Old Laguna Lifeguard: 06/01/2011

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Surf's Up at Wedge

Surf’s Up at Wedge

By Jack Likins

2005

I remember one day during my second summer life guarding in Laguna hearing that the surf was up at “The Wedge” and I wanted to ride the big ones.

This story needs a little background, so here it is. Over a period of time from about 1960 to 1970 there were several graduating classes of water polo players and swimmers from Upland High School who would come to Laguna to take the lifeguard test every spring. Dean Westgaard, who was the assistant football coach at our high school, recruited most of us but his real claim to fame was jumping out of airplanes over Main Beach with his SCUBA gear on and then swimming to the beach under water, emerging as some sort of underwater god. Because of his reputation and our own abilities in the swimming pool, we all thought that we were pretty hot water “men”. I think we thought the ocean was just a big swimming pool with waves. Most of us had learned to body surf “big” waves at Brooks Street on 6-8 foot days. I remember the first time I had the feeling of skipping down the face of a wave on my chest. It was an exhilarating feeling! I could even stay in front of the curl getting 15-20 second rides.

Anyway, here's the wedge story. One day we heard through the lifeguard grapevine that the wedge was breaking. Some of us “men” from Upland wanted to go and ride the big ones so we tried to convince some of the older local lifeguards to come with us, but I think in retrospect, they knew better. Of course we all knew the wedge by reputation, but none of us had ever been there on a big day. We (my brother, Bob, John Whittaker and Gideon Letz) all decided to go the next morning to body surf the really big ones.

When we got there, fins in hand, it was kind of like the commercial on TV where the four guys arrive to kayak a class 5 rapid. After they actually see what a class 5 rapids looks like, they decide if they take a class 3 and class 2 rapids it would be the same as taking a class 5, and they leave (chickened out). The problem was that none of us, except Gideon, were smart enough to chicken out, so after watching for about ½ hour hoping the waves would get smaller, the other three of us went into the water.

The wedge was breaking as it usually does on big days with the backwash coming off of the jetty at about 3-5 feet and the main waves wrapping around the jetty and building up to about 15-18 feet. This combination made the peaks of the waves break with about 20-foot faces moving quickly across and parallel to the beach.

Finally there was a “lull” (about 10-12 ‘faces) so we got up the nerve to go into the water. As luck would have it, we waited just a little too long to get in between sets and as soon as we were past the point of no return, another set started. I was so focused (or was I scared?) on getting out through the white water that I didn’t see the other two guys at all as I tried to swim out getting pounded wave after wave, not quite making the following wave because it was a little bigger than the previous one. Between waves I’d get sucked out just enough that if I swam with everything I had, it continued to seem that it was better to keep swimming out rather than trying to return to the beach. Finally, after about 4-5 waves, they started to get smaller again and I made it out beyond the breaking lines of waves. I was so worried that another set would come that I kept swimming until I was about 50 yards beyond where I thought the biggest waves would break, trying to catch my breath. I looked around for Whittaker and my brother, but they were nowhere to be seen. By this time I was about 200 yards off shore in the rip next to the jetty.

After resting up and getting my nerve back up, I thought I’d better go back to the beach and look for them, or at least it was a good excuse to get out of the big surf. After one of the sets I slowly made my way toward the shore until I got to a wave that I thought I could ride into the shore (it was about 15-16 feet). I took off and got about a 3-second ride of my life until the back wash caught up with me and kicked me out in front of the wave and into a free-fall that landed me just far enough in front of the wave so that its full force came crashing down on my back driving me into the sand and tumbling me so many times that I had no idea which way was up except for the instants when I hit the bottom. It was so shallow that I could almost stand up, but it is also so steep that I could not get a foothold and the outgoing water from the waves would just suck me back into the next bigger wave coming at me. By the time the next wave would get to me, I would be 25 yards off shore again and there was nothing but a 10-foot wall of white water coming at me. After that happened a couple of times, the set passed and I got washed up onto the beach enough so that I could cling to the sand.

I saw my brother 50 yards down the beach crawling up the birm on his hands and knees. I made my way over to him and asked him how he was. He said, “ I was going to yell for help, then I realized that I was a lifeguard and if I couldn’t save myself, then no one else could either”. We got up and started looking for Whittaker. He was nowhere to be seen. Gideon came over and as we were all standing there trying to figure out what to do, Whittaker came walking up from behind us. When we asked him what had happened, he said,” I thought I had died and gone to heaven (he ended up going to Harvard’s School of Divinity so he was not exaggerating). He said that he had gotten pummeled so many times by the waves and swallowed so much salt water that once he got beyond the waves, he thought he had found his salvation in heaven and just kept swimming out to sea. By the time he had realized what was actually happening, he had reached the end of the jetty. He then swam around the jetty and back to the beach on the inside of the jetty.

We all learned that day that we were not the invincible water “men” that we thought we were. We also came home feeling lucky to be together again and with a newfound respect for the ocean and Mother Nature.

Surf’s Up at Wedge

By Jack Likins

2005

I remember one day during my second summer life guarding in Laguna hearing that the surf was up at “The Wedge” and I wanted to ride the big ones.

Big Wave at Aliso and A lesson in Humility

Big Wave at Aliso

By Phil Morreale

May 4, 2005

This is one of my most memorable life guarding moments.

A couple of years after expanding our guarding duties into South Laguna, I had the pleasure of working at Alisos Beach. Can't remember how many towers there were, but I was in the one just north of the pier (I think that was the only one). South swell pounding through and probably the largest I had seen in Laguna for years. Mid week, not a big beach crowd and I pretty much closed it down to swimmers. All that took was to walk down and talk to someone ready to go in and wait for a set to come through. Once that happened, most were thankful that I told them the beach was closed. The biggest sets were getting close to tipping off the base of the pier - huge...

