Originally publshed 02/24/03
Greg Isaacson once listened throughout winter nights for the
sound of the surf - "Like shotgun blasts" - reaching Oahu's famous
North Shore.
He is 30 years and 4,000 miles removed from the Hawaiian Islands.
But when the weather is just right, when a northeasterly gale roars
overnight toward a different North Shore and rattles the timbers of
his house on Duluth's Skyline Parkway, he feels it. Come morning,
he peers from his deck through binoculars down the city's hillsides
and measures Lake Superior pouring onto Park Point.
"If it's breaking two feet on Park Point, it's four or five feet
on the North Shore," he said. "It's always twice as big up on the
North Shore."
And if the waves are breaking high at Lester River or Stoney
Point or Beaver Bay, there probably are surfers in the water. No
matter the month. No matter the air or water temperature. No matter
the wind chill, for that matter.
On those days, surfers arrive before sunrise, their boards piled
in the backs of SUVs and vans, their Thermoses filled with hot
coffee, their bags of potato chips within reach. Already they are
dressed in thick, hooded wet suits, which, along with necessary
neoprene booties and gloves, will protect them from water only a
degree away from freezing. Vaseline is smeared on the only exposed
skin - around the eyes, nose and mouth - to repel water and keep it
from freezing to the face.
"Full body armor," said Bob Tema, a Minneapolis graphic designer
who grew up in Hawaii and has lived away from the islands'
80-degree days and 20-foot winter swells for the past 14 years.
Most of these Minnesota surfers are, like Tema, transplanted
Californians, Hawaiians and East Coasters. A few, like Isaacson,
are native Midwesterners who learned to surf in distant oceans and
returned home unable even in fall or winter to disengage themselves
from a sport founded in freedom and self-expression, with a pull
powerful enough to inspire its own music and culture.
Most of them - college students from Duluth, professionals from
Minneapolis and points beyond - spend three seasons each year
scouring the Internet for buoy reports and National Weather Service
wave forecasts, waiting for the few days when the weather breaks
just right and swells, from waist-high to well-overhead, line up
one after the other and collapse cleanly as they approach the
cobblestone shore.
.
The discovery
For more than 20 years, Isaacson surfed mostly alone, accompanied
occasionally by a buddy or a skeptical salmon fisherman. Raised in
Duluth, he caught the sport's irresistible wave after seeing the
1960s film "The Endless Summer," in which two surfers travel the
world searching for the perfect wave.
He moved to Hawaii right after high school and returned home two
years later, just in time to see the November 1975 storm that sank
the freighter Edmund Fitzgerald and pounded Park Point with 20-foot
waves. The next spring, he surfed Superior for the first time in a
bulky wetsuit, what he now calls "Gumby surfing."
Isaacson, a contractor by profession and surf philosopher/writer
by passion, had heard reports in recent years that others surfed
there as well. Then, one day after he bought a computer, he
discovered Tema's "Superior Surf Club" Web site, started four years
ago to spread the word about the inland sea's surf potential.
Isaacson prefers to surf spring and fall, "when the big winds
change." (Summers usually produce few suitable waves). Others,
including Tema and surfing buddy Brian Stabinger, surf any time the
conditions are right: A day or two after a storm has pushed
eastward across Superior. The storm first produces northeast winds
that stir swells 400 miles away and then switch to the north and
northwest, producing surfing's preferred "offshore" breezes that
create crisp, individually breaking waves.
Nature picks the days. When it calls, surfers go.
That can even be a clear Tuesday sunrise in February, when the
thermometer showed 7 below zero and the wind chill measured 30
below. In wind like that, the 33-degree water feels, according to
one surfer, "toasty warm," a concept unfathomable to anyone who has
dipped a toe into Lake Superior in July.
National Weather Service data forecast 6-foot waves for that day.
They were smaller, but still big enough to surf Stoney Point, the
most dependable spot on the old highway between Duluth and Two
Harbors because of its deep offshore water and because, being
surrounded by the lake on three sides, it's one of the few places
that doesn't freeze up during winter.
"It's so cold nobody believes you can surf," said Luke Kavajecz,
a University of Minnesota-Duluth freshman who skipped a morning
writing class because the surf was up. "When I'm carrying my board
from my dorm to my truck, I get some weird looks. People ask me if
I'm lost."
Surfers paddle out from shore and pause, waiting for the right
"set" of waves. It takes an experienced eye to discern the correct
wave from many of what Isaacson calls "blue corduroy lines of
energy."
A surfer must choose wisely.
"You don't want to take the first wave," Isaacson said, "because
it's like going through the rinse cycle. Those are waves of
consequence."
.
Safety matters
The dangers are many. There are stray currents that can carry
experienced surfers and strong swimmmers tumbling several hundred
yards into rock cliffs downshore. A falling surfer can get hit in
the head by his board. Fatigue is a factor because Lake Superior's
fresh water is less buoyant than ocean salt water. Then there is
the numbing cold. Surfers almost always go with a buddy.
"The only enemy here is hypothermia, besides the essence of
surfing," Isaacson said. "You can drown, but that's something we
don't talk about much."
A woman watching from shore once pleaded with Tema. Don't get in
the water, she said, you'll die.
"This is something we've done before," said Tema, who has surfed
Superior the past six years, "but you should never underestimate
the risk."
The rewards on a morning when Arctic air reaching open water
creates an ethereal meeting of the heavens and Earth can approach
spiritual revelation. Isaacson considers it meditation.
Surfers have a word for it: stoked, the euphoric feeling found
from the catching of a wave.
"It's you and the wave and the energy, dropping down," Isaacson
said. "It truly is a time when nothing else in the world matters.
There are those moments when I feel like God knew what he was doing."
Of course, most sane people associate those days with palm trees
and tropical trade winds.
"People want to see blue paradise," said Stabinger, a Minneapolis
audio-visual systems programmer who traveled with Tema to Ireland
in November to surf the remnants of winter storms there.
"Apparently, that's the appeal. But this is so much more of an
adventure."
Surfers from the Twin Cities wake at 3 a.m. and drive three hours
so they can reach the Superior shore by sunrise for just such an
adventure.
"How many guys would go to that much trouble to play tennis?"
asked Randy Rarick, promoter of Oahu's professional Triple Crown of
surfing and a man known for having surfed more countries (60-plus)
than anyone. "That just goes to show you the thrill and stoke of
surfing runs deep."
Rarick had just left a nice offshore breeze and 8- to 10-foot
swells and made the short walk from Sunset Beach to his home on
Oahu's North Shore. A few nights before, temperatures plunged into
the low 50s, and local residents reached for their blankets and
sweat shirts. The afternoon high reached the low 70s that day,
causing surfers to wear partial wet suits and complain about the
lousy, cold weather.
.
- Jerry Zgoda is at jzgoda@startribune.com
.
ON THE WEB
Surf the Great Lakes
Links to surf forecasts and information about surfing Lake Superior.
- Go to www.superior-surf.com for photo galleries and
information about the Lake Superior Cold Water Surf Fest, which
will be held, depending upon conditions, in late May or early June.
- For information on the Great Lakes Surfing Association, which
focuses on surfing Lake Michigan, go to www.lakesurf.com.

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