Tales of the Baja

T. Palos

Description

Call me full of... nonsense. Tell me you don't believe it. as one that doesn't believe in the 'Green-Flash'.. Until you see it personally.
Have you ever wanted to leave this world of proper living as we've been groomed to believe is the way to be happy? Check out these guys. Read a chapter a day while on a vacation break. You will need to ponder what is being said in the story.

Sujets

• Anthologies
• Collections
• Fiction
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 16 avril 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798823002660
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

TALES OF THE BAJA
T. Palos


AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]
 
 
 
 
 
 
© 2023 T. Palos. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse  04/11/2023
 
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0267-7 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0265-3 (hc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0266-0 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023904088
 
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
CONTENTS
Free Previews
Key Note
 
Chapter 1 A Requiem of A Legend
Chapter 2 Turn Over The Seat Cushions Marina We Have Company
Chapter 3 Nate Oliver Alias ‘Tex Ludie’
Chapter 4 ‘Dapper’ alias ‘The Poser’
Chapter 5 A Well Dressed Surfer
Chapter 6 Fire Rhythms I Had No Dance
Chapter 7 Take Me ON
Chapter 8 Long Ride Home
Chapter 9 Reminiscing
Chapter 10 Get Me Home
Chapter 11 The Equinox Of The Fall A Silver Lining
Chapter 12 You’ve Got To Want It
 
Endnotes
FREE PREVIEWS
He went down that day... then out- “GONE!”. Not put down, like, “taken out by another,” be it a bullet or an irate vehicle. Not taken out of this Earthly existance, like, returned to the Lord in fondness of his of his old age. NO, he went away ‘Surf-riding’ with his life to the end of his time.
He was not sure to believe his eyesight. After all, it’s 7:00 am and he has ‘jet-lag’ from the three day trip to get to this desolate god forsaken place. A skinny, weathered, leather-skinned man in an old, sun-bleached and holey-frayed ‘Dewey Weber’ t-shirt, wearing dated trunks and ‘flip-flops; “this is my uncle?” A Nephew would think the man would have more respect for himself.
KEY NOTE
Remember it’s fiction.
Remember – this is one short book of a trilogy.
Call me full of... nonsense. Tell me you don’t believe it. As one that doesn’t believe in the ‘Green-Flash’.. Until you see it personally.
This is how one should read and absorb the Tales from T. Palos.
This was written for people to escape the boredom and repetition of the real everyday life.
The blurred pictures are a reflection of the well used mind of T. Palos as his recollection of long ago fades.
The Tales presented on these pages are loosely arrainged from stories and events that I’ve collected and remember in my mind during my lifetime and wanted to put together before I forget with ‘old-timers’ disease.
I hope you will escape the box and enjoy the Tales as much as I did in presenting them.
Thank you Christopher Stone, JRR Tolkien, Herman Melville, Steinbeck, Hemingway, Miguel De Cervantes, and the many others, for sending my mind away from TV in the evening and night hours of my youth.


