Summer 2015 Collection | Day Of Summer
Maybe it was our imaginations, but overnight the ground shook. Not necessarily shaking-the-glass-of-water Jurassic Park-style, but a subtle, nearly unrecognizable North-Shore-of-Oahu-on-a-giant-straight-West-rumble. It was a low reverb that vibrated through the house from the roar of the waves offshore. And perhaps the subtle rumble of this very foreign swell slipped into the boys’ dreams through osmosis. Perhaps these Newport dwellers were dreaming North Shore dreams. Of Ted’s Bakery chocolate haupia pies, poke bowls, 2nd Reef cappers, Off the Wall growers and Ke Nui Road jogger-babes. Sweet Country dreams or not, the following morning was sure to be cooking.
And noy oddly enough, there were naysayers about this stay. Why stay at home in California for the summer, it’s usually so much bigger anywhere else in the Southern Hemi. Nica, Indo, Chile, Tahiti; Orange County seemed like the last place you’d seek for an adventure. But somewhere out there, across the Pacific, a dazzling, dancing high-speed system named Marie whispered to the boys’ collective consciousness: Quedarse niños cerca. Voy a venir a usted. So they did, and Derrick Disney, Jordy Lawler, Cole Houshmand, Bobby Okvist, Lucas Dirkse, Corey Colapinto and Cam Richards shacked up in a typical Newport beach house on 30th Street, making the most of typical Newport surf... Until the woman that whispered something far away rolled into town like an atomic bomb and stirred up a swell with a powerful North Shore vibration.
Indeed, if it was only their imaginations, dawn broke and the boys gazed out from the balconies into the gray marine-layered half-light at a roaring, foreign sea. 20ft waves collapsed and spit. The boom was deafening and the ocean was alive and moving ferociously. None had ever woken up to such a scene in California in their entire lives. And perhaps, they never would again… So they went straight to that fickle mutant called The Wedge — surely the swell’s most frightening focal point — and threw themselves over the ledge. Bobby Okvist, a young but seasoned vet, Aussie Jordy Lawler and Cam Richards got a couple lurching peaks that jacked cartoon-style and drained the boys properly. Of course there were ones that also pitched them like rag-dolls peak to trough, but they all took the beatings in stride. After an unforgettable early morning of death-pits and dirty-lickings, there were murmurs that Newport Point was somehow just as big, and even more glorious.
So the boys followed Marie’s voice to Newport Point where 20ft lefthanders were stacking and spitting. Newport? Or, North Shore? New Shore. Yes, this was an entirely new break, new place, new piece of history and the boys would be young historians. And there is nothing quite like being a part of something momentous — something so extraordinary that it will surely never happen again, but even as a young man, you have the pleasure of taking part in. Indeed Cole, Derrick, Cam and the rest of the groms were surely pummeled paddling out and doubly swept north toward the pier, but they pulled into the best tubes “home” had ever gotten. Ever. Those young, surf-psyched historians air-dropped, hung-on, pig-dogged and stalled in countless foreign, green barrels. And even with those strange North Shorey dreams from the night prior, all of them knew this was just Newport at its greatest. Exiting those thunderous, sand-bottomed pits, the spit that hit their backs felt amazing and strangely sounded like the whisper of a familiar woman’s voice.