Ghost Wave - Chris Dixon [122]
Long is characteristically humbled to hear Noll’s comments. But Noll also puts his finger on an apparent dichotomy in Greg’s personality. Is it possible for someone to have “such a relaxed, bitchin’ attitude” and also be a glassy-eyed adrenaline junkie, a high-sensation seeker? Long thinks of himself in the Mike Parsons mold, as a very calculating Surfer who takes off only on a wave he feels he has a good chance of making—”as opposed to thrill seekers,” he says, “who will take a risk even though they’re going to get murdered. I mean, I’ve been on surf trips with people who, if they don’t get waves in a week or two, will have to do an extreme act—like swimming a gale-force ocean—just to get the rush they need. Garrett McNamara is probably as extreme a high-sensation seeker as there is. I’ve seen him take horrendous beatings and just come back laughing. I’m not like that. I never like to fall.
“But still, I know that adrenaline and dopamine rush is where a lot of the satisfaction I get from a big wave session comes from. But there are a lot of other activities where you could get a big rush without such heavy consequences. I’ve never characterized my need as that. It’s the whole adventure side of things, going into the unknown. Seeing a new corner of the world. I mean, if you can’t find satisfaction in just being around the ocean and partaking in all the things it has to offer, you’re really selling yourself short.”
Greg and Rusty Long joined the towsurfing flock after their mid-2003 South African baptism with the specific intention of surfing the Cortes Bank. Steve Long gave them the Jet Ski training materials used by the city of Honolulu, insisting that they learn everything about one-man rescues, slingshots, and rollovers. The boys began training hard along the long, empty stretch of beach south of San Onofre. They were ambivalent about the ski at best, particularly after December 11. On that day, Greg watched an angry paddle Surfer named Keith Head get the crap beat out of him at Todos Santos after Head cut the anchor line to a towsurfer’s ski.
“A fundamental personality trait of mine is simplicity,” Rusty said. “I don’t like dealing with this big, inanimate object that you have to fill with gas and oil. But out at Cortes it would be the only way.”
By the second week of December, after a year of tantalizing, frustrating waiting and praying for conditions to come together for another Bank job, Mike Parsons and Sean Collins noticed a lump of low pressure that had spun southward off the Aleutian Islands. Initially Parsons had simply thought he’d be heading for Maverick’s. Then Rob Brown called. He had just bought a twenty-nine foot Worldcat with twin 250s. When Parsons mentioned Maverick’s, Brown said, “Well, have fun.”
Parsons noted Brown’s sarcasm and asked what his problem was. “I don’t care what you’re doing,” Brown said. “But what the hell do you think I bought this boat for?”
“So what, you want to go to Cortes?” asked Parsons.
“I am going to Cortes,” replied Brown.
Parsons told Brad Gerlach, “Keep your fricking mouth shut on this one.” The only people Parsons called were Greg and Rusty Long. They were the hardest young chargers California had produced in some time, and their dad was a lifeguard. Steve Long would come, too, and he lined up longtime coworker and Todos surf veteran Jeff Kramer for rescue. They would journey in a separate boat piloted by Bob Harrington,