WINDANSEA, CHRIS O’ROURKE, AND THE NEANDERTHAL
“Neanderthal,” the Kid said with the deepest voice he could manage.
The first time I decided to surf the famous Windansea, a foggy, glassy, afterwork afternoon, December of 1971, there were, maybe, eight or ten surfers clumped around the peak. Trish was waiting in the car. I must have promised to take her somewhere. Newly married, we lived in Pacific Beach, across the street and just up from Tourmaline Canyon.
Yes, it was practically La Jolla; right where Mission turns to La Jolla Boulevard. So, why not Windansea?
When I got out of the water at dark, after something less than an hour, my bride asked me why I, notorious wave hog, hadn’t caught more waves.
“I was lucky to get three or four.” The waves I did get were insiders or those waves the various members of the local crew were a…
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