Anyway, late in the day a guy shows up with fins in hand. I had seen him down there many times and he was very comfortable body surfing good size Alisos barrels. He heads out and after a couple of sets, no take offs and he seems to be sort of floundering just outside the surf line. I see the guard Jeep way down the beach to the south (Dave Kerr and someone else) and place a call to HQ that I’m heading out and could use some back up. As I head out, I see the Jeep heading my way with its lights flashing.

The next few minutes go something like this. I swim out and ask the guy how he's doing. He says he's tired and is having trouble timing it to get back in. I suggest we swim in together and as we float up the face of a mid size wave, I see a two or three set wave stacking up. I tell him that we will swim out past the set and once it’s over, swim in together. He agrees and I immediately turn and sprint, head down, for several strokes to get out of the impact zone. As I look up and begin to float up the face of wave number one, I see that he hasn't really moved. He's right in the impact zone and as I watch from the backside, feeling his pain, he pops up and utters a weak "help".

My first thought was to leave him to Dave and the other guard, who are now parked on the beach in front of us. However, I stroke back in and as we are floating up the face of a huge Alisos barrel (you know how awesome those are), I give him a push to make sure he makes it through the lip and into the safety zone. Major mistake as I now proceed to get sucked backwards over the falls and pounded butt first, ala turtle on his back, into the sand. How quickly the rescuer becomes a rescuee.

Fortunately, the set has ended and we swim in. As we come up on the beach, I notice that my shoulder has a welt that outlines the strap of the lifeguard tube. I never knew that could happen, but I had also never experienced an over the falls of that magnitude either.

The beauty of it lies in the fact that Dave and the other guy are just sitting in their seats in the Jeep, laughing their asses off. They proceed to describe how big the wave was and how they saw the lifeguard tube go over the falls and even though they did not see me, they assumed I got worked. I think I made their day. Lifeguard camaraderie at its finest.

Phil

A Lesson in Humility

By Dale Ghere

May 2005

This story was written in response to a letter I received from Phil Morreale explaining how it felt to go over the falls backwards at Aliso Beach.

Hi Phil,

Thanks for the story. I had a similar experience in 1961. Kiwi and I had just spent the past winter surfing the north shore. I had been in some pretty horrendous surf while we were there. One day I was the only guy who would go out with Peter Cole when Waimea was beginning to build. It was big enough when we went out everyone else said they would set it out and just watch. Mike Doyle loaned me his board. I thought it would paddle faster than my 9'10" x 19" would. His board was closer to 11' and was wider. I could knee paddle his board. Peter and I tried to catch a wave for three hours and neither one of us ever caught a wave. They were just too big. When one set broke across the whole bay, as one big shore break, Peter suggested we paddle in before one of us got killed. I agreed. It took another half hour to get to the beach. When we got in I asked the guys how big the waves were. No one wanted to state a size they just all agreed that they were the biggest waves anyone had ever seen at the Bay. During the rest of that winter I rode some very large surf. I felt confident about being in big waves by the time I got home. I had the confidence I could swim out of anything.

Then came the first day of training or the first day of the summer, I can't remember which. Main Beach was breaking at its max. It was one of those days where even the sand crabs go airborne. Even the average waves were causing other guards to back off or at least be very selective. That is when Kiwi and I decided to show them how it was done. We jumped in the water and took off on some waves that had everyone cheering. Just when I thought I had the upper hand on Nature and “the god of the waves” I received a big lesson on maintaining proper respect and a big dose of humility. I took off on what I thought was the biggest wave of the morning. I was being much too casual about the take off and I knew it. Waves that size deserve honor and require proper concentration. I wasn’t doing either and I paid the price for it. I took off, but didn’t really drive down the face hard enough. Then I got this feeling of suspended animation and knew I was getting sucked back into the wave and I was about to go over the falls. What a hit!!! Not only did I hit the bottom hard, but it also held me down and was just grinding my face in the sand. I thought, "Well that was dumb!!!" It hurt, yet I still thought I was in total control. My next thought was, “The wave should be letting me up”. No, I still had not been properly punished for being so arrogant. So I was held down a little longer. Actually it felt like a lot longer. Finally about the time I was thinking that this was enough the wave released me back into the real world of light and air. I couldn’t believe I had almost drowned right in front of the Main Tower with twenty guards watching.

I swam back to the beach and gratefully walked up on the dry sand. No one on beach knew what had happened. They thought I had just duck out the back of the wave. They could not see what went on inside that hollow monster. I accepted the praise for the waves I had taken. I didn't bother to take the time to explain the lesson I had learned that day. As kids we are all warned about getting ourselves into this kind of a situation, too much pride and a lack of humility. In cases like this, the lesson is just made clearer with a little pain sprinkled in to emphasize the points we were suppose to have learned earlier. Rock rescues and cliff training also have ways of causing you to think seriously about what you are doing. It is always good to be able to face fear and still get the job done, but one should do it with humility.

Footnote about the large waves at Wiamea - In those days I needed to prove I was brave enough to face any wave. If I had understood the physics of waves as well as I do now I would have known that it is not possible to paddle into waves of that size. None of the other surfers understood wave dynamics either. The speed of the water moving up the face of the wave increases as the wave height increases. Therefore, in order to paddle into a large wave the surfer is forced to paddle faster to overcome the upward moving water on the face of the wave. The size of the wave that can be ridden is therefore controlled to some degree by the ability of the surfer to paddle fast. Today’s surfers are riding waves too large to paddle into by switching to being towed into a wave by someone with a jet ski. You can be sure that every person taking off on a tow-in-wave is concentrating on what needs to be done. Pain avoidance is a strong motivator.

Roots - Skimboard History

Roots

Skimboard History

By Craig Lockwood – former Laguna Beach lifeguard

Written for Skimboard Magazine in 1989

“What’ve you got?”

