I Heart New Jersey
Swell Pulses, Jersey Surges And The Crew Is On It
by Zach Weisberg

I love New Jersey.

After a mixed bag of personal experiences and the acceptance of a few negative stereotypes, I never thought I’d say it. But after the last couple days, it’s hard not to. Let me tell you about the day that put the nail in the coffin.

It started before sunrise - dreaming of swell and the fall lineup pictures I’d seen but never felt. Then Sam woke us up.

Sam Hammer has it together. My eyes were still sleepy-closed as I stumbled to grab my stuff, and he had already warmed up the car and made breakfast and coffee. He was alert, and ready to get in the water.

We checked a few of his local spots, and it looked great to me. The offshores were lightly puffing; the air was cold; and the well-groomed waves were avalanching over a two-foot sand bar.  But the locals were grumbling.

“I thought it’d be bigger,” said Sam.

“I give this a two,” said Zach Humphries to Andrew Gesler and the Ocean City crew who had ventured north for the swell.

I’m not sure how overhead, barreling waves qualify as anything less than awesome on a scale from one to ten, but I like the fact that these guys are so uneasily impressed. Even in Cape Hatteras the locals weren’t satisfied with the macking swell that slammed the coast during the Battle of The Banks.

That understatement is something I like a lot. It gives the impression that both places are frequently perfect, and both sets of locals are badasses. While a few weeks ago I may have been skeptical, this trip has made these two conclusions become more and more believable.

As far as locals go, Jersey surfers are fearless. Zach Humphries, Sam Hammer, Dean Randazzo, Andrew Gesler, and the whole pack pulled into any and every barreling wave they could find in the eight or so hours we surfed. It didn’t matter if they were headed straight for the jetty rocks on an eight-foot closeout: they were going.

After passing the morning hours this way, we headed to Surf Taco as a Jersey-surf unit. To give you an idea of Sam Hammer’s status in this area, in the two meals we have eaten with him, his money has been refused both times.

“The owners take care of me,” he shrugs.

They take care of him, and he takes care of Jersey surfers and lucky guys like Patrick and me. His hospitality extended even further when he took us to our second destination for session number two.

We walked over the dune, and an A-frame hurled onto another shallow sandbar. Two guys were out.

The A-Team rushed the peak, and the morning momentum carried through the evening until finally not a sole was left in the water. A good hour of daylight remained in the fall evening, and although hollow, overhead waves peeled to shore, not a surfer lingered in the water.

No one had a good explanation for it either. And I don’t have a good explanation for leaving New Jersey.

- Zach Weisberg
Online Editor

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