Rincon 1978 by Joe Mickey

I got an email from David Natal, a local author, lifelong surfer and former film maker. He and Joe Mickey made surf films back in the day and they made quite a splash on the local scene, especially with their 1983 classic, “Off The Wall 2”. David sent me photos of a long, handwritten essay about surfing written by Joe Mickey that he had found in his files.

Joe’s widow Connie was kind enough to take on the huge task of transcribing and editing it for us, making it much easier to read. Written in 1978, it was titled, “RINCON ’78- Crowds, Locals & Waves of Perfection” The piece offers some interesting reflections about surfing Rincon as Joe Mickey saw it in 1978 and we thought it was worth sharing. David had also sent me some selected scans of Mickey’s fantastic photos from the early 1980s, so I mixed them in with the essay. Enjoy-

Snodgrass doing his thing. Mickey/Natal Films

I’d heard stories about Snodgrass from everybody who’s been around a while. They used to all talk about him when I was just a gremmie (remember that word?) hanging around Yater’s surf shop in Santa Barbara, waiting for my first board to arrive. I’d just never met the guy. I’d seen him in the water; I just never realized that he was Snodgrass. One day, while I was photographing a clean 5-foot west swell in The Cove, this older gentleman, who was packing a 9’8” Yater on his shoulder, started talking photo-talk with me. He said I should see this picture he has of himself on a 14-foot wave at the top of The Point, that he’s got in his van. He says it’s from a swell last October and then he says that it’s almost as good a swell as the one in ’53. Whew! I was a year old in ’53 and 12 years away from Rincon. This gentleman goes on to tell me about how he’s been riding Rincon for 40 years and how he’s been surfing for 57 years. Everyone around Rincon knows this guy. I’ve seen him out plenty of times. He goes by the nickname of Snodgrass. The point is, after talking to Snodgrass, I decided to skip writing a history of Rincon and just deal with the surfing these days… 1978.

Davey Smith negotiates the crowd.  Mickey/Natal Films

When it comes down to famous California surf spots, Rincon places pretty high on the list. Thanks to Gidget, Jan & Dean, and the Beach Boys, every American who suffered adolescence in the late 50s and through the 60s has heard of Rincon.  Out of the mouths of internationally traveled surfers, Rincon is often mentioned in the same breath that speaks of Jeffery’s, Bells, Honolulu Bay, and Malibu. In short, Rincon is no secret. It hasn’t been a secret since surfing hit California and it’s been crowded before surfing was crowded. Rincon at its very best is long, continuously and evenly peeling, always feathering 50 feet ahead and holding line. The worst thing about Rincon is the crowd. Crowd saturation is a reality for every world-famous surf spot that lays out a claim for having perfect waves.

What makes the crowd situation worse is that Rincon’s local crew, whoever they are, has a fairly heavy well-deserved vigilante reputation built on incidents ranging from mere obscenities to vandalism to out-and-out personal attacks—depending on which rumors and stories you hear and believe. Over the years, the locals have grown to great numbers and, oftentimes, end up vibing each other because there are so many of them that they can no longer recognize each other.  While they’re busy muttering obscenities at each other some guy on a natural progression picks off an outside wave at Indicator. He’ll most likely get dropped in on before he reaches The Rivermouth. If he doesn’t, he’ll almost for sure have five surfers ready to drop in if he doesn’t make the bowl at the Rivermouth; one probably will anyway.

Kim Mearig in position. Mickey/Natal Films

If it’s a kook, he’ll spazz out when he looks back and sees that there’s someone behind him. If it’s a local, he’ll cut back into him and try to close up the bowl or squeeze the guy back into the whitewater. Meanwhile, a very long section of wave will start to line up that leads into the top of The Point and both riders will find themselves too far behind to get through. Paddling up from The Point to Indicator will take a chance, but it usually becomes the act of an after-thought. Everyone really starts to mumble and whisper when you really get down to asking someone where they’re from. But it doesn’t matter anyway. You have to contend with them even if you’re a local.

Shaun Thompson….. Mickey/Natal Films

Actually this reputation runs on a parallel with wave size.  At 6-foot-and-under everybody’s hot. The perfection of small Rincon allows surfers to overrate themselves. Over-inflated egos are a regular occurrence. With this comes the regular expected attitude: Who the hell do you think you are dropping in on me? Or an unequal abundance of: Who the f… do you think you are surfing behind me? attitude.

Davey Smith avoiding a sponge. Mickey/Natal Films

Small Rincon makes for a lot of frustration. Frustration combined with fat-headedness makes for a potentially explosive situation, especially if the fathead considers himself a local. Furthermore, as people perceive themselves as hotshots, they find it necessary to bolster their shaky self-designed status by declaring their localism (or manhood) through a little violence. In other words, what they are unable to achieve through rip, slash and carve they compensate with shout, punch and rip off.

