Surf Lessons Help Patch Writer Shred Fear of Ocean

To say surfing is out of my comfort zone is like saying Winnie the Pooh likes honey just a little.

I did not grow up near the ocean and have not become much more comfortable with it since I moved here 15 years ago. My family is on the beach a couple times a week, and my three kids are like fish, but I can and do go years without venturing more than waist-deep.

One of my earliest memories is of sitting in the middle of a beach blanket clutching a bottle of Coppertone during a family beach vacation—while my siblings blissfully bobbed over waves on rafts. Coppertone: still one of my favorite scents. Waves: I look at them with fear. Tsunami: a recurring nightmare.

So, naturally, I decide to take a surf lesson.

What better way to cause myself to: lie awake several nights after booking my spot in the $35 two-hour group lesson; develop serious butterflies a couple of hours before reporting to 7^th Street Surf Shop; and enjoy my palms breaking out in clammy sweat as we drove through downtown Ocean City in search of a parking space?

Imagine my delight when a check of surf conditions on this website before I head off to the lesson promises “no surf.” Ominously, it does mention fog. Fog? Uh-oh, now I can add getting lost in the foggy ocean to my worries.

Immediately upon arrival, the 7^th Street staff puts even nervous Nellies like me at ease, as they start sizing you up to determine what dimension of wetsuit and board you need.

“Glad to have you here,” greets Matthew Ellison, a 19-year senior instructor wearing a Bob Marley baseball cap and rasta sunglasses. Turns out Ellison is a reggae-band percussionist as well as a surfer dude. (He plays with Verdict, which appears Sunday nights at Baia Restaurant in Somers Point.) Ellison's a Deadhead to boot -- having seen 300-plus Grateful Dead shows. But we digress.

Most summertime mornings, Ellison can be found in front of the 7^th Street Surf Shop sending novices like me off to catch some waves. We encounter him on Thursday morning, when hot air and cold water meant a heavy haze hung over the beach.

I ask 7^th Street Surf Shop owner Larry Friedel if they've ever lost a surfer in fog in the 20 years they've been offering lessons.

“Not yet,” he replies in that cool casual way surfers talk. Hmm, not very reassuring.

Ellison starts with a shtick in what he dubs the “designated life-changing area” on the Boardwalk in front of the shop.

“Many a life's been changed in this area, folks,” he announces. “We definitely want this to be a memory you'll never forget. However, we are really going to teach you how to surf. We're not here for a long time; we're here for a good time.”

Ellison, 40, explains how he migrates annually to Ocean City from his hometown of St. Augustine, FL.

“Each summer, I come 970 miles to teach you how to surf,” he extols, preacher-like. “This is the day our paths cross. This is not aerobics class. This is not boot camp. And this is definitely not Zumba, although I definitely like watching Zumba.”

Ellison then leads this group of 30-plus people, who appear to range in age from 5 to 45, through what he says is the most dangerous part of the lesson—crossing the Boardwalk, which is crazy-busy this time of day with bikes of all shapes and sizes, surreys, runners, walkers and out-of-control baby strollers.

“I, Matt Ellison, am going to lay my life on the line for you and start the official Boardwalk crossing,” he promises. “Of course, there is no official Boardwalk crossing, but the general public does not know this.”

With Ellison clearing the way, Moses-like, I and the other newbies hold foam-topped beginners' surfboards—they aren't heavy, but bulky—aloft on our heads and troop off toward the water, which is just barely visible.

Ellison has us plant our boards in the sand and sit on them between a rock jetty and an outfall pipe on the beach between Sixth and Seventh streets. First, he outlines safety rules—no diving off boards (for risk of neck injuries in shallow water) and always come up from underwater holding hands overhead. This could keep the board from clunking you on the noggin.

With the help of his crew of young male and female instructors—a ratio of one per three students—Ellison demonstrates how to lie belly-down on the board, with toes curled over the end; and how to paddle out over waves, efficiently with hands cupped.

Next, it's the deceptively simple-looking three-part movement to get up on the board. Step 1: Put your hands under you shoulders, gripping the sides of the board. Step 2: Arch your upper body up, arms straight, keeping legs on the board, not like a push-up. Step 3: Bring forward whatever foot feels most natural for the front, then your back foot, and push up until you're standing, knees slightly bent, feet apart. Hands should be out for balance.

We practice this all-in-one motion a couple times on our boards on the beach and I think, “Hey, it can't really be this easy.” And, of course, out in the water, I find it isn't. It takes a lot of leg strength to go from lying on your belly to standing, while trying to balance on a floating board. Well, duh.

Ellison and other instructors stand in chest-deep water and motion for surfers to head out to them, one at a time. This is what 7^th Street owner Friedel had told me is the advantage of taking a lesson—the instructors pick the waves for you and send you on your way. It takes the guesswork out of it for us rookies, particularly those of us with a touch of wave phobia.

So, I find myself floating on my board facing the beach, not knowing what's coming behind me, which, as I explained, makes me uneasy. I watch Ellison's eyes as he stands at the head of my board nonchalantly watching what's heading toward us. I assume his face would register alarm if it were a tsunami.

I chatter as we bob around, as I tend do when I'm nervous. I learn Ellison has two sons, Evan, 15, and Tai, 12; coaches a multiple-repeat-champs peewee football team in Florida; enjoys teaching special-needs surfers and is fluent in American Sign Language; and tells his lawyer everything.

OK, time to change the subject back to the one at hand. “So how big are these waves?” I query.

“About a foot,” he replies—in other words, really lame. Sounds good to me. Ellison tries to put me at ease.

“Repeat after me,” he says: “This is a sport of mechanics.” I do as I'm told. He goes on, “But more so, it's a sport of feel and adjustment...” (I repeat) “...just like life” (I repeat).

As I start to relax, Ellison moves to the rear of the board and recites the mantra: “OK, paddle, arch your back, feel the wave, stand up.”

I do get to my feet, sort of, but not to do what you might call “stand up” before going off the board into the drink. Next time, the result is much the same. I ask my daughter, who is taking photos from the beach, and she confirms what I thought: No stand.

The next time I try, she says it was “better.” I'll take it.

The third time I go out, Ellison utters words I've been dreading: “The waves are definitely getting bigger.” Oh, great. But Ellison doesn't send me in on any of these "big" waves, only babies. Nevertheless, I tumble off the board just short of getting that feeling of being balanced and gliding in on a wave.

All around me, fellow first-timers are riding in on waves and we cheer them on. Many of them take the boards out for the last half-hour of the lesson and try their luck on their own.

Ellison's parting words of wisdom: “Stay away from the rocks. They are not fluffy pillows. And stay away from the pipe. It's smelly.”

So did I learn how to surf? I did learn the basics, and maybe with a couple more hours of practice I would stand up on that darn board. Did I shred some of my longstanding fear of the ocean? Most definitely. Would I try it again? Dude, I'd be stoked.

Check out Ellison in action and look for more info on surf lessons:

• http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bXprcyUoUE4
• http://www.7thstreetsurfshop.com/