CHAPTER 1
A Requiem of A Legend
He went down that day... -then out- “GONE!” Not put down, like, taken out by another, weather it be a bullet or an irate vehicle. Not taken out of this earthly existence, like, returned to the lord in fondness of his old age. No, he went away surf riding with his life, to the end.
I was there-
It was a fine clean edged ride. I watched from the take off through the point, when the golden ray of the sun shot across the water and joined the tubing, cresting lip, meeting in a golden rainbow, engulfing his board and him. I watched the wave turn and whip itself into the fine-edged race way and plume into a rainbow of all colors imaginable, twice it’s size. I watched the warm Chubasco off shore wind blow the wave back out to sea and thus dissolve into unseen molecules.
Dissipating ‘Red’ also.
I caught the next wave. It rose and broke the same. It was around 6’, enough for a slight squat ‘quasi-moto’ stance, leaning on my left foot with my calf muscle and thy for speed. And I pulled out 1/4 of a mile down the beach. The point was a solid corduroy scene of waves, maybe 13 perfectly spaced waves. Each breaking as perfect as the next.
I looked in both directions along the shoreline twice, Red was gone! Maybe he just never pulled out. My life was not the same after that. Nothing miraculous, because there have been other pivotal moments. No, it’s more about focus, what’s important. Did I age or become ageless? Life that was accepted as important and responsible was not a reality to me anymore. I guess my life hadn’t been ‘normal’ for some time and now I began to accept it. What’s important... I’m talking about the years I devoted to preparation for the dream- then to make it real. I guess some people, like the super-ego surf-pros know, well, do they realize, I mean the truth, what we surf riders do?
Can I describe it, being a ‘Surfer’? With a word... fantastic. Much of the rider’s drama is not seen, it is felt, which boarders on not real to most people. There is a surf song and the only word spoken is ‘surfing’. It’s a long-boarder’s song. Scientifically, surfing is connecting, riding, Cosmic energy.
Some local Mexican fisherman found Red as they were beach combing for lost buoys a day after the three day swell. We drove his 1947 Buick Roadmaster Estate four wheel drive Woody down the beach at low tide to pick him up. Of course ‘Tex Ludie’ complained about having to buy the gas. We said, “Well why did you buy it?” We knew the answer, he always paid for gas because he had no vehicle. Tex Ludie is doing good now, as far as finances are concerned. He gets $700 a month social security from the United States, deposited in a Mexican bank called ‘Banco De Surfen’ in a town about two hours away. He retired too soon, and it equates to a low to moderate lifestyle here.
He didn’t look too bad, Red that is. No crushed head. A few fingers and toes were eaten off and encrustations were moving into a lot of his orifices. I didn’t look everywhere, he still had his crimson surf trunks on. That should be good for some manufacturer’s add-
“Stays on even to the death”!
Everybody who was anybody in Reds life as far as we knew was there, so we decided to do the deed, the right of passage from this realm, right then and there. Besides, no one wanted to lift him up. Dapper went back to town in the 1950 Jeep Wagoneer to tell the news and get beer and provisions for three days, the length of time we would have with a chest of iced down brew. Oh yes, this was going to be a proper surfer’s send off!
Can I describe it? Surfing; what we do? What about sound... the steady drowning hum. You know, some know, moms know- the sound that puts their babies to sleep. Even the sound makes people tired. A surfer first must hear the earths cosmic hum then practice to be strong and not tire in order to push farther into the energy. Out to sea, that energy can screech and howl and roar as in a hurricane. We surfers are attracted to these sea-spawned typhoon melodies.
I rode my first hurricane with Red. It was 1967 I think. He was known as ‘Fin-First-Fudge’ back then on account of his antics in a crowd of surfers. He liked to paddle into a wave, the bigger the better, fin first and do a helicopter 180 degree spin of his board down the face of the wave before doing a bottom turn in front of a group of wide-eyed surfers. I didn’t know him personally then, but anyone from the area knew his style. We were surfing ‘Trestles’ and the waves were averaging in sets of three to six waves. Our long boards were shorter than the wave faces, there was still two more feet above the wave on the bottom turn. I watched ‘The Fudge’ take off four yards farther out than the pack. He stood up quick and turned high, hard and with a full long-board rail, with his back foot maybe six inches in front and on top of his single fin. By the time the offshore wind plume spray began to form up the face of the wall of wave, he had already walked jaguar like to the nose of his board and, just to show that he could, he hung half of his left foot and all five of his toes over the nose of the board. He carved his line outside the first three guys. He pulled his foot back and used both feet to hold about thirty inches of front inside rail up high, far in front of the curl. Oh the sound of the crashing wave hissing rhythmically! The heaving breath of some seven surfers paddling hard to get over the top of the oceans surge, and maybe make it out to one of the other set waves, and yes there it was, the incessant drone from mother earth’s womb. There was a ‘whop’ sound and the spray from ‘Red’s most incredible turn as he changed rails and direction in a full rail carve. His Jacobs three 1/4 inch redwood stringered, 9’ 8” Phil Edwards shaped craft, with the red rails, put a bit of cautioned panic in those who seemed to be in his way. He always had red boards and later earned the right to wear red trunks. And then there was the sound of those waves that day... like a huffing freight train inching up a valley as the salty lip peeled from top to bottom. He was far out in front of that curl.
I followed his every move that day and hence my position for the next wave in the set was impeccable. I tried to concentrate on my take-off and stand up but the noise from his wave and the one behind mine was brutally distracting. First, there was the hiss of the plume and Red’s fin spray changed the color and tex