I let go

radness from Oldy

Critical Sliders from Nathan Oldfield on Vimeo.

One Day

wish I had something clever to say today. or maybe tell you that I went surfing before work and rode choppy waist high waves alone in the morning fog. but it wouldn’t be true at all.

I woke at 6:48. rode my bike to work in the steady rain, avoiding rooster tails coming off rear tires of every car that passed me too close for comfort. I sat at my desk and clicked, dragged, typed and backspaced. I ate lunch at my desk, trying not to splash food on the papers strewn here and everywhere.

now I’ll strain another cup of dark roast and add one spoon of sugar. I’ll sip it as I click, drag, type and backspace until it’s time to ride home again in the rain, avoiding rooster tails coming off rear tires of every car that passes so close I can touch it with my elbow.

lucky for me that B and Moe are waiting for me with open arms. lucky for me that music has been by my side all day. Chet Baker, Wolf Parade, Lawrence Arabia, The Supremes, Earth Wind & Fire, and Empire of the Sun kept the vibes irie and cool.

alive in the ether

inspiration is like the ether. if it’s there we cannot see it. Monday night’s amazing sunset session set some ideas straight for me and left me inspired.

one: learning the nuances of a board takes time and patience

two: that patience pays off grandly as I explore new parts of a wave

three: I can slide my foot back over the fins mid-face to power through a turn –just gotta be present in the moment to remember

four: slowing the wave down and watching it while it does its thing in front of you is stupid hard

five: if I can manage to slow it down then I can surf it with more poise than a flailing monkey dancing to an accordion on old cobbled streets

on a side note –stoked to have a new side project with Drift magazine. I will be writing a jazz inspired blog a few times a month.

style: the hypnotic brass ensemble

my friend D$ just turned me on to these guys and I can only wish I'd come across them sooner. authentic vibes here -no posturing and no front.

style: RT

RT of Warbles calm and collected


snagged this one from Grass is Greener

huh?

it was really really good this morning. overhead sets with long walls. where was everyone? thanks for not showing up. I got to ride some mackers with just three other guys. we watched an amazing sunrise, then I had an icy walk back to the car and snowy bike ride in to work. doesn't really get any better eh.

swimming in the morning sea

I had a sleepless night. between changing diapers and too much coffee late in the day I finally closed my eyes involuntarily around 4AM. the alarm went off at 5:20. the buoys looked good for a specific place I wanted to check. I knew it would be dead high tide but figured it'd be something. loaded the car and drove through squalls and complete darkness. parked and jumped in the back seat. changed into winter gear. sprinted down the trail in darkness. first light just a few minutes away. it was flat. the full moon high tide made it too deep for anything to show. I was devastated. really. north east winds whipped across the open beach making for scarce chance of shorepound. all night tossing and turning, all I thought about was surfing. making turns on the new green machine. I sprinted back to the car. checked a few other places and no luck. finally I settled for a messy peak off in the distance. it was less than stellar. would be morning surfers walked out and surveyed the victory at sea conditions. no one joined me. I got a couple of shoulders which quickly turned to mush. an hour in I managed to get the one wall that swung wide and stood tall. I carved down the face like in a dream, not expecting it to wall up. three years surfing this spot and I'd never seen one wrap into the point like that and drop me so far in. east swell I reckon. I got out after that one. changed out of my suit in the driving rain. drove home in morning rush hour traffic. changed a diaper and then rode in to work on the bike in a heavy rain.

it would seem that it wasn't my day, my morning. but after some thought I remembered that I went for a swim in the sea at sunrise on a Tuesday before work. and that's something.

secret barrel
photo from MSW

rhythm and meter

I’m off completely. been off for two weeks now since Moe arrived. and I finally realized that the pace of my life has forever changed. the rhythm and meter are slower now. the change was like an Art Blakey solo, fast and furious. it’s too soon yet to find my new rhythm. we gotta figure it out as a family. and eventually it will settle and the beat will roll like it did before, only slower.

it’s like surfing. for me progression isn’t only learning a solid cutback, but actually slowing down on the wave in order to see where I’m going. so many times I see a hump, turn and paddle into it, only to race down the line like a scalded dog (thank god people don’t scald dogs any more). but really progression for me now is to be able to take off and look down the line, see what’s transpiring in front of me so that I can flow with it. bottom turn to highline run to beat the section? or maybe bottom turn to snap off the top? and then when the section comes do I bottom turn, ass low around it, or float over it?

the guys that make surfing look easy are the ones that have slowed it down. not their speed but their vision. they can see the wave in front of them and are confident enough in their skills to know that they can generate speed at will or bury the rail for a smooth mid face turn.

I must change my rhythm and meter. slowing down is good because it is the present that we live in. why rush it thinking about the next swell, next board, next diaper change, next kid. baby steps baby.

baby steps.



