Close Encounters of the Incisored Kind

If you watch the news you probably heard of the unfortunate poor young guy who was killed by a shark at an isolated beach just north of Santa Barbara about a month ago or so.

The beach he was killed at is in a rather obscure location, miles and miles out on a long road by Vandenberg Air Force Base. It’s at one of those places that feels like you have to drive forever just to get to it.

I was up there recently myself when I did the drive-forever thing to go grab a few waves, when I was met by a robot impersonating a human being—who happened to work for the government of course—that was locking up the gate to the beach. “What's up?” I asked. "The snowy plover," he replied, as he pointed to a sign about the endangered bird. The bird was apparently deciding to have the beach evacuated because it would like some personal privacy and was in the mood to be alone. I guess we're supposed to grant it all its personal wishes: "People and Plovers Working Together" after all, as Mr. Robot's shirt read.

After driving all that way out there it felt very strange to be barred from the beach by a bird that didn't have enough of a brain to choose the approximately 60 other miles of completely untouched coastline in the Vandenberg base and Hollister Ranch to hang out at. There was definitely some ruffled feathers at that moment and it wasn't the birds.

The warning the sign gives you of a $25,000 fine and a significant amount of jail time will make you think twice about sneaking in another way to grab some waves there, so it was back on the road again to try and find some waves miles down the highway elsewhere. I took a look at the break as I was driving off and thought, "Man, this place looks like an isolated shark haven anyways." Saying something like that after such an experience is usually just sour grapes, but as I made the 1½ hour drive to the next accessible spot, I thought that maybe there is a larger reason as to why all that happened.

As much of a bummer as it was to be barred because of some bird, the place did look foreboding and sharky for some reason. The reason it felt that way, I now know, is that it is!

Someone getting attacked by a shark there confirmed those underlying suspicions.

Things do happen for a reason at times, as unclear at the time as it may appear. After hearing about this poor young guy being killed there by a shark at that very spot, I'm kind of thankful for the robot man and his brain-damaged bird now.

The news reported that the poor bloke's girlfriend had apparently begged him the night before not to go surfing the next day because she feared a shark attack. A divine warning of dire conditions? However you add all that up, something was definitely being communicated to the guy that got killed.

Oftentimes, we have that sense when something isn't right. I was out at Salmon Creek (north of San Francisco by the Russian River area) surfing sometime back, when that eerie feeling came over me—I’ve surfed in South Africa and Australia at spots specifically known for shark attacks, as well as other notorious spots in Northern Californian and Oregon, and never had that feeling once—something didn't feel right while out at Salmon Creek that day, and the thick fog rolling in wasn't helping with that eerie feeling either. I tried to ignore it and keep surfing. Nevertheless, I finally succumbed to that foreboding pall hanging over the scene and split. Lo and behold, there was a shark attack by a 14 ft. great white on a young woman surfer shortly afterwards.....whoa!!!

Famed World Champion surfer Mark Richards was in Japan when a big shark started circling the contest area. The Japanese contest director told him in desperation of the contest being ruined, to please go back out and surf his heat saying, "Don't worry, Japanese shark very friendly." As funny as that was he was having none of it.

Most of the time I don't even think about stuff like this. Now and then however, when you hear about some unfortunate soul being taken out by one of those great eating machines of the deep, especially at a place where you just tried to go surfing and were prevented by circumstances beyond your control, you give thanks to the "One on High" that kept you from possibly meeting the same fate, even as humiliating as being barred from the beach by a bird and a bird-brained robot-man might be.

The End of an Era--Life, Death, and Memory

Breaking and popping with the crew at a Youth Camp.

Unless you lived in a cave someplace, it was hard to miss the ubiquitous images of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett back in the prime of their eras, just as it has been lately in the wake of their deaths. In spite of all the ups-and-downs, craziness, absolute weirdness, and heavy scandals, their images did mark an era of life. Moreover, their sudden passing should make us reflect on the fragility and extreme temporariness of this life for every mortal, rich or poor, famous or unknown.

Farrah’s face was everywhere as was Jackson’s music, in fact as Time Magazine points out Jackson was one of the few people in history whose music was known by everyone everywhere. Regardless of how one may feel about them personally they did mark an era of time.

While the news outlets cannot stop talking about them, our memories are sparked of life from that era back then when they were in their primes.

I remember when I was working in Hollywood doing modeling and commercials, I was doing an ad at a photography studio in LA, when a photographer told me: “Michael Jackson was in here yesterday. What a trip it was shooting that guy. He sat in the corner saying nothing until the time came to work, when he suddenly sprang to life and was jumping and dancing all around.”

