A look at my personal surf hell
What do you imagine when you picture your own surf hell? Holds infinite waves? Surfing next to a hundred middle-aged guys named Chet? Being surrounded by newbies wielding foam boards that will literally and figuratively burn you for eternity? The wave-rich state of Nebraska? Or maybe you’re living it right now – and, if so, welcome to hell, fishing buddy! It’s great here – much better than those pious piles of suckers in heaven strumming lutes and frolicking in the fields. We have booze, heavy metal, the two best Beatles and lots of surfing. We even have a Sbarro now! Can I offer you a hot Zima?
The eternal damnation of surfing is all about nuance. You can’t just throw a bunch of souls into a lake of fire, add swell, and expect everyone to be terrified. It’s just another summer Saturday in Lowers. The Devil is in the details, they always say. And that’s why my personal surfing hell starts in an unlikely place – Maine.