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Added: July 3, 2007, 1:51 pm	Share    Print    Email

What's The Point?

Montauk Point is sometimes called "The End". Not in the sense that civilization has stopped, but simply in the sense that the voyage through vast, variegated views and vistas is the means to the modest Mecca of Montauk: The End. It's a point, a cliff, and a cove. It's the rural to the rural, a bohemian abode of blissful beach. And it's "the" place to surf! But not the only place!

Surfing exploded in our culture in the 1960s and by the 1970s it really grew on the East End. To this day Montauk, once commonly considered a quaint fishing village, collects surfers like my bathing suit catches bits of sand and shell.

"Gidget was the fuse that lit the surf explosion," surfing writer Ben Marcus told me in an interview about the history of surfboards. "Gidget is actually a pretty interesting movie and a fairly serious attempt to capture the surf culture of the 50s. [It was a] Pandora's Box in a way." Since then, champions and amateurs alike have flocked to Montauk to surf.

Photographers come out to catch the surfers where the breaks are happening and the locals watch as the area becomes more and more popular. Now the East End has more than its fair share surf shops, hang outs, and young men and women ready to tackle the rolling rhythm of the ocean on its way to meet our sandy shores.

"There are plenty of breaks out here for everyone," Tom Naro, a local surfer, said to me by phone on his way to check the waves one day. "Exploring the shoreline and finding the break is part of the fun. It's part of the game. Everyday you go out there and find your favorite break spot and if it's not happening then you cruise around looking for something that works."

A resident surfer for more than a decade, Tom was originally a Queens kid who started body surfing when his family trekked out East in the 1970s. A while ago he decided that East End living was the life for him and moved out here full time.

"The water, surfing, absolutely has a calling to it," he told me. "While I surf I appreciate nature, the air, the waves, the water and the earth." Tom has answered that call for ten years and counting.

While Montauk has proven to be a very popular spot, Tom told me that there are breaks all the way from Moriches Inlet to The End.

Photo by Juliana Morais/Voyageur Press

Break Point Hunters

Reef breaks don't change much unless they are violated but most breaks are shifty, unpredictable things that tend to wander, depending on the position of sandbars and the movement of the tides. A break that was good once may not work the next time. One has to be part meteorologist, part geologist, part investigative reporter, and part shaman to find the good breaks.

"You have to know what holds the wind and the swell," Tom said.

Still, there are some standard spots that the surfers all know about. The Alamo and Turtle Cove out at Montauk are two breaks that have gained notoriety as of late.

When George Washington came to Montauk Point in 1796 he decided that it needed a lighthouse. (Freud had a few things to say about that!) Erosion poses a serious threat to the historic lighthouse and unless you've had your head in the sand you also know this precarious Humpty Dumpty-like predicament is quite controversial. Government agencies, planners and environmentalists have been at odds over this issue for years because of the threat that some solutions pose to the quality of the waves.

"They've been in the spotlight because of the controversy surrounding the Montauk Lighthouse," Tom said without a hint of awareness about the pun he just formed. "The Alamo is right under the lighthouse and Turtle Cove is a half rocky, half sandy beach just west of it."

I asked him about Ditch Plains and after a little silence he said, "It's somewhere east of town and west of the Lighthouse."

Not that it's a secret or anything, mind you. There's no surfer's code forbidding the revelation of a good break point. But I get the feeling that it's strictly on a need-to-know basis and I really didn't need to know.


The Long And Short Of It

The East End is good for both long and short boards, depending on the type of wave. Shorter waves are better for short boards because you can rip them. The slower, thicker swells are great for the long board because you can just glide along on them.

Ben Marcus, self-proclaimed abnormally prolific writer and surfer intellectual, is a documenter of all things surfing. In his new book, "The Surfboard: Art-Style-Stoke", he tracks the design and manufacture of surfboards throughout history. This beautifully photographed and informative book starts with the early Hawaiian native culture that developed surfing by fashioning long (and by long I mean up to 18 feet!) boards they called "olo" all the way down to modest "paipo" body boards out of koa, ulu, or wiliwili tree wood.

In the beginning surfboards were made from wood. After the Hawaiian wood became scarce, boards were crafted from California Redwood. My favorite classic board also happens to come from the company that manufactured the first mass-produced surfboards: Pacific System Homes.

According to the book, Meyers Butte, son of the owner of a large home building company, took advantage of the factory's capacity to cut and shape wood on a large scale and adapted it to the construction of redwood surfboards. They had an absolutely stunning design of dark lines and border against wide light panels.

