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Reader writer Chris Ahrens tells the story of Windansea
The shack is a landmark declaring, “The best break in the area is out there.”
Wolfe is gone, but the waves remain.
When Woodbridge “Woody” Parker Brown first beheld La Jolla in 1937, he wasn’t looking to surf. A glider pilot, he preferred air currents to wave breaks. His wife would tow his motorless airplane to the top of a cliff behind the couple’s old car, then gather speed as she raced toward the edge.. Once there, she slammed on the brakes, skidded in the dirt, and launched Woody into the wild blue yonder. He once soared for 23 hours (a world-record at the time) above a primitive beach called Black’s, named after the Black family, who operated a horse ranch overlooking the ocean. At the time, there were fewer than 5000 residents scattered along La Jolla’s seven miles of coast, and only one surfboard builder in San Diego: Emil Sigler. And yet, while no one really knows which 20th century surfer first rode Windansea’s glorious two-way peak, most credit the brilliant Brown with the maiden voyage.
Upcoming Event
Windansea: Life. Death. Resurrection
- Wednesday, January 8, 2025, 7 p.m. to 9 p.m.
- D.G. Wills Books, 7461 Girard Avenue, San Diego
- Age Limit: All ages / Free
Windansea is an oddly prosaic, descriptive name, and there are others like it for nearby surf spots: Middles, Big Rock, Little Point. The bluntness belies the creativity of those who rode (and ride) the waves there. Some argue that these spots, along with Simmons’, Dunemere, and the Womp, are all part of Windansea. Maybe, but the main break at the foot of Nautilus Street — where a palm frond shack indicates your arrival — is central on “surf’s up” days. The shack is a landmark, declaring, “the best break in the area is out there.” That break consists of four quarters: the outside rights, the inside rights known as Right Hooker, the outside lefts, and the inside lefts.
The author and his illustrated history of La Jolla’s historic surf break.
You start at the parking lot, though it’s unlikely you’ll find a place to actually park there. Some people have more affection for The Lot than they do for their families. Estranged from their wealthy parents, many Lot locals find cohesion with other lost souls who have gravitated to the ocean. The Lot is where you check the surf and tell the stories. It also serves as bleachers from which to observe the action. A well-worn dirt path winds down a short bluff to a rocky beach. Clean, large-grained sand squeaks beneath your feet. The water can change from grey to emerald green to gold to turquoise to electric blue depending on the conditions. When the surf is flat and the water clear, you can see the series of submerged reefs that give the waves their shape. Moss-covered sandstone coves provide refuge for teenage potheads and young lovers. Thick kelp forests provide a home to varieties of fish while keeping ocean chop in check. The beach gently jogs for three-tenths of a mile to the south before abruptly ending at Big Rock.
At first glance, Windansea waves appear as mushy peaks breaking near shore. Your first paddle out proves this is not the case. The peak rises far from the sand and is quick and thick, unloading more water than nearly any other SoCal surf spot. And while Windansea mimics a smaller version of one of the North Shore’s premier spots, Sunset Beach, the nearby Big Rock serves up a quarter-scale model of the Pipeline in the shape of a punchy locals-only razor reef. (This helps to explain why La Jolla surfers do so well in Hawaii.)
Beyond the shack, the next prominent inorganic structure on the beach is a storm drain that once doubled as a bobsled course for the Mac Meda Destruction Company. Mac Meda was a the fictitious business founded by Jack “Mac” Macpherson and Bob “Meda” Rakestraw, ostensibly to keep Windansea sacred while at the same time having more fun than the law allowed. Finally, there is the most famous sewage pumping station in the world, the cement monolith that is La Jolla pump house # 21, immortalized for better and for worse in Tom Wolfe’s The Pump House Gang.