Skimboard’ Publisher Ed Contreras was waiting underneath the big oak tree outside the magazine’s door. I’d called 15 minutes before, telling him to meet me.

“A real scoop,” I said. “The earliest skimming photo I have ever seen.”

Contreras eyes widened. “How old?”

“Nineteen twenty-nine. Sixty years old.”

Ed grabbed the faded 5x7’s and studied them intently. “Where were they taken?”” Right here on Main Beach. Local guys.”

“I had no idea skimming was this old. Did you?” Contreras said. I shook my head.

“Always thought it started in the fifties.”

The photos, however, were proof. Documented evidence. This kicked the earlier estimates back by 25 years. And it placed the birth place of the sport – for now- at Laguna Beach.

“Blows me away,” Ed Whistled. “This is so rad. Look at this dude. He’s lined up here. Look at this shot. Setting up for a spinner. Here he is the water.”

“Who is this guy? Is he still alive?” “Ed asked.

“Former lifeguard. Names George Griffith. He’s alive. He sent the photos to me.”

“We gotta do a story on this.” Ed said.

I nodded.

Here’s that story:

Skimboarding’s origins are probably lost in history’s mists. The facts are skimpy. The research is just beginning. I’m no historian – just a journalist. Journalist start their investigation by asking the five W’s.

Who tried skimming first?

When did skimming start?

Where did skimming start?

What were the boards like?

Why did the sport develop?

These questions may never be fully answered. Scholarship – the carefully systematized study of the subject – hasn’t been applied to skimboarding. This may be the first document reference to skimming’s historic origins. That’s called “primary source.”

Skimboarding probably started with bellysliding. Bellysliders use their chests for the planning surface. This was a sport for people with good backs. Bellysliding attrition rate is notably high – back injurywise.

Bellysliding was practiced in Hawaii at the time of Captain Cook’s arrival in 1778. Later, sailors off whaling ships picked up the rudiments. These moves gradually diffused, probably reaching California after the 1849 Gold Rush.

What happened next is unclear. Who was the first person to actually take a board, thro it on the water-covered sand, jump on and successfully ride standing up?

We may never know.

What we do know is that by 1929 – three months before the United States was plunged into the Great Depression – two young Laguna lifeguards made boards and started skimming. Luckily, one of them had camera and documented the event.

As we go to press – these are the earliest know documented photographs of skimming. The “provenance” or historical origin of these photos is verifiable.

Modern skimboarding started on a typical hazy June day in 1929. The place: Main Beach in Laguna Beach. Skimming’s first riders: George Griffith and Graeme Smith. Smith’s nick name was “Jimmy.” Both men – in their late 70’s – are still alive. Griffith is in good health and very active. Smith – whose hearing is impaired – is still blessed with good memory. Two brief interviews with each man were conducted over the phone. Rosemary Smith, Jimmy’s wife of 47 years, relayed my questions back and forth. Rosemary, growing up in Newport Beach, learned bellysliding, practiced it into the 20s.

Griffith and Smith were among the first lifeguards. In May of 1929 they were sent to San Diego to train in advanced lifesaving techniques. While there they saw a saw a man free boarding on and an “aquaplane” behind a boat.

The aquaplane was a tombstone-shape board 6 feet long. A bridle was fixed to the board and connected to the boat. The rider held the line attached to the board’s nose. Aquaplanes were made by Tom Blake, a Santa Monica lifeguard, who made surfboards and rescue equipment.

The innovation Griffith and Smith witnessed was the rider detaching the tow bridle and freeboarding holding only the towline.

The young Lagunans were impressed. Griffith made mental notes on the aquaplane’s construction. Driving back to Laguna they discussed it.

Once home, Smith made a board.

“I got the wood from an old redwood oil company sign,” Smith said. It was about six feet long two feet six inches wide.”

“I made another board,” Griffith recalls. “It was smaller, about five feet long and two feet wide. I used half inch marine plywood. I put three oak battens on it. One on the nose. The other was on the tail and the third about in the middle. These were to hold the rocker and to give it rigidity. I cut a keyhole in the nose that allowed us to tow the board behind a boat.”

Griffith counter sank the screws which held the battens on. He fined-sanded the board giving it multiple coats of varnish.

But boat tows were scarce so Smith and Griffith towed each other. This required a model-T Ford and a long stretch of Huntington’s open beach. Fun, tiring.

“Talk about raspberries!” Griffith chuckled as he described a 40-mph endo.

In June Don “Squeak” Squires, Smith’s classmate from Santa Ana College, showed up in Laguna. Smith guesses that Squires had grown up in Seal Beach – Huntington area. He isn’t certain. Squires – now deceased – was unavailable for comment.

Squires had apparently learned or developed basis skimming technique. He showed this to Smith and Griffith. They proved to be good students.

Developing more advanced techniques of skimming was a natural progression. Griffith and Smith quickly refined the techniques of running, dropping the board and skimming into the wave and turning back to the beach.

In the annals of skimming this is roughly equivalent to inventing the wheel.

Think of it this way: So remarkable was Smith and Griffith’s accomplishment that without it skimboarding wouldn’t be where it is today.

One generation taught the next. Other young Laguna boys caught skim-fever. Ed Hobert – former Chief Lifeguard, now in his 70s – remembers learning on another lifeguard’s board. The year was 1931.

“Dana Lamb made a skimboard five feet six inches long. The board was beautifully varnished and Dana wood burned a design on the deck. That board was shaped like a surfboard, exceptionally fast and maneuverable.”

Laguna Beach always had a tradition of skimboarding. Beach-oriented kids raised in Laguna learned the rudiments on homemade boards. Growing up at Crescent Bay – two miles north of Victoria – I learned.

