Meeting The Old Wizard

What's up dudes and dudettes? I just buckled my board, but luckily it was at the end of a 3 hour session.

*I saw a ballie surfing the other day that reminded me of a legendary character I met in the desert of Morocco. "Ballie" is my second favorite slang word from South Africa, used to refer to older men. My first is "lekker" meaning good or great. Something really good is "freakin' lekker man!". Actually my first is "Cookin'" - when the waves are on it's "cookin'" I picked up a few of these words from a South African I shared a few epic sessions with in Morocco... the same place I met the legend who is featured in this note. *

If you haven't already read or listened to it, the previous note "The Discovery of Witch's Finger" consider doing that, because it will give a little more context here and is a good primer.

I'm driving down the highway along the coast of Morocco and there's nothing around but desert. From the road I could see there would be enough swell for my new favorite spot to be working. I'd discovered it a few weeks earlier. When it was cookin' it was at least three times better than any other waves down the coast and had about a tenth of the crowd. My stoke from sessions at this spot reached an all time high.

For me, the only thing better than getting stoked is sharing it with a buddy. This wave had the ability to make new friends feel like old mates.

Traveling solo, I rarely knew or even recognized anyone in the water. Although I met several surfers during sessions and in the parking lot, most were only there for a one to two week surf vacation or an even shorter strike mission.

During my discovery session at Witch's Finger I met a South African who happened to be at the beginning of a two-week trip. He was a solid surfer with a lot of energy. He would surf 4hrs in the morning, scarf a PB&J and some water, then head back out for another 3-4hr session. No joke - one day I even saw him paddle way out beyond the lineup to take a dump so he wouldn't have to get out of the water. All of this to say... I knew if the conditions were right at Witch's, I'd see him in the water.

We had a good run of swell the first week, a few days of much needed rest (for me at least), followed by another 3 day swell. After that there wasn't any energy on tap for the foreseeable future. When the run was over I felt a weird sense of relief be able to explore other parts of Morocco without having to worry about missing another epic session at Witch's.

Accessing Witch's was tricky, especially when the swell was overhead. Learning how to navigate the entry and exit was critical to escaping without injury.

The Keyhole

At the end of a session, if you try to exit through the keyhole during a set, you'll need a lot of luck to make it. The current pulls water around the rocky outcrop above the keyhole at a rate too strong to paddle against. It can easily pull you beyond the small entry zone for the keyhole, which is your only chance of making it in. Even if you were able to out paddle the current and make it through, you still wouldn't be safe. There's a 3 to 4m section behind the keyhole that turns into a gauntlet when mistimed.

On the sets, a river of water flows over its uneven and jagged bed of rocks. The only chance for safety when the water is rushing, is to get through the keyhole, quickly find secure footing, and brace while the water rushes through. If you lose your footing the water will drag you over the sea urchin lined rocks.

As you can imagine, navigating this exit when it's dark is a bad decision. Luckily I made it out with only a few small cuts and a couple urchin spikes in my feet.

As sketchy as it was, the keyhole was one of the main factors preventing other surfers from paddling out. Inexperienced Surfers that knew their limits didn't want to attempt it. I saw several surfers pull into the parking area, scope it out, then head off to other breaks. A few with a bit more courage had gone for it, been banged up on the rocks, and never returned.

The Send Off

The day after the final swell I went to a lookout point to check if maybe... just maybe... the forecast was wrong and there would still be enough energy in the water for Witch's to work. It was clear that the swell had faded and it wasn't working. I sat around at the top of the cliff, waiting to see if maybe there were a few lingering sets possible to ride. I wouldn't mind waiting a bit if it meant a few more perfect rides, but even the sets didn't have enough juice I knew it was really over.

As I was standing there hoping, the South African pulled into the dirt parking lot. He had been thinking the same thing. He still had one more day before flying back home and was now apparently bored with no surf. We stood around for another half-hour amongst the cacti and rocks, still looking out to the ocean even though we knew there weren't any coming.

Like a couple retired football players visiting the old stadium where they had long ago fought together and won their infamous championship, we looked out on the ocean where the waves had been with a sense of nostalgia.