Wolfe helped make Windansea famous, and like everything wonderful that attracts too much attention, the place would eventually be tamed. Today, you can find it on tourist maps and airport walls. Quaint bungalows have been replaced by enormous stucco boxes. Nobody drives their car into the shorebreak or rides Flexi-Flyers out of sewer pipes anymore. The shack, once considered an eyesore reserved for surf bums, is now a historical landmark visited by tourists. The break still retains enough badness and localism to loosen a tooth for being on the right wave at the wrong time, but even so, modern-day Windansea sometimes generates the melancholy felt when the house is full, but the party is dying. While real fun still happens, the outlaw past has been relegated to recollections during dimly lit luaus and surf reunions. It’s impossible now to imagine surfers, some in Nazi uniforms, invading the shore to the thrill and horror of spectators. While this was certainly insensitive, there was nothing anti-semitic in it. It was simply another way to give the world the finger while keeping boredom at bay.
I became fascinated with Windansea in the early ‘60s, but never surfed there regularly until the late ‘70s when I started spending weekends with surfer Chris O’Rourke after his terminal cancer diagnosis. I was interested in writing a book about O’Rourke’s amazing life, and we often talked long into the night about his adventures with other legendary Windansea figures. By Chris’s time, Butch Van Artsdalen had moved to Hawaii, become the first Mr. Pipeline, and passed away at age 38. Endless Summer star Mike Hynson was still in the lineup, but his image was fading. This left Tom Ortner, David Rullo and Jon Close in charge. When O’Rourke died in 1981 at just 22 years old, I put the project aside. Then in 2000, Surfer’s Journal publisher Steve Pezman asked me to write a feature on Windansea for his newly launched publication. Woody Brown and other pioneers of the surf break were still alive and anxious to tell their stories. Local legend Carl Ekstrom opened the vault wide with tales of surfers like Pat Curren, Al Nelson, and Tiny Brain Thomas, who rolled his friend Billy Graham’s car into the shorebreak in order to make a surfing reef.
It was all more than I could tell in a magazine piece. Now, nearly a quarter century later, my labors have borne fruit: the full-color coffee table book Windansea: Life. Death. Resurrection. Just in time for Christmas.
To order, email the author at [email protected].
Here's something you might be interested in.
Reader writer Chris Ahrens tells the story of Windansea
The shack is a landmark declaring, “The best break in the area is out there.”
Reader writer Chris Ahrens tells the story of Windansea
The shack is a landmark declaring, “The best break in the area is out there.”
Wolfe is gone, but the waves remain.
When Woodbridge “Woody” Parker Brown first beheld La Jolla in 1937, he wasn’t looking to surf. A glider pilot, he preferred air currents to wave breaks. His wife would tow his motorless airplane to the top of a cliff behind the couple’s old car, then gather speed as she raced toward the edge.. Once there, she slammed on the brakes, skidded in the dirt, and launched Woody into the wild blue yonder. He once soared for 23 hours (a world-record at the time) above a primitive beach called Black’s, named after the Black family, who operated a horse ranch overlooking the ocean. At the time, there were fewer than 5000 residents scattered along La Jolla’s seven miles of coast, and only one surfboard builder in San Diego: Emil Sigler. And yet, while no one really knows which 20th century surfer first rode Windansea’s glorious two-way peak, most credit the brilliant Brown with the maiden voyage.
Upcoming Event
Windansea: Life. Death. Resurrection
- Wednesday, January 8, 2025, 7 p.m. to 9 p.m.
- D.G. Wills Books, 7461 Girard Avenue, San Diego
- Age Limit: All ages / Free
Windansea is an oddly prosaic, descriptive name, and there are others like it for nearby surf spots: Middles, Big Rock, Little Point. The bluntness belies the creativity of those who rode (and ride) the waves there. Some argue that these spots, along with Simmons’, Dunemere, and the Womp, are all part of Windansea. Maybe, but the main break at the foot of Nautilus Street — where a palm frond shack indicates your arrival — is central on “surf’s up” days. The shack is a landmark, declaring, “the best break in the area is out there.” That break consists of four quarters: the outside rights, the inside rights known as Right Hooker, the outside lefts, and the inside lefts.
The author and his illustrated history of La Jolla’s historic surf break.