When the boards were first produced in the late 1920s, Butte adopted the unfortunate Sanskrit name and logo of Swastika, which means "welfare-bringing thing." As the Nazis rose to power with the same symbol, Butte dropped the logo and changed it to Waikiki.

Ben explained to me how he acquired all those photographs of classic (and even ancient) surfboards:

"We used the surfboard collection of Fernando Aguerre," Ben said. "A Brazilian girl named Juliana did a great job photographing the boards, and I pieced the story around his collection. It is hard to tell the history of the surfboard in only 40,000 words. I left a lot of guys out, but my book focuses on the 'Mount Rushmore' of surfboard shapers and designers."

There are more than 40,000 words about surfboards? Ben told me he could go on and on about surfboard history. "The Surfboard: Art, Style, Stoke" is just the tip of the iceberg.

"Well I just did seven books in three years," he said. "I agreed to do [a book on surf stickers] three years ago and I finally sent in that sticker book yesterday, three years late. I inherited the writer's brain (from his maternal grandfather, Joseph Schafer, a historian) and it just never seems to quit."

Thought Ben has not yet surfed the East End his family has a history here. "My Mom's people were all brainy types who worked for and ran Kodak from the 20s to the 40s," he explained. "She lived in Rochester and on a summer farm in Montauk back then."

Michael O'Rourke as photographed by Joni Sternbach.

Of Ditch Plains And Paparazzi

Michael O'Rourke has been living and working on the East End of Long Island for his entire life. Growing up in West Hampton, Michael watched his father help build the jetties that protrude out from the south shore. He lived near and played in the water all throughout his childhood. A former NFL prospect, Michael returned to Westhampton to start his own construction company. His passion for all things athletic led him to surfing. While chatting about surfing and going through photos of him, his wife and two boys enjoying the shoreline, I came across a very striking black and white portrait of Michael at Ditch Plains.

Photographer Joni Sternbach first included the surfers at Ditch Plains in her art quite by accident. While regularly shooting off the bluffs, she realized she had found a spot that surfers also appreciated, but for a different reason.

"It turns out that this spot overlooks a surf break. As a result surfers have inadvertently been in my photographs," Joni said. "Since that time I've been contemplating the context of human presence in landscape. Last year, I came down off the bluff to investigate the possibility of photographing them directly. This was simply an evolution from 'surfers as landscape' to 'surfers as subject.'"

When you see the photos, like the portrait of Michael O'Rourke, there's a strikingly different aura. The photos are hauntingly beautiful. Nothing like the typical bronze guys poised inside a blue curl, so I was fascinated by the dichotomy her images presented. She renders the surfers as a part of the landscape, like nature incarnate, harkening back to the sport's sacred roots. Of staunch Hawaiian long boarders challenging the mighty water.

As expected, such a different approach is also not such an easy one. She even has to lug around a portable darkroom.

"Heat and humidity make working in the portable darkroom pretty disgusting and unbearable," she said. "The picture taking process is not so much arduous as time consuming, due to the rigorous preparations necessary for each photograph. Because the plate must remain wet for the entire process it's necessary to frame the shot and pose the subject beforehand so that the plate doesn't dry. Each one takes at least 5 minutes minimum to shoot. Some days I can shoot up to 8 portraits, some days I get only one."

Joni has her work cut out for her because in my experience, when the waves are breaking it's nearly impossible to get the surfers to sit still for more than a few minutes.

"Weather plays a huge part in this process. First and foremost, wet plate photographs are mostly sensitive to ultraviolet light. The water conditions are less important, but any water that brings surfers is good for me."

As for Joni's experience with surfing, it stops at the end of the lens: "Sadly, I do not surf," she said. "I swim."

But why surfers in particular, I asked her.

"As an artist I work intuitively," she said. "While the surfer photographs have a documentary and or anthropological aspect to them (which I love, by the way), my original intention was not so much to document the surfer community as it was to continue my exploration and understanding of this place I have been photographing for the past 8 years. In the process of making these photographs however, I have found myself drawn to my subject matter. This past winter I flew to California to photograph West Coast surfers. I'd also like to go to Hawaii to do the same thing."