He told me about the beauty and waves of South Africa. He had similar sessions back home, but claimed this wave was even better than J Bay. I would indeed take him up on his recommendation and I am awfully glad I did.

We had a good laugh about the legendary old man we had met; then we went our separate ways.

Old Man Wizard

About half-way through the first week of swell, Witch's was really cookin'. Although I'd have several more sessions there, this was the biggest I would ever see it.

I'd been there several times already but still had trouble identifying the turn off from the highway. I slowed down when I knew I was getting close and looked for the small pile of rocks marking the entry point while making sure to check my rearview mirrors and not get rear-ended.

There it is! I pulled up to it quickly to make sure I was out of the way of oncoming traffic, but had to slow down fast and take the first section easy so I wouldn't bottom out on the uneven dirt road.

Right after the pullout the main road rises and turns inland a bit. By accident, rather than design, this just so happens to make it so you can't see the parking lot of this surf break from the road.

There are a lot of breaks like this up the Moroccan coast which is a big reason it's one of the few places I've traveled where you can still score empty amazing waves.

As slowly as I can bear, not to kick up dust or bottom out in my Renault Fluence - the compact sedan and cheapest rental option - I roll up to the small rock and dirt parking lot which fits about 5-6 cars. There are already two cars, I recognized one as the South Africans, but today also a camper van.

I hadn't seen the camper van before. I immediately questioned it's ability to get in and out of this off-road area. The road was hard dirt and rock. There was virtually no risk of getting stuck in sand, but there were some deep rivets that required caution and one steep section near the road that was trickier than it looked.

Kind of like navigating the keyhole it was a delicate and sketchy operation to get in and out of there. When exiting, I had to get enough speed to make it up the steep part, but not so much that I'd fly blindly into the road. Cars whizzed on the paved highway and there was no way to see them until you were already entering the lane.

Furthermore, if you gunned it too hard your wheels would spin kicking up dirt and rock, but not getting you up the hill.

With the right momentum I could get up onto the road and pull sharply to the right to get into the shoulder. With two wheels on the pavement and two flirting with the cacti, there wasn't much room for error.

I was curious to see who could do this with a lower, wider, much older, and slower RV.

I spotted an old dude, in his late 60s, maybe early 70s, standing nearby. He had to be the owner. I immediately pegged him as an old hippie and was wondering what he was doing here.

How did I know this dude was a hippie? He had all the telltale signs: Long white scraggly wizard hair down to his shoulders, old jeans, sandals, and a well worn Moroccon hoodie.

I pulled up next to him and my next two observations confirmed my initial assessment.

1. He was smoking a doobie while checking the surf.

2. The door to his camper was open revealing it had been painted - an amateur Vango style painting with a peace sign in the middle.  

He turned and smiled.

I immediately thought to myself, "This guy's a legend. There's just no way you're down here at this age, out in the desert of Morocco, chilling by yourself smoking a joint watching the surf and you're not a legend."

I took a look at the surf. It was truly cookin'. Lines were reeling for hundreds of meters.

I was anxious to get my wetsuit on and get the most of the last few hours of daylight, but was curious about the new face and had to say what's up to this dude. With my car between us and on my way to the back to grab my suit, I said hi, hoping the distance would deter any further conversation; he said hello in a thick French accent and thankfully wasn't eager to chat.

The Paddle Out

I grabbed my board and quickly but carefully made my way over to the cliff's edge, down the boulders to the water's edge, then carefully over the urchin graveyard to the keyhole.

The paddle out was always sketchy but today was even worse. The waves were pushing loads of water on both sides of the keyhole. The swell was peaking and it was very consistent.

After making it through the keyhole the current picked me up quickly, whisking me down the coast. I had to fight to get into deeper water so I wouldn't get pushed up against the rocks along the shore and duck dove a few bombs before making it outside to finally catching my breath.

