The custom Illinois plates on the white 1992 Toyota minivan read SURFUN 1, while the license plate holder proclaims STOKED. What a wannabe! How could a Prairie State vehicle even try to duplicate any semblance of coastal coolness? Where does the driver surf? Lake Michigan?
I had heard rumors, echoes really, that there are people who surf Lake Michigan. Like some mythological tale passed down by tribal elders, this seemed a heroic yarn conjured up to bring hope to landlocked midwesterners like myself. I collected shreds of newspaper clippings that joked about the novelty of surfing the lake. And then I encountered someone who actually does it.
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He and his longtime surfing buddy Pat Cooper, who lives five miles north in Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin, are discussing the ins and outs of midwestern surfing, or I should say the ups and downs. Obviously the surf is not up this afternoon, or we would not be hanging out at Steve’s house. Pat, 42, is tall with brown eyes and slightly tousled dark brown hair. He has two teenagers.
“In 1990, for the first time, I kept a surfing journal,” Steve says. “That year around here the surf was up 95 days. That’s one out of every four. I was out 90 of those days.”
Another major obstacle is ice. As in icebergs, ice mounds, ice floes. Just getting across the beach from Pat’s warm ’64 Volkswagen bus to the water can be hazardous. Pat points out that the ice can also ding their prized $475 fiberglass boards. “But when the waves are beautiful . . . ” He shrugs a “who cares?” shrug.
“There are several hard-core guys there. They have good parties,” Pat clarifies.
“Any time the phone rings,” Pat says with no hesitation whatsoever.