PS

HAPPY BIRTHDAY D$ you old fucker
Burry photo.

putting an end to the fuckery

A one surf week is ended with the usual blog roll and interwebs fuckery that is a morning at work. Recently the word fuckery has been used profusely by Lewis Samuels in Post Surf. Not sure where he got it from. I heard the word used often in Jamaica as in “ gwaan man -yuh a fuckery” or maybe in reference to political news on the radio you would hear someone say “a fuckery dat man” or when a rum head came beggin around the shop for a drink old P would yell “come outta ere with yuh fuckery man! Guh wey!”

For a cynical mind like mine fucekry is the perfect looking glass for deciphering the cipher. In my waning interest to keep talking about how my latest surf session went (it’s just a bunch of fuckery anyway) I wonder if it’s even worthwhile to continue Ku Yah all together. I can see the hits decline as the surfy posts subside. Of course initially Ku Yah was an exercise in writing –to learn to write. Indeed I did learn to write –if only in short ADHD spurts and mostly about fuckery so only time will tell if that particular skill will come in handy some day.

I’ve asked myself why I read other people’s blogs. Is it the grass is always greener rubber neck ego trip in my head that makes me do it? There is so much content on the interwebs and a lot of it rehashing of itself. Do I want to add to that fuckery too? Some folks I reckon actually use the interwebs for personal expansion and growth. And relationships of value can occasionally spring from the virtual black hole. But mostly it’s a waste of time.

If we are to consider our assets in life, and I don’t mean capital assets, what do we have? We have our health, our intellect, our ability to forgive and love (because that’s how you get forgiven and loved), and time. Time is as valuable resource and like trees or fish it’s a finite non-renewable resource. And god do I ever know how to squander it with fuckery.

Over the past five weeks I’ve been trying to develop a running practice. “Here he goes again with some fuckery” you say. Well perhaps. Certain incidences have inspired me to run; one being the coming of a little one and the practicality of running as a way of maintaining basic fitness. But there are other effects to a running practice like meditative moments, transcending discomfort and pain, learning self discipline, developing will power, experiencing the weather and its moods, expelling toxins out of my body via sweat, strengthening my heart, lungs, bones, muscles, relieving stress –all without spending any dough or fossil fuel. Running is simple and pure.

We evolved to run certainly for escaping danger as much as for pursuing prey. Our modern lives of sedentary livelihoods have all but eliminated running from our lives. So much so that running is seen as a fringe activity, something that body conscious people do. But it is as natural as breathing or taste.

In short I may not write much here anymore. Instead I will focus on action. On using my muscles and tendons to move through space –whether it be splitting lanes on the cruiser or surfing or running. I will read books. Something I’ve neglected for some time. I will cook and finish some creative projects that have been marinating in the basement or in my brain. If you’ve read this far I’d like to say thanks. Thanks for stopping in often and for your occasional commentary. If you want to be in touch feel free to send me a note at rasblog at gmail.

cheers

ras

Rashoman

Rashoman is probably one of the best films in terms of examining the human condition and our inhumanity. Janus Films has just remastered it and apparently it's going to be making the rounds in theaters. For those of you in SF and NYC please take advantage as I very much doubt we'll get the pleasure here in Halifax. Kurosawa is by far my favourite film director (I'm not much of a film buff) and Toshiro Mifune never disappoints.

mondays

5.9' @ 9 seconds
wind WNW 7 to 10 kts
water temp 40.5 °F
air temp 39.7 °F

waves -well pretty damn good if you ask me.

paddled out at a quarter to six. black was already there -says he paddled out and it was too dark to see if it was workin.

well it was workin.

I got one of the longest waves I've had in weeks.

he got out before seven and for the next forty five minutes I had it to myself. I looked around in awe. I let a few go by me so I could feel myself bob up and over the lips while sitting on my board. I tried taking off deeper each time and got stuffed about half the time. the smaller ones were better -way better. but I kept paddling over in front of the boulder and waiting for the ones that had the overhead take-offs. they'd line up far to the west and as I popped up and looked down the line I knew there was now way I'd make it.

funny how confidence plays tricks on you. towards the end of my time in the water I fell on a few and the ones I caught I'd squander. so my mood turned from the elation of the first wave to self pity for falling off perfect waves.

and the whole time the marvel that is a sunrise in the Maritimes was unfolding in front of me. black and white ducks flying low and some landing in the line-up, oblivious to the swells. down east I could the plumes coming off the backs of swells breaking on the beach. the sky mostly clear finally after days of low slung clouds and the grass green like emeralds and growing finally after a long long winter.

now I am ready for work.