Soon after reaching the outside a set rolled through and I snagged my first wave of the session. It was close to double overhead - significantly bigger than the last few times I had surfed it. I could have used a few more liters on my board to help get me into the wave early, the way I like, but the late takeoff under the lip offered a new thrill. The drop and bottom turn seemed to last forever. What was probably an extra half second on this wave size felt like a minute. I was worried I had drawn it out too long, running out the wave, losing my speed, and wouldn't be able to make it back up the face. My anxiety soon passed when I felt my board respond to the pressure and slingshot me up the giant face behind me.

As is my habit, I surfed the first wave of the session conservatively but still milked it all the way past the gully.

By the time I finally pulled out, my legs were burning, I was sweating in my wetsuit, and stoked out of my mind! I was literally talking to myself out loud "Oh my god, that was ridiculous!" It was hard to believe this wave could get even better than I'd seen it before.

I began to make the long, slow paddle back up to the point.

I paddled and paddled and paddled some more.

When I finally made it back to the point I instinctively checked the parking lot to see if any more surfers were coming out. With a swell like today's this break had the carrying capacity to hold at least 30 surfers comfortably. There wasn't anything to worry about, but having only a handful of us at the peak made it extra special and with a bit of surf greed I wanted it to stay that way.

There were no new new cars. At least for now, we had it to ourselves. But, climbing down the cliffside I could see one solo surfer - it was unmistakably the old hippie.

He had on a full wetsuit with booties and gloves. He wore an old surf hat thing with flaps covering the ears, his long white hair falling out sides and back of it.

He was hauling a big wave gun with him down the boulders of the cliffside. I immediately got nervous, thinking he might take a spill and break a hip but he slowly made is way to the water without a problem.

His board was big - at least 9ft. All orange with old school lines, he looked like he was ready to paddle out at Waimea Bay circa 1965.

I thought to myself, "There is no way this old guy is getting out here."

I let a few waves pass so I could watch the old man. I thought about what I would do if he got into trouble. I felt a little less nervous having some sort rescue plan rehearsed in my head, but I hated the feeling of being responsible for someone I didn't know. It's one thing to put yourself at risk when you misjudge your capabilities and come out to a place like this. It's another to put others at risk when they are obligated to help you.

A Quick Side Note: I was editing this note yesterday. I'm recording it at mid day today. Ironically I ended my session early this morning to help an injured person in. I happened to be paddling back out from the first wave of the set when I saw a surfer take off on a bigger set wave a bit unsteadily. On an earlier wave I had seen her back off from a one of the sets with wide eyes. I knew the size was beyond her comfort zone. But she committed to this one, made the drop, and pulled up to the middle of the wave. She tried to pull into the barrel but wasn't high enough. The full weight of the lip came down on her upper back and she went down hard. This wave snapped 5 boards yesterday and could have snapped her neck. My stomach dropped.

I waited on the shoulder for her to pop up; to my relief, she did. But I waited for the okay sign from her before continuing back out. I didn't get it. She wasn't okay. In addition to being rattled, she said her knee was hurt. She thought it had been bent backwards and had heard a pop. She was able to paddle in, but couldn't walk from the reef to dry land. With the help of another surfer who had recently exited, we got her in and back to her hotel.

... back to the old man legend

The South African and I watched a bit nervously as the old man tried to battle through a few waves on the inside. His board was way too big to duck dive, and he was turtle rolling with little success. He was moving through the most critical part of the paddle out at a cringeworthy pace. By the time he got back onto his board after each wave, the other one was already nearing him.

The waves and current pushed him down the line, but he kept at it slow and steadily. It was hard to tell if he was keeping his cool under the pressure, was simply ignorant of the consequences, or was in fact moving as fast as possible for his age and condition. He wasn't gaining any ground, but thankfully wasn't losing any either.

Finally there was a break in the waves and he slowly cruised over to the shoulder and into deeper water. Feeling freed from lifeguard duty I started looking for my next wave. It didn't take long for another set to roll through and I was off to the races, completely forgetting about the old man and any other thought that ever plagued my mind.

It wasn't until I was about halfway back to the top when I remembered that the old man was out there against all odds.

At this point, I was less nervous for his safety and more curious about how he was going to surf.