Later as a lifeguard at Wood’s Cove in the late ‘60s I watched Hendy and his brothers learn skimming rudiments. I kept two round boards in my tower for the local grems. Wood’s Cove is the fifth cove north of Aliso Cove. Guy Westgaard’s dad Dean was a Laguna lifeguard and my supervisor.

Tex Haines – lived one cove up from Aliso. It was here Tex and Guy began reshaping skimming’s history.

Tex has been called the “father” of skimboarding. Strictly speaking- this isn’t accurate. Tex did far more. Tex revolutionized it. He took a beach pastime and guided it into a full-blown competitive activity.

Tex, Guy and Hendy – are lineal descendants of those early Laguna Beach skimmers. These photographs are proof of that unbroken lineage. Fifty-nine years of skimming history.

Roots.

Talk about a true Waterman.

Talk about a true Waterman.

By Tim Houts

December 13, 2010

I remember Earle Wellsfry from my rookie summer. It was my first time running relief. It was either big yellow or solid red flag surf. I come running down to the tower at South Crescent Bay. The guard isn't there. The waves are huge. Thick, heavy waves, as I'd learn later, like that always at Crescent Bay. But, as a rookie, the adrenalin is pumping, and I feel like I'm about to piss my speedos.

I look out at the water, and a monstrous set is pounding through. Inside the impact zone is the lifeguard, Earle Welsfrey. He's holds two kids wrapped in his tube with one hand, and a third tucked in close to him with his other hand. The wave crushes down on them. They disappear beneath the towing white water. Then, a moment later, pop up in waist deep water, closer to shore. He holds his ground with the three against the rush of the back wash, and walks them out, like a giant bear cradling three dolls. One lifeguard. Three rescues.

He comes to the tower. Makes a casual comment. Then laughs a deep, jovial chuckle from his large frame. Strips to his speedos and heads out to body surf during his break, repeatedly dropping in backwards into huge faces.

And later, after I'd become a regular guard working Crescent, often, I'd see him walk down from his parents house up the hill. He'd have a Hawaiian sling spear in one hand, and mask and snorkel in the other. He'd disappear into the water briefly, before emerging with dinner, a nice halibut, or corbina. It was as though he were the embodiment of Neptune himself.

(FYI, my sister Cindy got acquainted with him a few years back, when she found his vacation rental on vrbo. It had been his parent's duplex, right at the top of the Crescent Bay ramp; and after their passing, he came back to Laguna after living somewhere else (Northwest?), bought his siblings out, and moved in with his family upstairs and rented the downstairs. I met him again when Cindy was there, maybe five years ago. I recounted this story to him. As is often the way of the older guard/rookie, he didn't remember me, or that day. But, he laughed his jovial bellow as I recounted it for him. And, he looked almost exactly as I had remembered him, with his large, stout build, and reddish brown hair. And that jovial bellow of a laugh. Classic.)

Stay huge men. Everyday. Charge it.

Tim Houts

A Memory of Dick Johnson

A Memory of Dick Johnson

By John Gill

August 30, 2006

As we got to know each other at the beginning of our tenure at the Laguna Beach Lifeguard Department, I found that several of my fellow guards were interested in backpacking and fishing. Terry Klein, Jeff Masterson, and Dick Johnson all liked to take off for the Sierras and Dick was probably the most avid adventurer after me.

We took our first trip in the early 70’s and kept at it once or twice a year for the next 30 years. Dick’s perfect trip was a 5 to 7 mile hike up to near treeline to camp for a couple of days beside a beautiful lake with a stream running into and out of it. We would set up our camp and then soon assemble our fishing poles to fish for trout.

At the onset, Dick was basically a worm and salmon egg guy at the side of the lake. I would frequently find him leaning back against a tree asleep with his pole in his hand. He really knew how to kick back, relax, and slow down when he got out in the country.

After watching me learn to fly fish and seeing the quantity and size of the fish I was hauling in Dick bought a fly rod and started fishing the streams with me for brook trout. One of our favorite places was upper Green Creek on the East side of the Sierras. While we pulled in lots of big rainbows up to16 inches on grasshopper flies in the lakes we also found a stretch of stream at about 11,000 feet that was consistently good to us for brook trout.

One afternoon we were having a ball catching lots of 7 to 9 inch brookies when a horse packer guide stopped along the trail beside the stream and asked Dick how the fishing was. Dick laughed and said “so good I’ve lost count of how many I’ve caught and released.” As the guide came up to me he asked what fly I was using, and I said “just you’re basic Royal Coachman.”

As the packer rode on by with his mules shaking his head Dick came up to me and we laughed for some time at the expression on the packers face. He must have ridden by that stream a hundred times and never thought to throw out a line with the most commonly used trout fly.

Dick was just a great companion and never complained about the mosquitoes, the cold, the food, and rarely about the weather. The one time he said something was on the third day of hellacious wind and rainstorm at a barren lake at 10,000 ft. It poured rain the whole time and the wind had gusted to at least 70 miles an hour during the first night.

We had spent two nights hanging on to the tent poles for dear life as the storm raged and ebbed. At daylight on the 3^rd day Dick says to me “JG you’re a good friend, but I don’t think I can look at your ugly mug one more day in this little tent.”

We both then agreed that more importantly we were out of rum for our “trail daiquiris” and it was definitely time to pack up and get out of there. We hiked for several hours soaked to the skin back to Mammoth Lakes only to find the road south had washed out and we would have to drive home north through Yosemite. Still not complaining about a 12 to 14 hr road trip home we thoroughly enjoyed getting to see Yosemite’s waterfalls surging with water from our storm (that had finally cleared out) in an unusual late September occurrence.

Dick was a superb companion to head out on the trail with. We always had a great time, good conversation, could relax and admire the outdoors and just plain get away from it all for a few days. Five years since his death we still always remember Dick with our evening daiquiri toast as we enjoy a Sierra sunset and drink to Dick’s words, “It doesn’t get any better than this.”

