THE 80′S… neon wetsuits and Winchell’s doughnuts. Waxing your Timpone, Hayward, or Burke on the sidewalk. The mixed smell of damp alsphalt, low tide and fast food garbage. Oingo Boingo seeping, “ONLY A LAD…” from a car stereo. I was such a scrawny little grom.
I would paddle out southside at the Huntington Beach Pier. The plan was to sit with the rippers and watch them go. Then I’d snatch the leftovers on the inside, copying what I saw. That’s how you learned.
On the ultra-early mornings this rare stunt would develop. A few dawn patrolers would use the lingering cover of night, slip over the rail and jump off the pier, skipping the paddle out all together. Everyone in the lineup would hoot, and throw those ear piercing whistles you hear at concerts or ball games. It was rad.
Sometimes the lifeguards would call the cops. Sometimes they pretended not to see anything. It all depended on who you were. The fine was something like $100 + a court date. You know, public safety. Whatever cops. Getting away with a pier jump had to be the best.
