer.

A windsurfer …?
At night ?
With NO sail ?
And NO WIND ?

This was
beginning
to get freaky.

Then slowly….
(almost like
The Pillsbury
Dough Boy
pulling himself
out of a
vertical pan
of unbaked
croissants),
a very tall
human-esque
fog figure
freed itself
from the
pillowy mass
and now stood
ON the water’s
surface in clear
air just in front
of the cloud wall.

My entire spine
came to life
like someone
had plugged
it in, the hair
on my arms
raising in
goose-bumps.

The silhouette
stood motionless
for a few seconds,
seemingly looked
from left to right,
then
very slowly
began walking
across the surface
of the water
toward us.

At this point
whatever it was
had my full fixation.
I instantaneously
forgot about;
the waves,
the beach,
the girls at work,
the girls at Sunsplash,
and that my rent
was due
in two days.

Every single
thought
floating
around in
my head at
that moment
got completely
eradicated.
EVERYTHING.
My one focus
now being…
The Fogman.

Step by
narrow step,
slowly
but steadily
it came,
walking
on
water.

It took
several
minutes
just for him
to cross
the distance
from where
he’d come
out the fog
to get to
the wave
break line.

And as he
finally came
through
the small lines
of foaming
phosphorescent
whitewater, his
legs descended
downward into
the liquid itself
until his feet
touched bottom.
He was now
walking
shin-deep
across the
rocky
shallows.

As he got
closer, it
became evident
that he had no
facial detail
what-so-ever.
No eyes.
No mouth.
No nose.
No ears.
Just a nine-foot
fog figure
taking a stroll
across the
ocean’s surface
at Malibu Point.
I’d only assumed
it was even male
because of its
shoulder width
in relationship to
its height and
by the staggering
way it walked.

Ol’ Foggy
finally
advanced out
of the water
and up
the small
strip of sand,
slowing to a
complete stop
when he got
within about
fifteen feet
of us.

Then
suddenly he
reaccelerated-
walking
right thru
the three-feet
of space
between
Deebo
and I.

Part of it
grazed
the left
side of
my body,
my arm and
shoulder
feeling like
they’d been
dipped in
warm water.
It was
strangely
a familiar,
comforting
sensation.

During
the entire
time since
we’d arrived
at the beach
and even
during the
last ten
minutes since
The Fogman
first appeared,
Deebo and I
had not said
a SINGLE word
to each other
(telling you,
this Pangrati
chick had
messed with
his mind
in a big way).
And even
as The Fogman
passed us,
I still wasn’t
completely
sure that
all this
was real
and not a
personal
hallucination
until Deebo
and I
simultaneously
spun around
to watch IT…

(the being
that had literally
just walked
thru our bodies!)

…disappearing
transparently
into a fortress
of bamboo
shafts.

Deebo
actually
began to
follow Foggy
into the thicket,
but the limits
of his own
mortal body
restricted him
from emulating
the apparition’s
vaporizing act.

In frustration,
he grabbed two
bamboo stalks
shaking them
aggressively
like bars in
a prison cell,
gradually
slowing
in defeat
until he
went still.

He looked
to the sky
with a glazed,
but hopeful
face, finally
turning to me
and declaring,

Pappy,
Its’ a SIGN.

But I wasn’t
buying it.

Man…
I don’t know….
I’m not sure
WHAT it was…..
But I’m pretty
sure it wasn’t
WHO you’re
thinking
it was.

Regardless,
Deebo was
certain…
absolutely
convinced
we had just
witnessed
a modern
day miracle.

I was not
only doubtful,
I was POSITIVE
we had not seen
the Mastermind
of the Universe,
but instead
just some
confused
entity
meandering
about on
a spooky
red tide night.

Besides,
isn’t it
likely that
The Almighty
himself, would
at least partake
in his own
creation.
I mean…
come on…
fun Malibu
with no one out
is hard to find
for anybody
these days,
even for the
one who
made it.

Why walk…
when you
can ride?

Dee-BRO…
I said,
interrupting
my own
skepticisms,
We’re here
to surf….
So let’s SURF.

We rode
predominately
First Point.
TOTAL glass.

Out in the water,
we were actually
shaded from
the full moon
by the
fog’s height,
the main
illumination
landing on the
beach itself.
Regardless,
light and
visibility
were not
an issue.
And in spite
of the odor,
the reflection
of pier lights
off the water
and red tide glow
made the
entire session
(even without
The Fogman
sighting)
completely
surreal.