The year after Dick passed away we asked his wife Jo if we could have a bit of his ashes to spread in the Sierras. We hiked for 17 miles looking for that perfect lake and stream that had Dick’s signature written on it. As we looked at the map half way from Yosemite Valley to Tuolumne Meadows we all thought that Cathedral Lake and Cathedral Mountain might fit the bill. When we found a campsite beside upper Cathedral Lake we knew we where there. We took several great photos that we gave to Jo upon our return.

Several months later at a church function, Jo leaned over and whispered to Jeff Masterson a couple of seats down the pew “how did you know to go there.” “Go where” Jeff asked back. “That lake was the first place Dick ever went backpacking along with me and my family.” We had no idea we had taken Dick full circle and still marvel at how we were lead to that place.

The New Guy Gets a Great Assignment

The New Guy Gets a Great Assignment

By Dan Henry

2010

“This is a god’s beach” pronounced veteran guard, Jack Lincke, in a not unfriendly tone, although he did seem to be suggesting that it was highly unusual for a first-year guard to get such a prized assignment. St. Ann’s was, after all, very popular with the local beach-goers and the lifeguards as well. Not a particularly boastful sort, as I recall, I think that his reference to the deities had more to do with his rating of the beach than any exalted self-opinion. His many loyal fans, however, from the mothers who felt confident that their children were safe under his watch, to the lovely young ladies clustered around his tower, would no doubt have agreed that he was, at the very least, the king of that beach.

There was more that made it a too-good-to-be-true work schedule for a new guy. Two days at St. Ann’s, two at Oak Street and one day walking relief. A busy beach with a lot going on, a chance to watch some first class surfing while on the job at another, and one day giving each guard at the beaches either south or north of Main Beach a thirty minute break was a fine arrangement indeed. I think that it was my brother-in-law, Dale Ghere, who created that assignment for me. Maybe I lucked into it because he was spending a lot of time directing the rookie guard program that year.

In any case, the 18 year-old kid from an inland suburb (derided as “the flatlands” by the locals - a term whose origins I never fully understood) was thrilled to be a lifeguard in Laguna Beach with any sort of assignment at all. I was a decent swimmer, with four years of water polo and competitive swimming experience and I loved to spend as much time at the beach as I could, but I was far from being a competent “water man”. But by the start of the summer season in 1967, extensive, well-designed training provided by veteran guards, many of whom were also teachers in their other lives, had me feeling pretty confident that I could handle most things that might come my way.

That brings us to one day early that summer when my Mother brought my younger brother and a Japanese exchange student for a day at the beach at St. Ann’s. It was a perfect, blue-sky day with a light to moderate swell and a beach full of water and sun worshipers. For a few hours, I went through the standard routine: scanned the water, walked up and down the beach on an occasional patrol, and took a swim or two to keep myself alert.

One of the many topics included in our training was the identification of rip tides (“rips”) and an understanding of the methods used to escape them. St. Ann’s was probably a case study for the training because it had one of the more consistently active and easily identifiable rips in town: that river of foam heading straight out from the beach through a gap in the rock reef after a set of waves of any size at all was easy to see.

So when I looked up to see a young man attempting to swim toward the shore with a flailing stroke and not making any progress, I was excited, but not surprised. I jumped out of my tower, popped my rescue tube when I got to the water, got my duck feet fins on without fumbling too much (as least that’s how I remember it now) and swam toward the tiring swimmer that I now recognized as our guest from Japan. Later I learned from my Mother that she was also excited to see me taking off on a rescue and then much more urgently concerned when she looked around and figured out that it was our exchange student who was moving steadily toward Catalina in the St. Ann’s rip.

The rescue itself was actually uneventful, with the tired exchange student happy to grasp the offered tube as opposed grabbing me or taking any of the other undesirable actions described in our training. I swam toward the beach at an angle away from the rip and we made it back without going over the falls or making a particularly awkward exit from the water. I was happy to have made a successful rescue (possibly my first) and Mom was both proud of me and relieved that we had avoided an international incident.

Memorial to Earle Wellsfry

Earle Wellsfry Died December 16, 2010. I was asked to speak at his memorial service. The following are my notes for the speech.

By Dale Ghere

Talk About a True Waterman.

By Tim Houts

I remember Earle from my rookie summer, 1976. It was my first time running relief. It was either big yellow or solid red flag surf. I ran down to the tower at South Crescent Bay. The guard wasn’t there. The waves were huge, thick and heavy. As a rookie the adrenalin was pumping and I was scared.

I looked out at the water, and a monstrous set was pounding through. Inside the impact zone was the lifeguard. He had hold of two kids wrapped in his tube with one hand, and a third tucked in close to him with his other. The wave crushed down on them. They disappeared beneath the towering white water. Then, a moment later they all popped up closer to shore in waist deep water. Earle held his ground with the three in his arms against the rush of the back wash and walked them out like a giant bear cradling three dolls. One lifeguard, three rescues.

He came to the tower, made a casual comment and then laughed a deep, jovial, chuckle from his large frame. After stripping to his speedos he headed out to body surf during his break. He repeatedly dropped in backwards into huge faces. Wow!

Later, after I'd become a regular guard working Crescent, I would see him walk down from his parents house. He'd have a Hawaiian sling spear in one hand and mask and snorkel in the other. He'd disappear into the water briefly before emerging with dinner, a nice halibut or corbina. It was as though he were the embodiment of Neptune himself.

John Slowsky wrote this story about a 3 ½ mile swim he and Earle made from Victoria Beach to Crescent Bay in 1969.

I remember I finished 30 seconds behind Earle. To be that close to someone who was so good at long distance swimming was gratifying. I have always taken that as a great achievement.

