Meet Your Neighbor: Cheryl “The Shreddar” Woodhouse

You go through life and you make friends, you lose friends. Some stay in your memory, some stay in your life. Some you simply forget. One I’ll never forget is Cheryl Woodhouse, aka “The Shreddar.”

“Shreddar” is a surfing nickname bestowed upon her by her surf peers, a group of mothers who decided to take up surfing 25 years ago. They were known as “Mothers on Boards,” or “The MOB,” for short.

It didn’t take long for some of them to realize surfing wasn’t an easy sport to learn. Some men were borderline hostile to them in the lineup, but Shreddar quickly distinguished herself as, if not the best lady surfer out there, then as the winner of more “Best Wipeout” trophies than any surfer in local history. She just couldn’t resist the biggest, most closed out waves of the day in the 20 or so Jimmy Reilly Longboard Memorials she surfed in. And, she made sure they knew, that everyone knew, the Shreddar was here to stay.

I’m so honored to have her as my friend. No matter how busy I get, how rude I can become, how many times I turn her down when she calls and begs me to join her for a surf, no matter how often I scream, “I’VE GOT WORK TO DO!!!” … Cheryl is there.

Her birth name is Cheryl Ann. Her father named her after a tugboat, of all things. “She’s the light of smiles,” as Paramahansa Yogananda would say. She never fails, never says no, never is too busy to hear my complaints and whining … and sometimes, sometimes, I get a midnight text: “Sis (she calls me ‘Big Sis’), are you watching this Bogart movie on Turner Classic Movies?”

This wonderful wife (her husband is longtime Coronado resident Donnie Woodhouse) and mother of three marvelous children (Ian, Nolan, and Avery), crochets woolen caps for her friends to pass the time. Like many of us, she learned her people skills working at restaurants. She has taken that talent to new heights, as anyone who knows her will attest.

Once, years ago, I took her to Old Man’s (San Onofre) on a big day. She laughs like the Joker on the Batman TV series. And when we paddled through the lineup of grizzled old big wave veterans, she let out one of those laughs and said, “Sis, let’s go way outside, like Phil Edwards used to do, and wait for the big ones.” Phil Edwards was a surfing legend in the ‘50s who had always inspired Shreddar.

I was too late to stop her (she paddles twice my speed), so I slinked embarrassedly into the pack of vets, red-faced, and waited my turn to catch an inside wave. Some of the old guys were making jokes about the dumb broad with an unharnessed laugh. I just stayed quiet. Then it happened …

An unbelievably big set rolled through and caught us all by surprise. All, that is, except the Shreddar.

She turned, sunk the tail of her board into the face of a double overhead wave, and it spit her out and down that steep face. As she went past us there it was … that Joker laugh again … “Ahhhhhhh haaaaaaaa haaaaaaaaaa haaaaaaaaaa haaaaaaaaa ………”

The old guys shook their heads and we all focused on the big first section closest to us as it noisily collapsed. We could only watch from behind, but we, to a man, figured the dumb broad with the crazy laugh ate shit at that point.

And then we heard that laugh again. Only this time she was way the hell down the beach – maybe two hundred yards from us – and tearing up what was left of that beautiful set wave … up to the top, roller coaster down to the bottom, up again, a slight walk towards the nose, a spinner.

She was merciless, and she rode it all the way to shore. As she paddled back out she turned to me and said, “Sis, did you see my wave?”

I immediately turned to the old guys, sat up straight on my board, and said: “That’s my friend… the Shreddar!” And I said it with all the pride of a new father.

We surfed for another two hours without any hassle from anyone. Shreddar tamed the pack with that one wave. Everyone wanted to give her waves. Everyone wanted to meet her later on the beach.

Shreddar and Woody live in the Coronado Flats, down around Sixth Street and Pomona Avenue. Anyone reading this, when you hear the laugh, when you see her in the lineup, or even walking her dog Cota in the neighborhood, introduce yourself.

The Shreddar is one of those people who will change your life for the better and never leave your side. Believe me, she WANTS to meet you. She wants to infect you with her goodness. It’s just the way she is, and thank God for that. I’ll say it again: “Thank God for the Shreddar.”

As Yogananda said, “I will light the match of smiles. My gloom veil will disappear. I shall behold my soul in the light of my smiles, hidden behind the accumulated darkness of ages. When I find myself, I shall race through all hearts with the torch of my soul-smiles. My heart will smile first, then my eyes and my face. Every body-part will shine in the light of smiles.”

You are the poster child for the “Light of Smiles” metaphor. Thank you Shreddar.