You start at the parking lot, though it’s unlikely you’ll find a place to actually park there. Some people have more affection for The Lot than they do for their families. Estranged from their wealthy parents, many Lot locals find cohesion with other lost souls who have gravitated to the ocean. The Lot is where you check the surf and tell the stories. It also serves as bleachers from which to observe the action. A well-worn dirt path winds down a short bluff to a rocky beach. Clean, large-grained sand squeaks beneath your feet. The water can change from grey to emerald green to gold to turquoise to electric blue depending on the conditions. When the surf is flat and the water clear, you can see the series of submerged reefs that give the waves their shape. Moss-covered sandstone coves provide refuge for teenage potheads and young lovers. Thick kelp forests provide a home to varieties of fish while keeping ocean chop in check. The beach gently jogs for three-tenths of a mile to the south before abruptly ending at Big Rock.
At first glance, Windansea waves appear as mushy peaks breaking near shore. Your first paddle out proves this is not the case. The peak rises far from the sand and is quick and thick, unloading more water than nearly any other SoCal surf spot. And while Windansea mimics a smaller version of one of the North Shore’s premier spots, Sunset Beach, the nearby Big Rock serves up a quarter-scale model of the Pipeline in the shape of a punchy locals-only razor reef. (This helps to explain why La Jolla surfers do so well in Hawaii.)
Beyond the shack, the next prominent inorganic structure on the beach is a storm drain that once doubled as a bobsled course for the Mac Meda Destruction Company. Mac Meda was a the fictitious business founded by Jack “Mac” Macpherson and Bob “Meda” Rakestraw, ostensibly to keep Windansea sacred while at the same time having more fun than the law allowed. Finally, there is the most famous sewage pumping station in the world, the cement monolith that is La Jolla pump house # 21, immortalized for better and for worse in Tom Wolfe’s The Pump House Gang.
Wolfe helped make Windansea famous, and like everything wonderful that attracts too much attention, the place would eventually be tamed. Today, you can find it on tourist maps and airport walls. Quaint bungalows have been replaced by enormous stucco boxes. Nobody drives their car into the shorebreak or rides Flexi-Flyers out of sewer pipes anymore. The shack, once considered an eyesore reserved for surf bums, is now a historical landmark visited by tourists. The break still retains enough badness and localism to loosen a tooth for being on the right wave at the wrong time, but even so, modern-day Windansea sometimes generates the melancholy felt when the house is full, but the party is dying. While real fun still happens, the outlaw past has been relegated to recollections during dimly lit luaus and surf reunions. It’s impossible now to imagine surfers, some in Nazi uniforms, invading the shore to the thrill and horror of spectators. While this was certainly insensitive, there was nothing anti-semitic in it. It was simply another way to give the world the finger while keeping boredom at bay.
I became fascinated with Windansea in the early ‘60s, but never surfed there regularly until the late ‘70s when I started spending weekends with surfer Chris O’Rourke after his terminal cancer diagnosis. I was interested in writing a book about O’Rourke’s amazing life, and we often talked long into the night about his adventures with other legendary Windansea figures. By Chris’s time, Butch Van Artsdalen had moved to Hawaii, become the first Mr. Pipeline, and passed away at age 38. Endless Summer star Mike Hynson was still in the lineup, but his image was fading. This left Tom Ortner, David Rullo and Jon Close in charge. When O’Rourke died in 1981 at just 22 years old, I put the project aside. Then in 2000, Surfer’s Journal publisher Steve Pezman asked me to write a feature on Windansea for his newly launched publication. Woody Brown and other pioneers of the surf break were still alive and anxious to tell their stories. Local legend Carl Ekstrom opened the vault wide with tales of surfers like Pat Curren, Al Nelson, and Tiny Brain Thomas, who rolled his friend Billy Graham’s car into the shorebreak in order to make a surfing reef.
It was all more than I could tell in a magazine piece. Now, nearly a quarter century later, my labors have borne fruit: the full-color coffee table book Windansea: Life. Death. Resurrection. Just in time for Christmas.
To order, email the author at [email protected].
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