At the finish line his parents were there to meet us. I was surprised anybody would think to support our efforts. I was shocked and overjoyed that someone took the time to come watch us finish. After the race Earle invited me to his home and his mother made us hot chocolate. What a sweet memory.

In 2004 the lifeguard department had a reunion and the following day I spent the afternoon on the Beach with three great watermen; Craig Parsons, Kim Seaman and Earle. That evening when I got home I wrote something about each of them. This is what I recorded about Earle.

The fourth member of the group was Earle Wellsfry, a waterman’s waterman. Big, barrel-chested and strong, he is confident and capable in every way when he is in the water. He is the kind of person who makes other lifeguards breathe a sigh of relief when he shows up to a mixture of turmoil and trouble. More than one person owes their life to the quick and capable skills of Earle. When I arrived at Wood’s Cove Earle was not on the beach. He was in the water with two of his kids: Sam 10 and Sarah 9. They were all in the water free diving their way to Victoria Beach. Later, when they returned, I was told that Sam had found six lobsters on a night dive just a few nights earlier. They had released all of them because it had been just a training dive for Sam. Lobster season will start in October. Earle is getting him ready. This is the tradition of great watermen; they take pleasure in teaching their skills to younger people. This is how a new generation watermen is developed. The baton is passed and the tradition continue

This story was written by Earle in 2004.

Four things Earle learned while lifeguarding

1. Setting priorities

2. Communication skills

3. Courage

4. Once a lifeguard always a lifeguard (you cannot go to the beach and not be a lifeguard)

The rescue I always remember was at Crescent Bay on a big day. It was late in the day and although the beach was packed, most of the people were out of the water. The rips were working, going about 1 block out to sea. The surf was about 10 to 12 feet. I was at the north tower, Digger Ware at the south.

We had been busy that day. Digger was finally able to eat a sandwich late in the afternoon. The sun was coming at an angle that was blinding him with its reflection coming off of the water. He could not see what I could from the north tower.

Towards the end of a large set when water had stacked up at the shore, setting up a massive rip, I saw an 8-9 year old kid knocked off of his feet. No guard wants to dive into the water in front of another guard, but I jumped off my tower and charged towards the water in front of Digger’s tower. Digger saw me, jumped to his feet and spat the sandwich out of his mouth while running towards what by now was a kid moving out to sea, about 40 feet from the shore, in a massive rip. When Digger hit the water, he was about 25 yards or so from the kid who was moving extremely fast, swirling in the middle of the rip. Meanwhile another set was coming in. A big one.

At the waters edge, I realized that if I hit the water as well as Digger, there would be no coverage on the beach. I hesitated. Digger could get that kid. If something else happened, I would get the next guy. My hesitation saved the boy’s life.

In what seemed like seconds, Digger and the victim were about a block out to sea. Digger got to about 10 feet from the kid and the kid went down in the swirling dirty water of the rip. The whole beach was watching. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. So did Digger. He turned around, looked at me and raised his hands in a manner that said, “Where is he?”

By this time, the crowd at the beach that August day was on its feet watching the terrible drama. I hit the water and in seconds I was about half a block out. Digger was way outside. Something made me stop swimming. I briefly turned to look towards shore. The rip was still taking me out. It was my last time to see the shore as a large wave was just about to hit. I wanted to make sure the kid wasn’t inside of me before foam covered the beach.

Just then, looking up into the wave I saw a body silhouetted in the wall of the wave. Going up the side of the wave I had just enough time to grab the body before going over the falls. The body was so far away from where I expected it to be that fear covered me. My thought at the time was, “Could there be more than one body floating out here?”

Adrenaline allowed me to hold onto that kid. When we came to the surface, he was not breathing. I was between the shore and another large wave while being worked by the rip. I was able to give him a puff just before the next wave hit us. I covered his mouth with my hand just as we were tumbled. Happily the foam was carrying us closer to shore. After that wave I was able to give him another puff. He started breathing. By this time, I realized the kid in my arms was the one I had seen knocked down on shore only 5 or 10 minutes before. I started feeling a lot better about life. I am sure Digger was as well!

When I walked out of the water, the kid was in my arms coughing out water and I was receiving a standing ovation from the crowd on shore. The mother and father of this kid were in tears. It was one of the best feelings I have ever had in my life. Once the father realized his son was alive and safe, he ran back to his blanket and tried to give me all the money he had in his wallet.

Now that I am a father of kids about the same age as that kid was, I totally understand his actions and feelings. Thank God that this turned out to be a happy ending. It could have easily ended up ugly.

The following was sent to Earle in December by Rob Patterson.

Please know that you are known as a powerful waterman who inspired many of us to venture out and try to match the power you demonstrated so effortlessly in the surf off Crescent Bay.

For those you saved and for those like me that you inspired on those all-to-scary red flag days I thank you.

When I heard of Earle’s death I wrote the following:

Few men have graced the beach with the gentle courage and strength of Earle Wellsfry. Because of his quick and decisive actions many lives have been saved. Certainly there has never been a more capable person to body surf the giant waves of Crescent Bay. There has probably never been a diver who knew the waters of Crescent Bay as well as did Earle. He has done a good job of passing on to his children the strength of character and belief in Christ he so readily demonstrated through his own life. He has known a great love with Laura. Earle was a waterman who will be remembered by family and friends. His final words to me were: “This is the hardest thing I have ever had to endure, but I gain strength knowing God will take care of my family when I am gone. Goodbye Dale.”

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The following note was written by Earle's youngest daughter just after he died.

The following was written by Earle’s youngest daughter.

