Local Tribes

Marco peered across the parking lot over the sand, to under the Dream Inn. Clay, the kid who manned the rental shop, was just sliding the glass door shut to the entrance. Marco yelled and waved his arms. Clay looked over. Marco ran past Olivard’s Fish Market and the Ideal Restaurant at the entrance to the wharf and jumped down onto the sand. “ Clay…wait.”

Out of breath, he trudged over the hard packed wet beach to the shop.

       “Clay, I need to borrow a board…and a suit.”

       “ What?”

       “ Yeah…Casino’s…I wanna ride Casino’s.”

       “ Casino’s? You’re crazy. Surf’s gettin’outta control. O’Neill just called and told me to close the shop. Afraid it might flood. Told me to get the hell outta here.”

       “ Look man, I’m on the team, you know that. O’Neill wouldn’t care.”

       “ Bullshit. It’d be my ass if anything happened to a rental board. It’s too big out there. The Lane’s closed out. Third Reef’s breakin’ and the whole damn beach is bein’ sucked out.”

       “ C’mon man, I’ll take full responsibility. Look, gimme a board and suit for just one hour, for just one wave.”

       Clay could see the excitement and passion in Marco’s eyes. “ I dunno.”

     “Look man, I’ll give ya two quarts a beer tonight. Come by the house. We’re gonna go to a party. You can go with us.”

     “ I dunno.”

       “ C’mom bro. I’m gonna go ride one wave at Casino’s. This is the chance of a lifetime. Can you dig that? Just one wave and I’ll tell everybody you gave me the board I did it on.”

       Clay smoothed out his scraggly mustache and looked at the horizon. It rose and fell as far as he could see with white water and foam churning. “ You sure about this.”

     “Never more sure a anything in my life. C’mon.”

   “ Aw man… two quarts you said?” Clay thought about how he was itching to get some beer for his hot date that night.

   “ Ya got ‘em.”

  “ Okay, just one wave.”

 “ Ya got my word.”

       “ Sure as shit hope so.” Clay slid open the door to the rental shop,“ the cavern.” Marco hustled to the wet suit rack and pulled a jacket off. “ Here, gimme that.” He handed Clay the rubber jacket and as he sprinkled cornstarch down the sleeves, Marco checked out the boards.

       “ There’s not much here. The best one’s probably the red, ten foot Intruder.”

Marco picked it up and held it under his arm. It felt a little wider than his team board but it was thin and in decent shape, not too many dings, plus it was an Intruder. He figured it probably weighed about twenty-eight pounds or so. The weight of the board would be an advantage for dropping down the face of the bigger waves. And the extra length would add acceleration once he got it up to its full planing speed. “ Beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll take it.” It was half a foot longer than his usual board but would be a better paddler.  He’d be able to catch waves easier with it and scratch over the bigger sets if he had to clear the impact zone in a hurry.

       Clay added, “Ain’t no swimsuits here. They went over to the forty-first avenue shop last weekend.”

       “ I’ll havta wear my boxers I guess. I’ll just snap up the crotch flap.”

       They both laughed an uneasy laugh. Clay watched with concerned silence as Marco stripped down and slid into the rubber jacket. He slid open the door and helped Marco pull the ten-footer outside.

       They edged toward the wharf together as the massive shore break pummeled the sand. The mist was dissipating, giving way to a diffused late afternoon clearing. The sky on the undulating horizon was beginning to show red and gold.

      “ You sure about this? Sun’ll be goin’ down soon.”

     “ Got it all figured. I’ll go off from the landing between sets so I don’t have to paddle out from the beach. I’ll wait fer the next set, paddle inta position, then nab the best formed one and come in.”

      It all sounded real easy Clay thought, maybe too easy. But if anyone could pull it off he knew Marco could; Marco, one of the top surfers in northern California. Marco, the O’neill team rider.  He’d be the on