Sitting far out, safe from the oncoming sets, he saw one he liked and slowly turned his big board around. He started paddling early building up momentum. The wave came in behind him, lifted him slightly, but didn't pick him up. He had missed it. He slowly turned around to face the big lines filling in behind him. I would've been charging and clawing to get past them as quickly as possible. He seemed to just casually turn around, get back on his board and slowly make his way back out.

I was praying for him made it, "Come on old man! You got this!"

He barely made it over each progressively larger wave, paddling over the lip just before it broke, going over the back under the rain of spray coming off the lip. Still, I could see no sense of urgency from him.

Making it over the last of the set, the old man was even further out this time, seemingly wanting to rest. That made me feel a bit better, but I was still curious and nervous to see how he was going to ride a wave and get back in through the keyhole. For now, however, I could enjoy my session, and I caught several waves trading off with the other surfers, all of us exchanging looks of disbelief at our luck on how good the waves were.

We surfed for an hour or two until the sun started to set and it was time to start planning the exit. It's oddly difficult to tell how much time has gone by during a surf session, but it was clear that when the sun set it was time to get out. The old man still hadn't caught any waves. He was much further out than us so none of us had talked to him. No one knew what his deal was. I thought he might have realized he was out of his element and would just paddle back in during the next break between sets. I was wrong.

As I was paddling back to the point, after the sun had set, I was contemplating whether or not I should paddle in to be safe or try to get one more good one... I would need to get one quickly so I'd have enough time to paddle all the way back and have enough light to navigate the keyhole. I decided that if I couldn't catch one within a few minutes, I'd be play it safe and go in. Nearing the end of this conversation in my head I saw a few big lines coming in on the horizon and adjusted my trajectory, paddling into deeper water instead of more directly to the takeoff zone.

This was clearly going to be the rogue cleanup set of the day - a few feet bigger than all the other sets - here to clean up the lineup. Two other guys scrambled to the outside from the point but were clearly going to get worked. I was counting my blessings to be in the channel, but even I just barely scratched over the shoulder of the first few.

The only one in position to catch one, was the old man. He let the first wave pass, watching it go by. He let the second one go by seemingly disinterested. It looked like he would wait them out and then, I hoped, paddle in to safety after they had passed. He flipped after the second wave and started paddling for the third. Slowly he built up momentum and the wave grew behind him.

"Holy shnikies! He's going for it!"

The wave began feathering and the lip started to break a little further out to his left in a big open barrel. The bigger set waves always started heavy like this before mellowing out a bit down the line. He was on the shoulder, perfectly positioned to catch it at the pace he was going. The wave quickly caught up to him and he took two more slow paddles. The face steadily grew steeper and he started his descent down the face. "Now's the time to get up old man!" I thought, watching from the sideline while trying to make sure I didn't get hammered.

He pushed his upper body away from the deck, slightly rounding his back and bringing his front foot up underneath him. Shifting his weight back a bit he rose up, maintaining a crouched position and spreading his arms out wide for maximum balance. His style matched his board. Flying down the face he kept his crouch well into the bottom turn.

I thought, "He's either going to make this or die trying."

With an impressive amount of patience for such a big wave he turned the big board to make a careful bottom turn, then released his crouch about 3/4 of the way up the wave in a conservative top turn.

I was whistling and cheering him on, and could hear the South African somewhere behind me doing the same. He rode it about half way to the gully continuing his conservative turns on the shoulder of the wave - his board had no problem harnessing the energy a bit outside of the pocket.

After the next two waves passed and it was clear the set had passed I waited for the South African to catch up to me. We laughed in disbelief that the old man could still surf and was in fact a big wave wizard.

We all hung out in the parking lot in the twilight of the sunset, savoring the session and sharing the stoke of our best rides. The old man had made it in without any problems. Apparently he had surfed the spot many times and had mastered the timing of the keyhole. When you no longer have the athletic ability, you have to rely a bit more on knowledge.

After the old wizard had changed, he walked over to meet the rest of us in the parking lot. There was an awkward pause as we waited curiously to see what he had to say.

He looked at us, smiled, and said, "I just have one question. Did I catch the biggest wave of the day?"