Daddy, i will always love you. you are always in my heart, even though you are with the lord now. Rivers of tears are running down my face this very instent. There is no one like you dad. love you

- Grace Wellsfry
12/16/10

What more could any father want from a child? Dale

First Rescue

Note for: Dale Ghere

June 23, 2004

From: Bob Likins

Subject: Laguna Beach Lifeguard Reunion

Thank you for writing me about the LBLG reunion. I heartily agree with your “Once a lifeguard always a lifeguard.” I have an event to attend in San Jose on September 1 but I hope to join you at the reunion on September 2.

Personal Information

Bob Likins

I guarded the summers and spring vacations of 1965-66-67-68-69. Starting pay was $2.20 per hour. I guarded primarily at Emerald Bay but during spring breaks guarded wherever needed including Crescent Bay and Main Beach.

Short Story - - First Rescue

In the spring of 1965 after passing the initial lifeguard test I was doing the practical training that would lead to final lifeguard selection. One overcast Saturday at the start of this training, I was assigned the beach just north (towards Newport) from Rock Pile and south of Boat Canyon. Naturally, even though there weren’t many people around, I was a bit nervous sitting on a tower for the first time.

I am ready in my trunks, sweatshirt and sun glasses with fins at my side and I am keeping a close eye on all going on, which is little. Suddenly from the north end of the beach, up on a condo porch overlooking Boat Canyon, someone is screaming that a man got knocked off the rocks down below and is in the water. It’s cool weather and cold water but that’s why they pay us the big bucks!

A quick call to the main tower and off I run with my fins and rescue buoy. When I get around the rocky cliff I notice the blowhole at the base and it is blowing pretty hard due to the surf and tide. The people on the balcony keep yelling, “man in the blowhole” and I see that a 20 something year old guy is in the water about 20 yards off the rocks. He has been knocked into the blowhole and sucked out into open water.

On with the fins and into the water I go, not even noticing the temperature. I speak with the guy and he is pretty scared and carved up a bit by the mussels lining the blowhole. I present him the buoy, tell him I am taking him around the rocks and into the beach, and do so, helping him out of the water on the beach. By that time the lifeguard lieutenants have arrived and note my rescue. The guy is approaching shock so we wrap him in a blanket and talk with him. He is a young Marine getting his training at Camp Pendleton. After first aid for the cuts and warming up he stops shaking and is ready to go.

I was the only one with a rescue during our entire spring training session so I figured that helped me get the job as a LBLG and I know it made me feel great. This job’s for me!

Tattletale Bribery

Conley Ware – Tattletale Bribery

December 29, 2009

Hi Dale:

Thanks for the update and photos. Woods Cove has always had a special, treasured place in my heart:

The great days when my brothers would challenge the neighborhood to a July 4^thfirecracker/bottle rocket war. One team on Charlie’s big foam boat by South rock and other team on the sand; I was declared too young at first, but then after some tattletale bribery I was allowed 5 Lady Fingers, only to have a cherry bomb ricochet up my pant leg.

We lived in the motel on Diamond and Coast Hwy. In ’65-’66, when John Cunningham and Craig Lockwood were fishing great Hali’s with butter knives, you could still dive off south Rock.

Later, I guarded Woods ’74-’78 with a keen eye on the blow hole. I finally swam all 4 holes in 1 breath in ’74.

…so many fond memories

Thanks,

Con.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Dean Westgaard

Dean Westgaard

By Dale Ghere

2005

The day I was hired to be a lifeguard for Laguna was the first step into a lifestyle that I had never imagined. In the beginning I thought that I would go to work on the beach somewhere, get off work at six and do a little surfing in the evening. Beyond that I really didn’t have any other plans. I only knew one other person in the whole city and he planned to do the same thing I was going to do. As far I was concerned life was looking pretty good.

First year guards made about $12.00 a day in the summer of 1960. I thought I was about to become wealthy. Before the first day of work Kiwi and I found housing in an old restaurant that was located at the entrance to Three Arch Bay. Today the north half of the building is a dental office. The other half became a parking lot. Four of us went together to rent the restaurant. We each paid $30.00 a month. How much better could life get than to live on the beach with three other guards, get paid for going to the beach all day and surfing as much as I wanted?

On the first day of work I was assigned Woods Cove, but when I told them that I didn’t know where it was they decided to place me at a beach that they could just point to. So off I went to St. Ann’s. I didn’t know it, but my life was about to take a whole knew direction. I would meet people over the next few months and years that would help me to mature, to gain confidence, to set life long goals and develop a career. Dean Westgaard would become the catalyst for many of the changes that finally stuck. When I became a guard I thought of the beach as a place to work. Dean taught me that it was a place to develop a life style. There was never a doubt in my mind that he took lifeguarding seriously. He was the one that taught everyone how to improve their guarding skills. Everyday started with him telling stories or getting someone else to tell a story about how a rescue or first aid was handled the day before. He would walk us through every event and reinforce what had been done right and what might have been done to improve the situation. Dean’s primary objective during the day was guarding lives, everything else was secondary.

What began to excite me most about guarding was what people did before and after guarding all day. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months my life ambitions were taking some dramatic alterations. I had come to Laguna for summer employment. At the end of summer I would then return to college. As the summer progressed my goals started to change. All of the other guys were doing such exciting things. I was ready to make some changes.

The door to diving was opened for me. I could not believe what could be acquired with just a short dive. At St. Ann’s beach abs, lobsters, and halibut were abundant. Dean and his family lived just above my beach. He would come down almost nightly and go for a short dive if there were calm surf conditions. I couldn’t believe what he was taking home for dinner. I started diving right away. I found that he made it look a lot easier than it really was. When he watched me collect my first ab he knew that I didn’t know what I was doing because it was a black. He patiently explained the difference between good and bad abalone. I next learned to dive for halibut and then I moved to lobsters. After a while I even found a few scallops.

Dean saw that I wanted to learn all of the beach skills. He next moved me into the old dory that was left near the Main Beach tower. I couldn’t believe the bounty that could be produced with a short row down the coast. This beach life just kept getting better. I got paid for going to the beach; I could surf before and after work and I could collect a free dinner on the way home--lovely.

