Kook What surfing taught me about love, life, and catching the perfect wave

Journalist Heller's gripping memoir of finding the value of life while shooting the curl off Baja starts off as a disappointing middle-aged man's lament about the lack of love and meaning in his life. Just back from an exhausting assignment in Tibet, he gets a phone call from an old friend in California who wants Heller to come out so they can take surfing lessons together. Reluctant at first to leave Denver and his girlfriend, Kim, he follows the call to this new adventure. At Huntington Beach, Heller violates every rule of surfing etiquette, and other surfers vilify him as a kook, a beginning surfer. Initially, Heller is embarrassed, but he soon becomes so consumed by surfing that he brings Kim to California with him so that she can take lessons; soon, the two are traveling to various surfing locales in California and Mexico as Heller follows the waves. People admire surfers so much, he argues, because they have bowed to a force greater than themselves-the wave-and have transformed themselves into beings who can respond to such power with grace, humility, and beauty. By the end of this powerful memoir, Heller has learned that surfing is not simply about staying up on your board; it's about love: of a woman, of living, of the sea. (July) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

A midlife crisis spurs an adventure writer to pursue surfing.At 45, having just completed a mountain-climbing expedition in Tibet, Heller (The Whale Warriors: The Battle at the Bottom of the World to Save the Planet's Largest Mammals, 2008, etc.) was eager for a new adventure. He found it in Orange County, Calif., where a college buddy proposed that they learn to surf. Neoprene wetsuits and surfboards set the stage for a reckless, overconfident first attempt at Huntington Beach that went awry ("windmilling arms, big splashes") and incited the ire of nearby seasoned pros who recognize a "kook" (beginner surfer) when they see one. Undeterred by bruising and exhaustion, Heller continued even after he'd abandoned the beach for several writing opportunities and returned three years later fortified with a healthy determination to become a skilled surfer in just six months. Though his restless lifestyle had made him romantically undesirable in the past, current girlfriend Kim agreed to join him and the pair married. Heller and his new wife soon became ensconced in the Southern California surfing community, then traveled to Mexico. However, their new adventures were tabled in favor of Heller's participation in exposing the slaughter of whales and dolphins by Japanese fishermen. The author deviates from his waterborne exploits to opine on the state of surfing (a booming "billion-dollar industry") and its diverse culture, and he notes that his time negotiating coastal waters afforded him the opportunity to assess the rapidly deteriorating state of West Coast beaches and coastal erosion. Negotiating riptides and surprise swells, Heller eventually developed a fresh appreciation for "the forces a surfer deals with" and, even as a neophyte, applauded their "prowess and grace." "Surfers are an intense bunch," he writes, "and they love their coast the way they love their mothers."A glib, charming take on a popular watersport. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

WITNESS I had watched the seal catch two waves. Now his head popped up beside me where I sat on my board. I almost fell off in surprise. "Hi," I stammered. He blinked, unafraid and curious. Oh, man , I thought, he wants to be my friend. "Right?" I proffered. The seal didn't seem to be into conversation. He turned his head toward the open ocean, just like a surfer looking for a set. Wow. These are the kind of moments we dream about. He had position on me. I mean that, technically, he was closer to the peak where the waves broke and so the next wave belonged to him. But no rule of surf etiquette said I had to yield to a pinniped. I'm going, I thought. Next good wave is mine. You can catch waves all day long. He turned his sleek head and looked at me with such frank and kindly condescension that I winced. What on earth are you doing in my house? he seemed to say. You are such a kook. Kook means "beginner surfer." It is not a neutral term; it carries a slug of derision, a brand for the clueless, for those without hope, without grace, without rhythm. To be a kook is to be consigned to a kind of beginner's hell. The seal disappeared in a swirl of green water. Good. I always messed up when someone was watching. I needed a little alone time. I sat on the board and focused on the horizon. My ocean-sharpened eyes were hunting set waves--the distinctly bigger, more powerful swells that came like big fat birthday presents out of the Pacific. One was bound to have my name on it. Was that one? Way, way out? Yes! I turned the board and lay down. Ready! Surfers, people who actually knew how to surf, spun their boards just under the wave and took off. Not me. I needed a lot of lead time. I started paddling. My wave might not get here for a while, but I'd have some momentum. The seal's head popped up, not ten feet away. Now he was about to burst with glee. Evidently he thought I was hilarious. He kept his head half turned, eyes unblinking and locked on mine as he effortlessly cruised beside me on my right. Go ahead, laugh! I thought. You won't be the first, but I'm getting this wave. I already suspected he could read my mind, so I added, Big shot. I looked once over my shoulder. Oh, man, there it was, the building wall, barreling in just behind, steepening, lifting. This was it. The wave picked up my tail and shot me forward. Yes! Okay, okay, pop up! In the split second it took to attempt the most crucial move in surfing--from passenger-prone to standing and in control--two thoughts flashed: Anything is possible. And: What the hell am I doing here? © 2010 Peter Heller Excerpted from Kook: What Surfing Taught Me about Love, Life, and Catching the Perfect Wave by Peter Heller All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.