The Ghost Of Waxed Windshields Past

While localism in the U.S. has largely been eroded by social media exposure and litigious outsiders, will some version always live on in surf culture?

- Ashtyn Douglas-Rosa

“This is the road where locals would move cars,” said Leroy, as he crossed a winding, two-way street overlooking the ocean. Leroy, a second generation surfer at one of the most notoriously-localized spots in the U.S., told me about how, when he was younger, older locals would occasionally grab the bumpers of an unwelcome visitor’s car, lift the vehicle off the ground and carry it into the middle of the road where we now stood.

“Non-locals would come back from surfing and be like, ‘Why is my car sideways in the middle of the road?’” Leroy told me, throwing his hands in the air to imitate one of the thoroughly-confused victims.

It was such a narrow road that even one of those cartoonishly-small Smart cars would have seriously impeded the flow of traffic. I wondered how many unlucky, dripping wet surfers once stood where I did, fumbling with their hide-a-keys while getting angrily honked at by a line of irate drivers—and all for paddling out at a spot they were not welcome.

As we reached the other side of the street, Leroy scanned the waves. Leroy—which isn’t his real name—has spent the majority of his life surfing a wave we’ll call Spot A, located just a short distance from where we were standing. Growing up, he acted the part of what most people would think of as a typical “aggro local.” He’d throw rocks and yell vulgarities at visitors, wax the windshields of unfamiliar cars and even fight with non-locals over their real or perceived missteps in the lineup. He did all this in the name of protecting, in his eyes, the best wave in the area from becoming overcrowded or generally “disrespected.”