Jim Goode: 2008

22 December 2008

Tromeo and Juliet

http://www.veoh.com/videos/Dv14261749xHQT8fAr

18 December 2008

04 November 2008

Obituary for my grandfather - Dr. Eldred Carlyle Nelson

Dr. Eldred Carlyle Nelson

NELSON, Dr. Eldred Carlyle Loving son, brother, husband, father, father-in-law, and grandfather passed away October 18, 2008 at his home in San Jose, CA, at the age of 91 with his family by his side.

Born on August 14, 1917 in Starbuck, Minnesota to Carl and Minnie Nelson, he was the second youngest of six children. Dr. Nelson earned a bachelor of arts degree from St. Olaf College in 1938, excelling in Physics and Mathematics.

While at St. Olaf he performed piano recitals presented by the School of Music and played both violin and oboe in the orchestra.

Eldred moved to California to attend graduate school in Physics at UC Berkeley. While attending Berkeley, he was a Teaching Assistant in Physics and, in 1941, was appointed the "Whiting Fellow" in Physics under the supervision of Dr. Ernest Lawrence.

In 1943, Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer asked Eldred to go to Los Alamos, New Mexico and be the group leader of the Theoretical Physics Division for the Manhattan Project.

There he met and married Klaire Aicher. At their wedding, Dr. Edward Teller played piano.

Eldred went on to become the Assistant Professor of Physics at the University of Chicago, 1946-47 whose office was next to Dr. Enrico Fermi.

From 1947-48, he and Dr. Stanley Frankel became partners/consultants in math and physics. From 1948-1954, he was the head of Hughes Aircraft's Advanced Electronic Laboratories and Associate Director, Research and Development Laboratories.

He enjoyed telling the story of working late one night, alone in the office, and having Howard Hughes approach him and introduced himself.

In 1954 he joined TRW as a "start- up company" and worked for TRW until his retirement in 1982.

In 1963, he married Helen Goode, and enjoyed a loving marriage for 37 years, until her passing in 2000.

Dr. Nelson is survived by his daughter and son-in-law, Debra and Michael La Tourette, and their daughters, Kristin and Kelsey, nephew, Dr. Curtis and Nancy Nelson and niece, April Tichnor, stepsons and daughters-in-law, James and Andrea Goode and John and Cecily Goode,
and step-grandsons, Jim and Scott Goode.

Eldred will be forever missed by his friends and family. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that memorials be made in memory of Eldred Nelson to the "19 for Life" Foundation, San Jose, CA (www.19forlife.org). Services will be held at Woodlawn Cemetery in Santa Monica, CA, on Monday, November 3, 2008 at 11:00 a.m.

24 October 2008

A Tale of Surfing Nexpa, by Chuck Hamilton

“You know what’s funny?” I asked my brother Vince. “No, what?” he replied. We were lounging in a post surf daze under the palapa at Chi-Cho’s Restaurant on the beach at Rio Nexpa, waiting on our mango smoothies and juevos con jamon. A high-tide set wave had just crested the concrete and cobblestone slab rinsing the sand from our bare feet. To the left in our field of vision the next set of waves appeared off the tip of the point with the classic shading of parallel ridges. The first wave pitched and began peeling down the point toward us. Mesmerized, we watched as one after another the waves, groomed by the light offshore wind, reeled by with staggered precision. The set passed directly in front of us, then into the bay to our right and the area known as the “liquadora” (or blender), where the wave’s considerable remaining energy would rear-up into a 6’ wall of water and slam onto the sand and cobbles with a loud roar.

Things quieted and with his eyes still glued to the ocean Vince asked “What’s funny?” I had completely lost my thought.

We squinted in silence as several more sets rolled through, left to right. I reflected on the morning session and each wave ridden, and how my outlook had swung 180 degrees just at the wind was starting to do. Our food came and perhaps the salsa Diablo jump started my brain.

“It’s funny how one wave can change you from “hunted” into “hunter” out there.” “How’s that?” he asked.

I explained that the previous night, I listened to the swells exploding on the rocks below my room and could see, from behind my closed eyes, the intermittent flash of light from the lighthouse next door, and was filled with a unique mix of emotions comparable to a child on Christmas Eve and a death row inmate after his last meal.

