2023 SurfAid Cup - Surf Ranch
On February 26-27, 2023, a small group of us had an opportunity to compete in the 2023 SurfAid Cup, a benefit for a fantastic organization that improves the lives of families in isolated corners of the globe who are overlooked by larger development agencies, but who are connected to us through surfing. Seven teams of four contestants collectively raised over $200,000 earmarked for maternal health, clean water and agricultural priorities in Indonesia, the Solomon Islands, and Baja.
We loaded up the Sprinter van with surfboards and wetsuits, and journeyed down the I-5 to Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch in the landlocked Central Valley town Lemoore, California, a most unlikely place to find the best waves of our lives. There, Slater and a team of engineers designed and built a system that uses a gigantic train attached to a submarine hydrofoil, which manufactures a perfect, 8-foot tall wave that can turn into a long, clean barrel as it unfolds for 45-seconds and 400 meters in length. Right before you wave comes, you can actually order a specific wave type, made to order: CT4 is a consistent 8-foot shoulder all the way through, CT3 turns into one short barrel at the end, and CT2 delivers two very long barrels.
Upon arrival, our hearts were pounding as the enormous Surf Ranch gate opened to reveal a Mecca-like playground that we had dreamed about but never thought we’d actually see in person. A large hospitality staff and constellation of lifeguards, jet ski operators and surf coaches greeted us with big smiles and open arms, dedicated to showing us the time of our lives. We toured the campus, Pat jammed on a guitar in the music room, and we were offered fine cocktails and snacks before a safety briefing in the locker room, which was lined with a huge supply of surfboards available for sampling.
On the drive down, Pat noticed that in every video of people riding at Surf Ranch, every surfer is using a leash - even the classic loggers who zealously object to the use of leashes as a core feature of their identity. We asked the staff, and they confirmed that leashes are required, as losing a board could result in the fin puncturing the material lining the edges of the pool. I had shaped a longboard for this competition, but did not put a leash plug on it. Since I really wanted to use that board, we drilled a hole right through the tail (an exciting but painful sight for all involved), and looped a string through it to attach a leash. People were astonished that I was ok with this, but I really wanted to use that board, and could just patch it up later.
The first session was at night, under a series of massive floodlights that conjured memories of a Friday night homecoming football game deep in the Permian Basin of Texas. Music blasted from loudspeakers in the middle of the pool, and our team of four ran into the water for our warmup heat. When the first wave came, it radically surpassed our expectations in terms of size, speed and general terror. Our team member who had priority on the first wave fell on the takeoff, which gave me an opportunity to “poach” the wave from my second priority position. I got obliterated immediately after takeoff, and my board smashed me in the face so hard that it left a bruise, welt and minor cuts.
After our first failed attempts, we quickly figured out how to adjust to catching and riding this foreign but beautiful wave, and that’s when the fun really began. Following a 5-star quality dinner and drinks in a well-appointed and meticulously-designed indoor/outdoor resort environment, we headed off to our hotel 15 minutes away, and did whatever we could to calm our excitement so we could rest up for the competition the next morning.
While San Francisco and Los Angeles woke up to yet another historic rainstorm, and while we could see ominous clouds all around us, we were somehow spared from serious rainfall or heavy winds. To the contrary, we were blessed with a southerly breeze that perfectly groomed the shape of the left. Ian got more and more confident with the left barrel, and ultimately found himself deeply tubed, staring out an almond-shaped hole as his teammates cheered him on and other competitors grew visibly nervous and uncomfortable.
Since the train pushing the hydrofoils goes back and forth on a track, one direction creates a wave breaking left, and one creates a right. Most people (including everyone on our team) wanted to surf frontside - left for goofy-footers, and right for regular-footers. Our team had three goofies and one regular, but another team had three regulars and one goofy. I volunteered to switch teams in service of equilibrium, which also allowed me to meet an amazing crew from Malibu and Santa Barbara, and to shoot photos of my original crew during their heats.
Before long, we had gotten so many great waves that our nerves and FOMO naturally subsided, opening up space to push our performance. I decided to bag my shortboard and stick with my log, which miraculously survived a succession of hard tugs on the jury-rigged leash loop, cutting a little deeper into the fiberglass each time but remaining intact. The wave is so much steeper and more powerful than the longboard waves I’m used to at Bolinas, making it much easier to walk up to the nose. Noseriding on ever-changing ocean waves requires constant rebalancing; on this wave, however, there is virtually no variability, which allows you to just stay perfectly still for 5-10 seconds at a time holding a perfect line. I’ve never experienced anything like it. The blasting music coupled with smiles, raised arms, and cheers from friends in the water made for a magical experience.
After our morning heat, we enjoyed a gourmet, outdoor lunch during a brief period of sun, told stories about surfing, travel and wingfoiling, and fed off of each other’s abundant positive energy. My original team had its third heat right after lunch, and they absolutely slayed the wave, noticeably more comfortable, flowing and aggressive than before. The team that adopted me was scheduled for the very last heat of the competition, and when the time came, we paddled out as the sun started its final descent, visible through a narrow crack in the cloud cover.
I repeated my usual maneuvers, walking to the nose, hitting a cheater five, ducking into a noseride, cutting back, and doing it all over gain as the unconscionably perfect wave unfurled across the pool. Every time I cruised past a teammate hooting and hollering, I couldn’t help but get refilled with energy, pushing myself harder with a huge smile across my face. Toward the end of the heat, I was lucky to poach a right hander, and got a bit too aggressive trying to pull into a barrel during a backside noseride, lost the board, and felt that feared sensation: a great pressure on my leg from my taught leash, followed by no pressure at all. It could only mean one thing: my leash loop had finally ripped right through the tail of my longboard.
The waterborne staff helped me chase down the board, and the jet ski operator told me to slide up onto the rescue sled as he rapidly towed me to the opposite end of the pool. There, Ian ran out with the speed and eagerness of a Formula One pit crew to grab my slightly broken longboard from me, allowing me to sprint into the locker room searching for a spare board. Three different people told me to take three different boards; overwhelmed and in a hurry, I grabbed a random one, and ran down the entire length of the lagoon, paddling out just in time to get my final priority wave. It was my first time dropping in with a shortboard, and it felt amazing. I pumped down the line, huge smile on my face, and pulled in for the final barrel, cramming my fist into the face of the wave to slow down, but not quite enough to get enveloped. Alas, the session ended with a clean, gorgeous wave just as the orange sun finally disappeared below the horizon.
We transitioned immediately into a short and sweet ceremony over dinner, where awards were given for Greatest Stoke, Gnarliest Wipeout, Most Funds Raised by a Team, Best Barrel, Best Left, and Best Right. Our team really showed up for SurfAid, raising over $32,000, and winning the award for Most Funds Raised. I was shocked and surprised to hear the announcer say, “This dude won Best Left in the first heat, and then he beat himself and won Best Left again in the last heat. Where’s that steezy longboarder? Dave Shlachter?” Not expecting any award, I was maniacally chowing on chicken wings, my hands covered in BBQ sauce. I put my plate down, ran up to retrieve the plaque, and motioned to give the announcer a fist bump. Staring at my sauce-slathered hands, he said, “No - no thanks - I’m good, dude!” I grabbed the award, smiled for the camera, and then we all headed off to pack up. Filled with stoke, we loaded up the van and blasted back to San Francisco, a sleeping city soaked in rain, returning to our loved ones tucked into warm beds, feeling like better men than we were just a day before.
