"Surf Trip 1999" Chaper 13_1

Mr. N was a legendary surfer, admired as the only mentor by Captain Memohab, who once led the local surfing scene in the Sanin region. There is a vast coastline below his surf shop, and with a point known as "N's" tucked away in one corner—a spot that rarely produced waves. When it rained, a small valley funneled water onto the beach, leading to "N's." If sand settled just right beneath the reef and offshore, a powerful regular wave would emerge—a rare spectacle that occurred only a few times a year.
"N's" was, of course, named after Mr. N. One reason might have been that he discovered the regular , but most of the surf points in the area had been pioneered by Mr. N himself when he appeared out of nowhere from the Kanto region in the 1980s. Yet, why this unremarkable location was named after him remains unclear. Likely, there wasn’t much thought behind it.

"This ocean doesn’t produce good waves in summer. Once typhoon season starts in September, the waves get better, but then jellyfish become a nuisance. Winter brings massive, amazing waves, but they’re too cold to enjoy. Only during this brief season can one truly surf here. And this spot is still an undiscovered gem," a man once said. The beach was mostly sand, but a reef bar beneath the surface created a perfect break when sand accumulated, transforming swells into excellent waves.

This wasn’t about "N’s" but a passage from a novel by Kotaro Sawaki, presumably set in the Sanin region. Forty years ago, when Mr. N roamed these parts searching for surf points, such places must have dotted the area. Gradually, names were given to these points—some were traditional names, while others were coined by surfers. Well, at this beach alone, there were four named points, including "N’s." Moving westward, there were "Sun Palace Front" (after a former love hotel), "Kadomatsu Front" (named after Mr. Kadomatsu’s house), and "Parking Lot Front." Surfers, it seems, were fond of casual, uncreative names.
Mr. N himself had a penchant for giving people absurd nicknames, often offensive ones, to the point where many became "victims." Truly, he was a godfather of bad nicknames. Yet no one dared to complain. Mr. N was far from a saint. Virtue? Charisma? Those were as useless to him as talent in hammer throw. What mattered to Mr. N was being a top-notch surfer and constantly pushing his limits on the waves. Nothing else.
As a result, other surfers respected him for tackling colossal waves alone in the vast ocean but didn’t necessarily like him.
Still, there was this one memory Captain Memohab had.
One day, Mr. N, unusually despondent, was sitting silently in his workshop. When Memohab spoke to him, Mr. N revealed that his daughter, who had just started junior high, was refusing to go to school, and he had been called in by the teachers.

"Maybe it’s my bad parenting…"

Mr. N muttered reflectively.
Memohab held back the urge to say, “You don’t parent at all, do you?” Instead, he managed some vague, noncommittal words of comfort. Could this moment serve as evidence that Mr. N had strived to be a good father beyond being an exceptional surfer? That was debatable.

Mr. N passed away the year after the Tohoku earthquake, succumbing to lung cancer in his fifties. In 2001, after Memohab used a surfboard made by someone other than Mr. N for the first time, Mr. N expelled him from his circle. Memohab never saw him again.
Just recently, a small party marking Mr. N’s 13th death anniversary was held at his old surf shop. Memohab visited the place for the first time in 20 years. Only a few former comrades remained, all aged, and none of the young new members were familiar faces. Memohab exchanged greetings with Yocchan, who had taken over Mr. N's shop.
Unlike Mr. N, Yocchan was a kind and capable man, albeit not as skilled a surfer. As a business owner, he was perhaps better than Mr. N. Having been a sailor in his youth, Yocchan had a superstitious streak.

"Since Mr. N died, no waves have come to N’s," Yocchan said, gazing at the ripples below like a Navajo shaman.

Memohab thought it might be due to offshore dredging for sea sand but reconsidered. Remembering Mr. N laughing uproariously as he gave a new surfer of young girl a crude nickname, Memohab thought, Maybe it’s true. Maybe the waves really lost their will to come without him.

"If Mr. N isn’t riding, maybe the waves don’t feel like making the journey either," Memohab mused.

Young surfers, unknown to him, danced to reggae nearby.
Someday, Memohab thought. Someday,decades from now, no surfers here would remember Mr. N. "N’s" would become just an arbitrary name, its origin forgotten. And if the waves had indeed stopped coming, the name would eventually vanish too. That’s how surf points die.
Memohab recalled a trip to Shikoku in 1999.

When he paddled out at Kaifu, a local, looks like Jerry Lopez get shorty, spoke to him.
"I’m from Yamaguchi," Memohab said.
The man glanced at the logo on Memohab’s board and asked, "How’s Mr. N?"
"He’s doing well," Memohab replied.
The man said no more, but he didn’t interfere with Memohab and even gave way to him on the waves.
At that moment, Memohab once again felt proud of his legendary mentor.