My agency was on Hollywood and Highland; I’d often be stuck up there after a job waiting out the traffic and I watched a new phenomenon arise in front of my very own eyes. People began doing this breakdancing stuff in large circles right on the street and you could here Jackson’s songs often accompanying the moves early on. Shortly after this, Thriller was released and his music was literally everywhere.

I was offered a free ticket to Europe by my modeling agency; I didn’t know it was gonna be on “El Cheapo Airlines” who’d drop us off in another city, and that I’d have to pay the rest of the way myself to Paris; I quickly learned this was the way they did most things. I ended up living in Europe for a while and this Jackson mania began to drive me nuts as you couldn’t get away from the incessant beats and rhythms of his songs. From Hamburg to Milan to Zurich to Paris, his songs were being played everywhere, and his music seemed more popular there than even in the US.

Breakdancing, popping, and of course the famous moonwalk were exploding everywhere too.

Together with some other surfer and model friends I had gotten into breakdancing back in California before coming to Europe; I’d caught the bug on Hollywood Blvd. and was determined to learn. We would go out and surf and then spend the rest of the day trying to spin on our backs (a practice that over time isn’t so great for your spine, as I later came to find out.)

While living four to a room in flophouses with no furniture as a model in Paris—so much for the glamorous model image—a recession hit the industry and all of a sudden there was no work. And yet all over the streets of Paris people wanted to see “ze moonwalk and ze breakdance.”

Finding ourselves out of food and funds, it was time to capitalize on the craze and get ourselves some sustenance. With another model friend named Brendan Kelly—a 6’ 3’’ Irish American former Golden Gloves boxer who could be very intimidating—we decided in our state of hunger to make some money on this phenomenon.

Out on the Champs-Elysees—the Times Square of Paris—we developed a routine: I’d breakdance and Brendan wouldn’t ask for money, he’d actually go around the crowd with a cup after my performance and demand money. His imposing figure and snarl would make people cough it up. He would especially press upon those Parisians who had yelled out: “Do ze moonwalk, do ze moonwalk!” There was no getting away without leaving a contribution with this guy, as he’d literally get right in their face and say, “You watched the show. Now pay up!” A 6’3” American boxer can be quite overwhelming to the shorter and smaller locals, so most coughed up something even though they didn’t understand what he was saying.

It actually kept us fed a number of hungry nights during that recession. The “white boy can breakdance act” actually landed me in some commercials, TV shows, and print ads over there and when I returned to the US.

I remember performing in a TV dance show in LA, they had the punk band "X" perform and then Lionel Richie sang, I was supposed to breakdance with some guys next, and we were looking forward to doing ground moves like backspins until someone in the studio audience yelled out, "Do the moonwalk!" We looked at each other and laughed going, "Here we go again." That was the thing everyone always wanted to see. No matter where it was, if you did any breaking, it was always the main request. The cry always brought back humorous memories of those Parisians who had yelled out: “Do ze moonwalk!” on the Champs-Elysee. People wanted to see it everywhere since Jackson had so popularized it. It actually became pretty lucrative to imitate it as well as other breakdance moves as a white dude, because nobody could ever believe that this white surfer dude from the O.C. could actually do these kind of things until they saw them with their very own eyes.

Time of course marches on, eras and trends come and go, but moments like this when prominent figures of an era die whose images and music filled the landscape, many memories are sparked in their sudden passing. It tells us that time is moving on, and that time, that great but awful equalizer of life, is nipping at our own heels as well. It can and should make us reflect on the extreme temporariness of life.

No matter how much money and fame someone has, their date with destiny will surely come, often appearing suddenly and dramatically, without warning, as it did in the case of Jackson.

Eternity lies beyond the pale of what we see and hear around us. Some of us have had the grace to experience something beyond that pale. As C.S. Lewis communicates so eloquently in The Chronicles of Narnia Series in his book The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe just because you haven’t seen or experienced this other world beyond ours doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

We will all pass at some point from this existence we now know. Neither fame nor money nor worldly power can stop it from coming to all of us. As the famous poet John Donne once said: “Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee!”

So much of life is spent on things that have only a temporal significance. We must be prepared for that final transition, for the bell one day will indeed toll for each one of us, whether rich or poor, famous or not, the day beckons to each one, it is only a matter of time. It may toll at a time you are not expecting just as it did for these, and everything in time is then reduced to only memory.

Life on this planet is a temporary affair, wisdom beckons us to prepare for the transition through that final door to eternity, as it certainly will come, for it may come when you're not expecting it.

There was one who came from the place of eternity to show us the way to eternal life. He demonstrated His power over life, death, disease, and time. Jesus Christ offers hope beyond the pale of the grave.

To learn more about this and my own journey click on some of the links below.

Bryan's Surf Bio and Testimony Video
Holy Ghost Surf Stories