There had been no swell, no waves in the water, for nearly a month. There were rumbles in the surf community that a big swell was coming. And it came. Tuesday morning, 7 AM, I loaded my longboard atop my car and headed to my favorite spot. The tide, wind and swell direction would be just right, or so I thought. When I got there, there was only one other person out. I was yet to discover whether this was due to the time of day or the treacherous conditions.
I am a risk taker with a wild zest for adventure. For instance, the first time I ever got my period, I swam with sharks in the Bahamas. At age 14, I moved to live with my uncle in upstate New York. At 16, I did a foreign exchange in Hungary to study music and the next year dropped out of high school to live with my boyfriend at the time in Amsterdam and study Dutch at the Universiteit van Amsterdam.
The biggest risk I’ve ever taken, by far, was moving to San Diego to pursue my dream of surfing. I was enrolled at the University of New Mexico in my hometown of Albuquerque and nearing an undergraduate degree. Halfway through my academic endeavors I randomly applied to be a ski lift operator at Sandia Peak. I had only snowboarded twice before due to ridiculously high lift ticket prices. Having the ability to snowboard every day changed my life. My depression was uplifted (did i mention I’m moody if I’m not on an adventure?) and I got in great shape. There was nothing like soaring down the majestic beast of a mountain, free falling through powdery snow. Then the snow melted and the season was over. I lost both my job and the only activity I truly loved. I was devastated...
Until I visited an old friend in San Diego and got atop my first surfboard! That was the end of the desert for me. Surf was free, after all, and lasted all season. The endless elation at sea ceaselessly beckoned me, like the forever pounding of the waves along the shore (I could romanticize and create odes to the ocean all day).
I took out a $3,000 student loan from UNM, knowing I would drop out and use the funds to get a place in San Diego eventually. That is, after living on my friend’s couch for nearly three months. To put the importance of surf in perspective, before I found surfing my childhood friend told me, “It seemed like you were always searching for something before you started surfing.” Surfing tamed my previously unruly, forever hunting spirit. I could finally stop looking.
Now that you are beginning to understand my deep-seeded obsession for surf and the ocean (did I mention I call it “the bliss sauce” which I’d marry if only there wasn’t such a vast age difference?), you’ll maybe grasp why I decided to paddle out that dangerous day. There were finally waves after weeks of anticipation. I need to surf, you see, for it keeps me sane, or as relatively sane as anyone can be. It calms my mind, eases my woes, maintains my internal equilibrium, and gives me the greatest sense of joy I’ve experienced. So I suited up and paddled out, despite the fact that the seasoned fifty-something’s and up surfers were watching the water from their cars. I couldn’t help it. I had to go out.
As I paddled the hundred yards or so to where the waves were breaking, I began to understand why there was only one other person out: the current was enormously strong and very difficult to get through. The waves were shifty and unpredictable. I couldn’t catch anything for the first half hour and decided to sit on the inside (closer to shore) where I hoped to have more luck. As I sat there in my most favored of places, Her Majesty Ocean, a rogue, random wave popped up out of nowhere directly in front of me. It looked like an entire hotel or maybe even World Trade Center building was coming right at me, destined to break upon my feeble being. I panicked. I saw the lip (or top of the wave, the part that becomes white) starting to curl over my head. I threw my board behind me and dove as far down as I could. Biiiiiiiiig mistake.
The wave crashed, emitting a sound I heard under the water as explosive thunder. My body began spinning out of control. I lost all sense of orientation, having no idea which way was up or when I’d be able to breathe next. To calm down, ironically, I remember telling myself “Just breathe, breathe, you’ll be OK.” But then, my lungs were cringing for air and I still hadn’t surfaced. I stopped tumbling but now had no inkling which way was up. I felt around for my leash attached to my ankle and walked my hands up it. The surface! Air! What a delight this simple basic necessity of life brought me. Awwwww air.
After regaining my breath, I realized I was only attached to half of my surfboard. The rest of it was nowhere to be seen. I pseudo boogie boarded in with the few feet of board I had left and made it to shore. When I got to my car, I made eye contact with a middle-aged surfer friend who truly appears to be straight out of some classic California film, with long wavy blonde hair and a 60’s VW bus. He exclaimed, “What ya doin out there, li’l pup? I knew that had to be half of your pink longboard floating out to sea.” The other half of pinky didn’t float in for a week.
I learned a valuable lesson that day: respect the forces at sea and know your limits. The ocean teaches me many things that I find applicable to terrestrial life. Sometimes there’s a long lull between fun waves, literally and metaphorically. All you can do is wait it out and be ready when the good times come. Can’t push the river.
So here I am, returning to pursue my previously abandoned undergraduate studies (a huge relief to my family and myself) at SDSU and engaging in the magical delight of surfing. These days I try to calculate my risks and have (somewhat) pragmatic adventures.