Jaimal Yogis and "Salt water Buddha"

A couple months ago Jaimal Yogis sent me a copy of his soon to be released book. Actually the book is out on Friday. Often I've wondered if I relate to others based on generational similarities (music, art, current events, etc.) or sheer coincidence. Perhaps it's a mix of the two. Saltwater Buddha however resonated with me in so many ways it's uncanny. Here's a short clip about the author and the book. I'll be writing a more detailed book review on Phoresia.org in the coming week.

do it how you want

 

 

 

 

knee high to as big as it got and often cordless, buddy's one board quiver fit perfect on the side of his bike with tent and other living needs.

tired boss

winds 14 G 18-N 34/34 6'@ 13 seconds

the Doc and I met Blacks for an old time session. check two spots and decide on a secret location. no one out. north-north east winds. a few peaks here and there. paddle across the headland and get some lefts where there shouldn't be. swell straight out da east makin for some funny angles at the usual spots. no one out. two hours and our feets is numb. the Doc just in from out yonder freezing from lack of acclimation. two hour nap at noon and already had a full day.

no seal and hawk sitting like yesterday but I did manage a sub-zero sunburn on me face.

my.

B and are making food for birthday Doc.

on the menu: tacos 'al pastor with roasted pineapple and home made tortillas. salsa the agaucate picante with chips and scallop ceviche with cucumber and mango.

orale güey. dame tres por favor.

Beware -> Tarrus Riley

been a long time now since I left Jamaica. one of the important lessons about living in developing countries is that I’ve learned how resource rich my life here is. it’s hard to be grateful sometimes. it’s easy to get vexed about trivial shit. but dammit at least I have a future filled with food, shelter and safety. that’s more than heaps of people have in Jamaica.

Jamaican music is a music of protest. I didn’t really understand that well until I’d lived there and learned to understand patois. many of Bob Marley’s songs are in patois and it’s funny to hear them played on advertising or at parties and people don’t understand how aggressive the lyrics are. or perhaps we don’t care, were oblivious to what’s happening outside of our culture.

but what Jamaican people may lack in resources they make up for with a passion for life and music. you can hear sound systems all over the island blasting the latest big tune. each month a new riddim will come out and every top dj will write lyrics and before long one or two or sometimes more versions of the riddim will be on everyone’s lips. taxis always blast the radio. in the country or in Town little kids rock and wine in front of the huge stacks of speakers. youths lean up against the sound and smoke spliffs and cigarettes and if there’s money they hold a Guinness. grown men play dominoes under mango trees on makeshift tables as the music from the nearest sound fills the steamy air with pulsing baselines. grannies make rice and tin mackerel on the coal stove and sing old church songs as if on stage. and the people live, survive and sing.

when there’s no future there is still music and community. that’s something. give thanks.

bajan diy

style + speed.

Zorba is recession proof

in times of bankruptcy and failing governments, and rising sea levels, and depleted fish stocks, and poisoned rivers, and suicide mass murderers in Germany and the US, and religious zealotry, and pollution, overpopulation, and consumerism over humanism -there's still always hope.

flow like water, subvert when necessary and be like Zorba, full of love of music and dance, fueled with a passion for good food, drink and friendships. this one goes out to Matty, the good Doctor and most importantly my dear Dad, who's always taught me the value of integrity and to avoid the love of things. for as Malcolm Johnson quotes from Snyder in his last entry : "the best things in life are not things."

"creation plantation"

another rad cy sutton film! peep Christian W. ripping on an alaia.

Tom's Creation Plantation Trailer from Cyrus Sutton on Vimeo.

alone at an A-frame

wow. sometimes my luck is so good that I don't even wanna tell you for fear of sounding boasty.

the alarm went off at six I awoke startled and completely lost. after an instant I remembered that I was going surfing. I slipped into my wetsuit and booties and loaded up the blue flame after putting out the garbage and recycling. the drive was uneventful, if a little gray. the stacks were plumbing west but lightly so.

I arrived at the A-frame and took a peak. one guy out but in the wrong position, too far east. I watched it for a minute and then drove down to check two other spots. a small crew was floating out back waiting for sets. the horizon appeared flat. I went back to the A-frame. from the lot the left looked small. it always deceives.

mitts on and down the rocky icy path. I paddled out through the flat bay towards the peak and a little past where I thought I should sit. one came through and peaked up, wrapping towards me with speed and threatening to put me in too deep. I popped up to instant high speed down the face. bottom turn and tuck into the steep wall, always too far in front of the barrel. stand up straight and point the nose down for massive speed before compressing and whipping up into the face. I carve off the top, the west wind sending the spray like so much jet steam behind me. I pump down the face and compress on the bottom turn and right back up into the lip. a few more top to bottom speed pumps and kick out. stoked.

I surfed by myself for over an hour. the sets were overhead and the third wave in the set would swing wide and line up towards the west. there were barrel sections on the set waves. I tried a few, saw the lip above me on one but didn't get that fabled sound. foiled again. as I write these words my body is cold but completely relaxed. what an amazing opportunity I have to able to surf. for this I humbly give thanks.

velo

GREENOUGH looking through the bottom



thanks to frequent rips for this one.