In the morning we were on the beach checking the conditions in the pre-dawn light. I gauged the size of the swell - big, and assessed my physical state – jet lagged and slightly groggy, and asked myself “Am I ready for this?” I don’t get to surf much. Locals were calling it "a solid 6' swell", but back when I lived in Florida these conditions would have us frothing about the “double overhead” waves for months afterward. The wind was light and offshore with only our host, Juan, in the water. “It’s very important to be the first ones out” he’d told us the night before.

I plunged into the water anxious and a bit tentative. Just off the beach you encounter a powerful side-shore rip that pulls you toward the “liquadora”. Time to wake up and paddle hard. Unfortunately my paddle out was ill timed and I was thrashed by a large set just as I was exiting the impact zone. Duck diving, like riding a bike, is a skill that once learned is mostly retained through periods of inactivity. That said, a good duck dive is no match for a 6’ set unloading just in front of you. I bear hugged my board as the whitewater rolled and bounced me until I popped up in the foam and boils gasping for air. I would stabilize, paddle a few strokes and repeat. By the time I’d made it into the line-up I was cautious and drained. I felt stalked by the waves. Hunted. I paddled past several well formed and catchable waves and stroked toward the horizon as a large set appeared.

Then a beautiful wave rose in front of me and I instinctively spun around, paddled hard, jumped to my feet, dropped down the face, leaned into a bottom turn, and accelerated down the line. There is a physical sensation and a euphoria generated while in the act of riding a wave that is so agreeable and strong that once you’ve tasted it, you crave more. The better the wave - smoother, faster, hollower, the stronger your response. It is the pursuit of this sensation that motivated this landlocked middle-aged man with a wife, 3 kids and a mortgage to impose on my family, travel great distance, spend considerable dollars, and risk bodily harm to experience mere seconds of it. By the time I kicked out of that first wave, I was buzzing with energy – the definition of stoked. “That one paid for my trip!” I yelled to Vince as I paddled back up the point. Now that I had gotten a fresh taste I would paddle harder, sit a little deeper, take off later, stay out longer, and ignore the “wax rash” forming open wounds on my stomach to hunt more waves.

I don’t feel like a “middle-aged” man on most days, but I’ll take it if it means making it to 84, and yeah I guess “mid-life crisis” is an apt description for my obsession with surfing while residing in the “mountain state” of West Virginia. When we arrived here 15 years ago I was taken by another obsession, – snowboarding, that would also strain my marriage and wallet as I blew-off work on powder days and booked trips west to get the real stuff. I could not get enough, constantly checking the weather, tuning my gear and planning trips. I also began dabbling in whitewater kayaking and rock climbing, of which this state has world class locations for both, but pulled back before obsession took hold. My passion for mountain biking is deep and unwavering, but never in danger of graduating to true obsession status. Yet all of these pursuits are local, indigenous, and therefore more easily justified. A surfing hillbilly – how’s that?

Most mornings I check the surf in Florida, Puerto Rico, Nicaragua, and now the Michoacan coast via the internet. Why do I torture myself, knowing that it’ll be months or years before I’m in the line-up at any of these spots? It only makes it worse when I see, through the miracle of streaming video, that it’s “going off” and I start imagining the waves I’m missing. The only time I check our mailbox is when my internal, two month calendar tells me it time for the arrival of next issue of The Surfer’s Journal. Yes I’m obsessed. Is it possible for someone who lives an 8 hour drive to the nearest wave and only gets the opportunity to surf once or twice a year to be a "surfer"? That first wave at Nexpa gave me the answer I was looking for.

I scraped the frost from my windshield this morning and briefly fantasized about a good winter of heavy snow. Then I recalled that a south swell was forecast to hit Rio Nexpa today, and I could picture the palm lined shore with the lush mountains behind, and see a set wave peaking right in front of me. I bet the wind is offshore too.

Todo bien, ch

02 September 2008

surf forecast images

NOAA NOAA/NCEP WAM

CDIP 3 Day Forecast

CDIP 3 Day Forecast
3 day so cal

Current Forecast

CDIP Current Forecast

Pacific Animation Forecast, Wave Height

Pacific Animation Forecast, Wave Period

La Jolla Tides - Scripps Pier

More tides

So Cal Buoys

09 July 2008

Stand Back and blur your eyes

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22 December 2008

18 December 2008

04 November 2008

24 October 2008

02 September 2008

La Jolla Tides - Scripps Pier

09 July 2008

17 June 2008

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