Shaun Thompson, very interested. Mickey/Natal Films

It is a fact that a great many reputations are not made in the water at Rincon. It all relates to the size of the swell. When Rincon starts to work above 6- or 7-foot reputations and over-bloated egos are regularly knocked down. The guys who really rip begin to thin out and someone rocketing off a 6- or 7-foot low tide peeling lip doesn’t get dropped in on … quite so often. Deflated egos slink back to their cars and try hard to go unnoticed until the swell drops a bit. Still at 6- and 7-foot a lot of surfers perform marginally well and fill in whatever is missing on vibes and evil eye stares along with vocabularies consisting of three obscenities and six grunts.

Tommy Curren making his reputation. Mickey/Natal Films

Rincon over 8-foot is a rarity, although 1978 was an exception. But over 8-foot reputations are made strictly on in-the-water performance. There are no marginal performances; you’re hot or you’re not. Even if you wear the latest in neon neoprene you won’t flash unless you’re just plain hot. No one can overrate themselves in a 10-foot Rincon wave and get away with it. Also, on a larger swell the current and the longer rides keep everyone moving and mixing and no one stays around long enough for anyone else to care about them.

Danny Espinosa in perfect harmony. Mickey/Natal Films

Yes, I do know what it’s like to surf Rincon at 6-foot with no one else out — well almost. Of those experiences one stands out quite unique. It was winter 1966 and a Santa Barbara surf shop sponsored a contest which was only advertised in the local area. The contest was held at at the top of the first point and in a 4-to-6 foot glassy north swell. That led nose rising and drop kneed carving surfers through The Cove and down to the sea wall along the highway. For the one-day duration of the contest no one but the five contestants of each heat even paddled out between the bottom of The Cove and the top of The Point. All this goodwill was voluntary and good mannered. No hassles. No vibes. No interference with 15-minute heats with only four other surfers and consistent 4- to 6-foot sets. Dream on.

Kim Mearig dropping in. Mickey/Natal Films

Meanwhile, what about getting waves at Rincon? People do get them alone. There are secrets. Attitudes. And mental psychology games. All of which work successfully. Take your pick. -Attitude: This place is crowded and patience and awareness are the key. Don’t try for every wave. Just the empty ones. -Secrets: I’ll only tell one. One surfer I knew used to sit inside just enough. When he picked his wave he’d start searching the horizon, grinning like he knew a secret and yelling, “Outside” to anyone starting to drop in. They would back off, partly on a startled reflex and partly on expectation of larger waves. By sitting inside he would whip around into a no-paddle take-off while everyone else searched for the mythical set. -Mental psychology: This means vibes which means headaches, ulcers and nerves. If you’re so directed you’re deserving of what you get. There is one other advantage you can have which I didn’t mention: You can be built like Ben Aipa.

Tommy Curren, a star on the rise. Mickey/Natal Films

What this boils down to, in the situation of crowd saturation and growth, is that at Rincon the crowd is an entity which must be dealt with as part of the surfing experience. Localism at Rincon is an irony because the crowd at Rincon is so large that no one can really identify locals from non locals. So, in essence everyone becomes a nonlocal. Actually, this whole localism thing is just a royal pain.

Al Merrick, the mastermind behind Channel Islands surfboards. Mickey/Natal Films

On any day and swell the wind can shift or the tide will change and most swells at least hold the potential. If you’ve got a low-keyed attitude, maybe know a few secrets, perhaps have a few tricks up your neon wetsuit, you can snatch a few shots at perfection. Apart from the locals there are an awful lot of people who come from everywhere to surf Rincon. Even without the vibes everyone understands the problems of a crowded situation. Snodgrass gets ripped off and so does the reddest hottest, carvingist off-the-lipper. No matter who you are, don’t expect to get respect if you’re going to surf Rincon—especially on the smaller swells when egos are easily over-inflated.

Davey Smith with his weapon of choice. Mickey/Natal Films

People can get quite concerned about what to ride at Rincon. Actually, the best approach to Rincon is a statement of confidence. Richie West took the place apart on a 6-foot. Greenough has done it on his kneeboard and even on air mattresses. Bradbury designed rockets have been regularly drawing long arcs across the face since 1970. The latest Sting thing, if the driver is able, performs at today’s levels of performance. Longboarders are seen regularly performing the longboard dance with old and new touches of flair. Then there is Snodgrass [died in 1995]. His approach works quite well, too, and serves up memories, or reminders, as you watch him slide across the perfection of style and approach of the days when the Duke [Kahanamoku] was King.

Tommy Curren, driving south. Mickey/Natal Films.

At Rincon, on bigger days, rides are long and a current pushes the riders southward. By the time a surfer gets back into the line-up no one can remember what he did or much less cares. Rincon has no heroes. In fact, unless you’re good at self-gratification, Rincon isn’t even a good place to get your ego pumped.

David Puu savoring the perfection. Mickey/Natal Films.

Ahh! But what Rincon is… it’s those waves. It’s got the potential to become what surfing has come to define as perfection. And it can be perfect in any size. At its best it peels without hesitation. It feathers 20-feet ahead, but holds. Occasionally, Rincon has defined perfection in larger sizes, but I’ll leave that for Snodgrass. Rincon is a performance wave and, on a personal level, this is its biggest reward. The waves of Rincon offer the chance for the rider to reach, define, and develop his own personal standards of excellence and performance. But don’t be deceived. Rincon’s got the juice to let a surfer know when he’s over-amping or exceeding his limits. This holds truer the bigger it gets.  Don’t get me wrong. Rincon is hardly perfect on every North Swell. Oftentimes it’s bumpy, or too high tide onshore, or there is too much sand on the bottom, which causes the lines to section.