Before the end of summer I had my new life mapped out. I would guard until October. Then with my pockets full of money I would buy a new rhino surfboard and go to the north shore and ride big surf until January. I would then go to the mountains and learn to ski well enough to get on the ski patrol. I planned to work in the mountains until the snow went away and then I would buy a woody and surf up and down the coast until summer returned. I was on a roll.

When I shared this dream with Dean he started spending more time on my beach. He also invited me home for dinner a few times. Each time we would wind up talking about where I was headed. He asked if I liked what I was doing. I said that this was the perfect life. He then said that I needed to go back to college and get a teaching degree so I could guard during the summers. We had a lot of very long discussions about my goals.

Dean lost the first round of discussions. I didn’t go back to school and I did go to the islands with some other guards. It was an incredible winter. It was my first experience with waves well over twenty feet. I did come home and buy a 1948 woody for $200. I did take off and surf from Rincon south to Mexico, but in the end Dean’s influence was just too great. I went back to school and got a teaching credential. I guarded summers until 1974 and after 34 years of teaching I retired in 2000.

During the first few years in Laguna I thought that I was the ‘chosen one’ that Dean had selected to mentor, but as the years passed by I realized that I was really just one of many that was given that privilege. We all gained from his influence. Each one of us that guarded with Dean felt fortunate to have known a man of his character. That is why the Laguna Beach Lifeguard Headquarters carries his name.

Hopefully every young person has a hero, someone to emulate and follow. The night I discovered that he had died I went to the beach and cried uncontrollably. A friend and a mentor had been lost. I have been comforted to know that his influence on my life would touch both my children and grand children. I miss him a lot.

Over Here Ghere

Over Here Ghere

By Dale Ghere

2005

It was about 10:30 in the evening, towards the end of October, probably about 1970 or 71, when I got a call from the police department dispatcher. Apparently there was a report that someone was in the water off of Oak Street yelling for help and since I was on call I would need to respond.

I put on my Speedos, grabbed my fins and tube, and jumped in the car and head down the hill to Oak St. I figured that I could run all of the stop signs because any policeman on duty would be headed there also. It didn’t take long to travel the three quarters of a mile. By the time I got there several people had already informed the police officer that they had heard someone yelling for help well beyond the surf line. They said the voice had become rather faint because he seemed to be out so far.

None of their stories made much sense to me. It was pitch dark, there was not any surf to speak of and therefore there was no rip. Who besides a diver would be out in the water at that time of night? And if there was someone out there how was I suppose to find him in the dark? There was certainly no indication to either the officer or myself that anyone was still in the water. There had not been another yell for help since either one of us had arrived. The only troubling part was that everyone agreed that they had clearly heard someone yell for help, not once, but several times. I hadn’t taken a board or a light. I had not even taken time to get a wetsuit. It didn’t look like I had very many options open to make people think that I knew what I was doing. I was going to have to get in the water and make it look like I was there to find and save the yelling victim. My heart wasn’t really into getting in the water. I didn’t expect to be able to swim out in the dark, find the victim and return to the beach with the admiration of all who were there. As I slipped off my pants and shirt I asked everyone to shout to the person to see if they could get a response. They did as I requested, but no sounds returned except those of the breaking waves.

I asked a guy to point in the direction that he thought the last sound came from. As he pointed I entered the water and dove under the first wave. I didn’t figure this would take too long. I would just swim out past the surf line, yell a few times and then return to beach. I figured that I would probably have more luck finding a diver who had gotten scared and started yelling in the dark for his buddy. I wouldn’t expect to find them still in the water, but back on the beach, probably at Mountain Rd. or perhaps Thalia St. But for now I needed to do something and this was the best thing I could think of. So out I went. I yelled loud enough for the people on the beach to hear “Is there anyone out here?” Then I swam another 25 or 30 yards and repeated the yell. Each time, as expected, there was no returning voice seeking help. It was chilly, but not so cold that I was in any great hurry to get out of the water. I don’t remember how many times I called out, but I will never forget what happened after my last call.

I had finally swum about as far as I wanted to go when I made the last call. This time I yelled towards the beach. I wanted to make sure that everyone was well aware that I was trying to find the person and that I was not going to give up easily. I yelled, “If there is anyone out here you had better yell now or I am going to leave you here. I am swimming back to the beach.” That is when I heard a quiet voice come across the water from the dark abyss of the ocean, “Over here Ghere.” The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up, every nerve in my body was prepared to send a message somewhere and I was about ready to dance on the water all the way back to the beach. What was happening? Who was in the water? And most importantly how did they know it was Ghere.

It didn’t take too long to get all of the answers and for my heart rate and blood pressure to return to normal. I swam in the direction of the voice and found one of my old beach gremlins from Saint Ann’s having a good time swimming around. He was high on something. We talked for a while and then I asked him to swim to the beach with me so that everyone could go home and know that all was well for the evening. When we started out of the surf I realized that he was naked so I asked the officer to get my towel and give it to him. He couldn’t remember where he had left his cloths so I walked down the beach searching for the missing cloths. I found nothing. Sadly, by the time I got back to where everyone was the police officer had decided that he was going to take him to the police station for being on drugs.

Ten years earlier Laguna was the center of the drug culture for southern California, to some degree it was probably the Mecca for all druggies of that era. The preaching of Timothy O’Leary and the drugs took a heavy toll on the youth of Laguna during those years.

It was several years later before the next time I saw the errant gremlin. Once again our encounter was on the beach, he was visiting Laguna from a halfway house in Costa Mesa. He said that life had been difficult the past few years. Most of the kids made it through those turbulent years and developed good lives, some didn’t.

Old Laguna Lifeguard