Another artist photographer, Michael Dweck, known for his images from many upscale publications, rented a house at Ditch Plains to pay nostalgic and erotic tribute to the surf culture in a book of photos titled, "Montauk: The End". Michael spent his teenage years by the beach on Long Island so his nostalgia for the area comes through in his pictures from the book. The book follows the surfers through their daily rituals from early morning wave reports to the evening bonfires on the beach.

"I photograph my obsessions," Michael told me about his art. "I use photography as a way of understanding myself and the world around me. The photographs (of the Ditch Plains Surfers) express my way of looking at the surf culture of Montauk."

With an eye that just touches the edges of the subject matter without taking a literal stance, Dweck's photos also opens a portal into this surf culture that is much, much different than the typical "Surf's Up Dude!" stereotype that we are usually exposed to in the media.

"I want my photographs to bring people into the lives of others," he said. "These photographs are in many ways a celebration of life"

In the past century, media of all types have tried to capture that "je ne sais quoi" of the surf culture. But to really seize the spirit you either have to go out there and get some time on a board, or if you can't do that then watch "Endless Summer", a movie that Ben Marcus says was made to let the world know that, "Real surfers don't sing to their chicks." But if you have to sing then he recommends "Rockaway Beach" by The Ramones. "Not a surf song really," he said. "But it rocks."

Small wonder that so many artists, photographers and writers orbit like little satellites, snapping photos and making art out of a sport that was once a religious ritual.

"It's healthy and colorful and sexy," Marcus explained. "In a way, surfers are like pirates."

Photo by Michael Dweck

Is This Really The End?

On December 5, 2005, known as Blank Monday in the surfing world, Gordon Clark announced the sudden and unexpected closure of his company, Clark Foam, one of the only suppliers of polyurethane surfboard blanks to almost every surfboard maker anywhere. Of the man himself, Marcus refers to Clark as "The Willie Wonka and the Bill Gates of surfboard blanks."

"A day that will live in infamy," Marcus wrote in his book. "With Clark Foam now history, the surf world was forced to reconsider how it made boards."

But with a tradition that reaches back hundreds of years, spans thousands of miles, and has survived Captain Cook, missionaries, B-movies, and environmentally shortsighted developers there is little chance that the swell of the surfing phenomenon will end anytime soon. With the same skill they use to seek the perfect break, the surfers will adapt. No matter what is used to ride upon the waves Surfing is a belief system, one that needs only the ocean itself to inspire.

"Yep," Marcus agreed. "It's a complete addiction to those beautiful waves and the changing weather patterns and the endorphins and adrenaline I call The Liquors of Fear."

The break point is the sacrament. The board is the altar. Beholden to no earthly process that maketh the vehicle of his communion. Thusly, he will come upon the place where the firmament meets the waters. He will carry on his shoulder a plank of wood one cubit in length and lay it down upon the wetness. Not to partake in sport, nay, with but purity in his heart, to confirm his devotion. For it is said in Psalms: He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.

Photo by Michael Dweck

The End

Joni Sternbach's photos can be purchased on her website: www.jonisternbach.com. A couple of her surfer portraits and landscapes are hanging at Glenn Horowitz Bookseller on Newtown Lane in East Hampton.

Ben Marcus served 10 years as associate editor at "The Surfer" magazine and now writes for "The Surfer's Journal" and other surf publications. Ben is the author of "The Surfboard: Art, Style, Stoke", "Surfing and the Meaning of Life", and "Surfing USA!" for Voyager Press (www.voyageurpress.com).

Tom Naro is the chairman of the Eastern LI chapter of The Surfriders Foundation, a grassroots organization that is "dedicated to maintaining and acquiring beach and ocean access rights, to preserve our coastline and improve the overall quality of Long Island's coastal environment." (www.surfriderli.org)

Michael Dweck is an artist photographer. His work has appeared in Vanity Fair, French Vogue, Esquire, Playboy, and many others. His internationally acclaimed first book, "The End: Montauk, N.Y." (Harry N. Abrams, 2004), is the photographic chronicle and nostalgic tribute to that hedonistic surf community. (www.michaeldweck.com)

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Lon S. Cohen has been a short order cook, a Generation X slacker (aka artist), a fence installer, a marketing designer and once he was the only Jewish kid working on a Christmas Tree lot. There is no order to the aforesaid list. He currently works full time but only to pay the bills for a McMansion, beautiful wife and three lovely children. What he really wants to do is write, podcast, blog and drink a really good IPA. Again, not in any order of importance. Visit him at www.lonscohen.com and contact him by email at lon@lonscohen.com.