Yes, you should get a lesson. They’re not crazy expensive—about $50 to $125 for your irst time, depending
on whether you go by yourself or with a group—and include a board and a rash guard or wetsuit. “We spend
about 20 minutes on the beach going through a lot of safety stuf, learning about the ocean, rip currents,
tides, and hazards,” says Richard Schmidt, owner of an eponymous surf school in Santa Cruz, California,
who has been teaching suring for 40 years. After that, you’ll post up on the sand to determine your stance
and practice pop-ups, smoothly transitioning from your stomach to your feet. When it’s ina lly time to surf,
you’ll head into the whitewash (see The Visual Glossary, page 42) to practice catching already broken waves
and popping up to stand. Your instructor will give you a push at irst to help you with speed and timing.SURFING
GETTING STARTED IN...WHAT TO
EXPECT
ON YOUR
FIRST
LESSONBY JACQUELINE DETWILERThe hard part comes when you
love that feeling. When you decide you
want to surf for real, and on your own.
There’s equipment to master. Rules.
Lingo. Tides. Swells. The sea is always
changing, and you have to learn how
and when it’s willing to play.
You’ll go out in slop. You’ll get
turned back by waves that are too
big. You’ll get tossed around underwa-For all the great mystique surround-
ing suring, it’s actually not that hard
to ride a wave. On a huge board, in
the right conditions, with a decent
instructor, most people will get to
their feet the first day. And it feels
amazing—like sliding across the
kitchen loor in your socks, only the
f loor is the ocean, and you’re walk-
ing on water.ter and cut your feet on rocks and get
smacked with your board. It’s hum-
bling. But it’s also worth it. One day,
maybe in a year, or two years, or even
three, you’ll paddle like mad into a
glassy, green, unbroken wave, slide
down its slope and dig your board’s
edge (the rail) into its face, sailing
right across its heft in a low crouch.
When the wave breaks around you,
you’ll skid out in front of the foam,
letting it carry you farther in toward
the beach, until you inally sink into
the sea, face to the sky in exaltation,
while your board pops out from under
you like a champagne cork.
“Look!” a mom will say, towing her
small child toward the beach, plastic
bucket in hand. “A surfer!”