Paddling back
out after a
long one,
I saw Deebo
racing
down-the-line
from the end
of the point.
As he got
nearer to me
it started
to bowl up
in a shallow spot.
Instead of
aiming for the lip
and blowing
the top off it
like he’d
normally do,
he did a
frontside
under-the-lip
snap,
straight into
a stall move
digging his arm
into the wall
elbow-deep
and getting
about as
shacked
as I’d ever
seen anyone
get at four-foot
Malibu.

Pitted in an
Aurora Borealis
moment, the
glowing lip
was funneling
electrically
around him,
his face
totally illuminated
by the blue-green
phosphorescence.
His expression.
was of such
wonderment
such naïve
childhood
innocence…..

It was the
same look
he’d had
on his mug
when he’d
tried to follow
The Fogman
into the
bamboo
patch.

He released
his arm from
the wall,
glided out the
front door
and bolted
down-the-line,
(periodically
throwing up
big glowing
fantail sprays
over the back
of the wave).

About
fifteen
sets later,
the fog wall,
which had
remained
motionless
a convenient
few hundred
yards offshore
all night,
finally begin
to creep in.

Overall
an EPIC
session, but
it was already
about 6am.
The whole
smokey
scenery
was slowly
beginning
to light up
and there
were several
surfers on
the beach
preparing
to enter
the water.

Fog AND
crowd…
no thanks,
time to call
it a night.

Deebo and I
had barely
spoken the
whole session
and didn’t
speak at all
as we loaded
up the van.

He’d replaced his
his moping over
Lori Pangrati
with pensive
thoughts about
the meaning
of life and
creation.
Or maybe
he was just
too stoked
for words
after his
psychedelic
limelight barrel.

Although
now drizzling,
foggy as hell
and the
beginning
of rush hour,
it was a
smooth run
southbound
on PCH
all the way
until we got to
the California
Incline ramp
where we
were literally
imprisoned in
a monumental
traffic jam.

It wasn’t even
warm out, but
in a typical
Summer of Hate
moment, a
fellow commuter
had taken a shot
at a truck driver
(who’d been
transporting
a haul of
tomatoes
down from
Ventura
County).

The bullet had
entered the
driver’s side
open window.
It completely
missed
the trucker,
but somehow….

ricocheted
off the ceiling

flew out the
cab’s opposite
window

THEN hit a
motorcycle
rider in
the head.

His helmet,
remarkably,
had kept the
bullet from
actually
entering
the skull,
but he’d laid
his bike down
in the middle
of the highway
doing 50 mph.

Unbelievably
he wasn’t
even injured.
And in fact,
was in good
enough condition
to argue with
the cops,
Who the HELL is
gonna pay
for my bike ?!?!

TRUE:
in the same
five-hour
time window
we’d seen a
tall, ethereal
creature
walking
on water.
AND…
a random
biker had
just survived
what seemed
certain death.

Regardless,
I was still
vetoing the
speculation
of any divine
intervention.
But this second
SIGN
only solidified
Deebo’s
conviction.

After that day
he dove
head-on into
The Ministry.
I never
heard from
him anymore.
And the one
time I did get
him on the
phone, he
was rambling
something about
my boozing,
womanizing
ways.

_________________

Since
that night
several
years ago
I have told
of our
Fogman
encounter
(in true
Forest Gump
fashion)
to friends,
friends
of friends
and pretty much
anyone else
who’d listen.

And
EVERYONE
has their
own theory
to what
or who
it could
have been.

From an ET,
to a spirit
of a Chumash
Indian warrior,
to the
ghost of
Merritt
Huntley
Adameson,
(the builder
of the
historical
estate there
on Malibu
lagoon)…..
all the way to;

It was probably
just a wind
pocket pulling
a chunk of fog
out of the
cloud bank.

…uhhhh…
in human form ?

walking ?

turning it’s head ?

...not likely,
but thanks for
the suggestion,
Mom.

I have also
learned
that Deebo
and I are
not the only
people who
have had
experiences
at Surfrider.
From fifty
years ago
until the present,
a small number
of individuals
have reported
seeing
similar things.

It’s unlikely
I’ll ever know
exactly what
we saw
that night.
All I know is
a friend and I
once surfed
quality Malibu
with no
one out.

And even
that in
itself
could be
considered
a kind
of miracle.

Planet Ithaka

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

"RAIDOR BASS" - A Recycled Surfboard Sculpture Created by Ithaka

"GHOST LURE" - A Recycled Surfboard Sculpture Created By Ithaka

Monday, March 19, 2012

CYNCY - "Sometimes Life Gets In The Way" [produced by Ithaka]

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

"MR FISH HEAD" (Ithaka wearing Marlin skull in Bahia Todos Los Santos, Mexico)

Thursday, March 1, 2012

"MIracle At Malibu" a short story by Ithaka

[published in the book "Surf Story" -2009]