Drew Kampion's profile on Santa Barbara's futuristic wave-ski rider Merv Larson ran in the May 1970 issue of SURFER. This version has been slightly edited.

You can see for yourself when Rincon is breaking good, or Secos or Huntington when they’re on. He works out through the lineup on his butt, sitting on a foam cushion, buckled into his seat belt, working a double-ended paddle, with his feet stuck out in front of him and fastened into the stirrups of his surf ski. If you paddle up and ask him what kind of a board that is, chances are he won’t answer. Not because he’s uptight. Because he doesn’t hear you. For within the plastic shell of his helmet, Joe Cocker is wailing through “Hitchcock Railway.” And when he’s listening to “Hitchcock Railway,” Merv Larson ain’t pickin’ up nothin’ else.

Merv is a lifeguard. He’s been doing it for fifteen years, since he was 14. He likes it. Spends his life in his massive off-white Ford Vanette, a mobile unit that he has outfitted to suit the needs of himself and Dingo, his German Shepherd. At present, Merv is stationed at the Leo Carrillo State Beach Ranger Office, right where Mulholland Highway hits PCH, near Secos. He has attained the rank of Lifeguard Supervisor.

Merv Larson is no less amazed than you are that you haven’t heard of him. “I’ve been doing these things on the surf ski for years, and all of a sudden everybody is beginning to notice.”

What Merv Larson does on his surf ski is as visually exciting, maybe even more so, than what George Greenough is doing on his kneeboard, or the top conventional surfers on their surfboards. You might say that Nat Young and Jock Sutherland probe the outer limits of performance on their feet. Greenough does it on his knees. Merv Larson? He does it on his ass.

Not to take anything away from it either, because for high-performance wave riding, nothing can top the ass for balance and stability. In fact, says Merv, “In three years, I’ve never had to swim. Some people are afraid of these things because you’re strapped in, but the effect of a wipeout is a lot less than it would be on a regular board.”

Merv began regular surfing around the time he began lifeguarding, at 14, and did that until he took up the ski a little over three years ago. And he became quite a good surfer. Then he discovered the ski and found that whole new worlds of performance opened up. “I still haven’t found out all the places this thing will go.” He has, however, discovered quite a few.

“What I do is wetter than surfing,” says Merv. Once you’re on a wave you become a lot more involved. Actually, it’s a cross between mat riding, bellyboarding and surfing. The only thing the ski can’t do as effectively to change directions as quickly in some instances.” Still, the ski—at least as operated by Mr. Larson—can make turns of sufficient intensity to boggle your mind.

With the aid of a paddle, Merv can get into waves early, gain extra acceleration when needed, and come into his bottom pulling more Gs than anybody else in the water. The ski is finless, so turning becomes a matter of edge control and using the paddle. Merv’s ski is all edge in the rear, and it works. The closest thing to Merv's bottom turning is Reno Abellira on his best day: low and deep, with ruler-straight water-flow spraying off the rail.

The ski then draws a curved line through the pocket to the shoulder. Here Larson again throws the paddle into action and brings the ski screaming back around (shades of Nat) and charges back at the tube, banks off the underside of the lip (Billy Hamilton?), comes over with the tube (Greenough), then drives out from under the white water. At this point, even when the wave seems impossibly far ahead of him, Merve can pick up speed in the flats (Joey Cabell) bringing him back up into the pocket (Jock). And all without exaggeration, dear reader.

“The thing that’s going to eventually make it for the skis,” Larson says, “is the man-made wave. That'll really turn this thing into more of an acrobatic deal. All these things I’m doing were invented three or four years ago: tumble turns, one-eighty turns, Eskimo rolls.”

Eskimo rolls? (Could have sworn that was Eskimo Pies.)

The Eskimo roll is probably the most amazing move in Merv Larson's bag of tricks, and he does it only in very critical wave-riding situations: “It’s done at the top of the wave so that speed is minimized and my sinuses don’t get filled with water. It’s not actually riding inside the tube; it’s letting the wave roll you over.” The result is freaky: Merv jamming off the bottom, blasting into the lip (Brad McCaul), the lip comes over, Merv goes upside down, the tube collapses, squirts, and spits Merv out the end. Conventional board riders see it and tear out their hair.

Surf skiing began with the Australians, but they forgot the seat belt bit, so they were always getting blasted off their skis and swimming for shore. The belt was Merv’s idea and is now used on all California-made skis. As far as we know, Australians are still getting blasted off theirs.

There are some hang-ups with skis, however. For the rest of us, anyway. Paddling a ski back to the lineup is super fast, and this can raise tension with surfers. “It’s hard for ski riders to exist where there is a heavy surfing population," Merv laments. "If a skier isn’t careful, if he rides too many waves, guys turn hostile. You have to hold yourself back and let surfers ride their share.”

Merv Larson is also concerned about preserving his amateur standing. He shuns commercialism, professionalism, and all the other dank corners of the sell-out world in order to maintain his amateur standing so he can compete in the Olympics in the K1 and K4 Kayak Flat Water competitions. The Olympics is as important to him as anything in life.

Yet Merv Larson considers his custom waterproof sound system to be his greatest contribution to 20th Century Living. The one that makes it impossible for you to get his attention in the water. He carries a small pack with a super-high-quality transistor radio encased, runs a plastic tube into each ear pocket of the helmet, connects the tubes to a special ear insertion mechanism, and the rest of the world is replaced by Joe Cocker at high volume

“Having the music is so fine," says Merv." Like last week at Rincon. The surf was small, there was a heavy crowd, and a lot of people were unhappy. I didn't mind at all. I had my music going and everything else was separate from me. The secret is to eliminate all outside sound. It’s not just enough to have the music; it has to be 

 the music. Then everything is fine. Except when you roll a wave and the sound turns into a static fuzz while you’re underwater.”

Merv Larson is a man alone in a world of tension, strife, conflict and chaos. He has created his own place in that world, both within himself and within his environment. In fact, he has produced his own environment. One in which he can operate free from hassles; where independence is the most important thing. That’s why, when you see him at Rincon on a good day, flowing with it all, you shouldn’t get uptight if he doesn’t respond to you. You are simply not part of his environment. You are not part of his life until he wants you to be.

[Photos: John Severson, Glenn Fye, John Severson]

"THE NEW ADAM," MERV LARSON PROFILE BY DREW KAMPION (1970)

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