After a few beers at a local bar, a bloke called Rob and his good mate decided to have a mid-night surf.
When they arrived at California’s Topanga point break Rob’s mate chickened out and decided to video Rob’s session rather than get wet himself. Rob grabbed his trusty little thruster and headed off for the water. The moon was full and the lights from the Pacific Coast Highway made the conditions ideal for midnight surfing… or so Rob thought.
A dusty paddle out
He hit the water and paddled as quickly as he could towards the take-off spot on the point. As he paddled he heard a strange sound in the distance then, after peering into the gloom in the direction of the noise, decided that maybe he was imagining it. He paddled a little further and realized that the “swish”, “swish”, “swish” noise that was getting closer by the moment was not a figment of his imagination. By the time “swish”, “swish”, “swish” was almost on top of him he finally spied the moonlit silhouette of a very big surfer with an even bigger surfboard exploding from the darkness. Some crazy bastard was charging a monster long board straight out of the gloom and it was heading right for his head. Rob just had time to eskimo-roll before the enormous combination of surfer and surfboard smashed into him. Rob, his board, the phantom surfer and the surfer’s log went over the falls and smashed into each other for a time before Rob popped back up and sucked in fresh air.
Apology was not going to work
Before he even had time to apologise, a scream of “what the fuck” split the air. “Fuck, eh”. “Who the fuck…”. Rather than stick around to discuss the matter civilly, Rob figured it was smarter to head out to the point and hope that the bloke would settle down before coming back out into the line-up. He paddled as quickly as he could. Just my luck, thought Rob, I come out for a peaceful midnight surf and I run into a sociopathic ex-con who hasn’t killed anyone in a while and is looking to break his drought.
Things then took a turn for the worse. As Rob reached the take off point he noticed in the gloom a silhouette of another giant sitting on a log. A couple more paddles revealed ex-con number three also bobbing around in the swell. I’ve really hit the jackpot this time, thought Rob. I’ve stumbled onto an ex-con support group meeting and not a parole officer in sight.
Any thoughts of inmate #080794 chilling out on the paddle back into the line-up evaporated as Rob heard “where the fuck are you, fucker. Fuck you”.
Rob was completely at a loss as to how to handle the situation. He figured that maybe his best chance was to give back what he was getting. “Fuck you too, mother fucker”, screamed Rob in the general direction of the approaching behemoth. “Fuck off”.
It was an ill-conceived strategy. “You’re dead, you fucker” was the loud response. The pair of midnight surfers exchanged a range of expletives mostly starting with “f” and “c”. Rob tried to return every foul piece of abuse with a double dose of what he was getting.
Along comes a set… in the nick of time
Sometimes even condemned people have a stroke of luck. Just when Rob had resigned himself to having to endure the beating of his life a glassy set wave rolled down the line towards him. Please, please, please… peak up now, Rob thought. Don’t go flat. The obliging wave jacked up another foot perfectly and Rob paddled for his life. He didn’t even risk getting to his feet. He belly-boarded the wave all the way to the rocky shore until he felt his fins scrapping across the bottom. He picked up his board and sprinted up the beach screaming at his mate, “quick… into the car”. The two friends jumped into their waiting car and hit the Pacific Coast Highway with wheels spinning.
The video that the mate took showed almost nothing in the darkness but the commentary by the mate with the recorder told the full story.
“There he goes, crazy Rob… off to surf Topanga with the sharks”. Rob waves a hang-loose salute to the camera and disappears into the blackness.
“Old Rob’s paddling out there somewhere”. There are screams emerging from the darkness.
“O-oh… sounds like Rob’s got company”. The screams of pain turn into screams of fury and the expletives are flowing thick and fast.
“Yup. Rob’s got company… and it sounds like he’s getting his arse kicked… he he he”.
This video did not need any vision. The full horror story was in the audio!
A few moments later… “Ah-huh… sounds like Rob is still alive but he’s definitely getting his arse kicked… he he he”. Two voices are now screaming abuse at each other.
While the background sounds of four letter words continue the camera just peers into the blackness. Minutes pass. Suddenly Rob emerges from the gloom running as fast as his legs can carry him, up the beach, towards the car.
“Quick…” screams Rob. “…into the car”.
I am not quite sure what lesson the surf gods were trying to teach Rob here. Maybe, simply, if you are stupid enough to surf Topanga drunk at midnight then you deserve whatever you get.
I read this story on the net many years ago and it made me laugh so much that I remembered it in detail. My telling of the story is not half as funny as the way the original writer, Rob, who wrote about his “adventure” in the first person, told it. Still… I can’t find the story on line now to ask if I can publish his version so this will have to do. If you are out there, Rob, and you bump into this story some time, thanks for the laughs. You are one funny (and mad) bastard.
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