 Rincon legends, John Peck, Miki Dora and Denny Aaberg, 1966. Ron Stoner photo, Surfing Heritage and Culture Center

I was going to start this story with a little historical background. I was going to drive your imagination crazy with some opening lines about the millions and millions of years that the waves of Rincon poured through unridden, before the arrival of the first surfers and their redwood planks, in the 1920s and 1930s. I was going to make it real literary. with lots of imagination and detail. It was going to sound a lot like the first chapter in James Michener’s novel, Hawaii. Next I would have gone into the surfing history of The Point. I’ve heard enough stories and studied the old pictures at Yater’s for so many days when I was 13 that I still have dreams about them. Since Dora and Carson, I’ve kept track of all the hot shots that have stopped by to catch a day at The Con: Nat Young, Jock Sutherland, Dewey Weber, Reno Abellira, Mike Hynson, Bob Cooper, Joey Cabell, David Nuuhiwa, Bob McTavish, George Greenough and all those surfers passing through were events in themselves.  I’ve also read every word ever printed about Rincon. I could have put together enough to please all of you; some who wouldn’t have realized an inaccuracy if they read one anyway. Actually, it would have been pretty credible with the local crew around Rincon, if you want to know the truth.

Danny Robertson, clowning on a small day. Mickey/Natal Films.

When I got to the part about more recent times I planned to work in a few comments about how it’s sad that so many of the old homes have been torn down. Then I was going to tell about how ugly the new ones look: No character. I was even going to get in a few cracks about the idiot cords and the idiots who wear them. It would have all gone pretty smoothly too, because I was going to feed you a lot of BS about the beauty of Rincon and the full ocean experience of perfection and how cords conflict. Then I would have told you how it used to be, how people never used to rely on leashes to get them out of a tight spot and also how people used to pay for their mistakes. The part about leashes would have been a great snow job and I would have enjoyed writing it because I hate the damn things, both as a surfer and a photographer.

John Schuyler pushing the limits. Mickey/Natal Films.

I would have related it all to the history I was telling you and it would have come off pretty smooth. I could have pulled it off; I know enough. I was part of the history. I almost lost my own life on several occasions while running across the freeway on foggy days before the state built the parking lots. What I did lose was a towel and one slap and several bars of wax, if you’re interested. They all went down the freeway tangled in the grill of some Mac truck or Cadillac. I didn’t mind; I was always glad it wasn’t me.

Future surf stars Chris Brown and Jamie George. Mickey/Natal Films.

What I really wanted to talk about are the waves, and that shot at reaching your own limits. That’s what makes the place special. Waves of perfection in a million moods and colors, depending on the location of the sun (or moon, if you know what I mean). People ride everything here: Guns. Semis. Hulls. Winged Sting things. Kneeboards. Mats. Longboards. Rocket fish. And Snodgrass has his Yater Square Tail. With all the different equipment you can witness a hundred varieties of approaches to a similar wave situation.

Sam George off the lip. Mickey/Natal Films.

One guy will rebound off the peeling edge; another tuck under it. Another will project himself ahead of it and power a cutback into it. Nearly everyone tries to nose ride once in a while. There’s just something about the quality of the wave, or maybe it’s all those old pictures in old magazines. But nearly everyone tries. Also there’s a regular appearance of a hot longboard crew that are reminders of Carson’s casual appearance, except with a new flair born in the short board era. To sum up, Rincon generates or produces a wave that seems to satisfy everyone’s approach to surfing: Greenough even took it apart on air mattresses and thus encourages uniqueness.

Snodgrass, locked in and gliding through the crowd. Simone Reddingius photo.

Meanwhile Snodgrass picks up a wave. His own approach is reminiscent of when surfing was the noble sport of royalty: When the The Duke was King.  In the era of eternity, Rincon has existed in a wink of a hundred million years. In the era of surfing, Rincon is perhaps 50 years old and the riders have become fashioned. But the Rincon experience has not changed. It begins and ends in a dance. What happens in-between is an elusive reach for perfection.

Tommy Curren at 14 years old. Mickey/Natal Films.

The Dance

The Dance never changes.
To reach the perfection
Everyone who comes to Rincon
Has had to and will have to
Do the Dance
In the end.

In the era B.C. (Before Cords)
The Dance was more frequent.
Bloody toes and ankles
Were a more common sight
And common experience.
Today there is less dancing.
So there is less blood.

But still everyone dances
When they arrive and when they leave.
It’s never graceful, often funny.
And occasionally even humiliating.
A very minor price
To pay for perfection.

Words and photos by Joe Mickey in 1978

Thanks to David Natal and Connie Mickey for making this page possible. Learn more about Joe Mickey HERE.