Bookends

The guy from state parks didn’t show up until around 6:10. I was the only one waiting at the entrance. There were two guys already in the water. Their cars were parked on the 101 up at the top of the hill where the parking spots started. If you wanted to be in the water before six, you had to park up there. At this time of year, you could be in as early as five or quarter-past.

I was in no hurry but I was glad to be there at that hour and with only those two others out. I stripped out of my shirt and flip flops, locked up the car and launched into the water in my shorts. It wasn’t great: stomach-high, maybe, chest-high on the sets. But it was clean. And it was just us three and the peaks were spread out enough that we each had all the waves we wanted. I sat outside a bit hoping for the bigger waves and was rewarded with a couple of decent rides. And just before it was time to go, those two guys bailed. I was alone in the early morning surf — and two gorgeous sets rolled through. I caught a wave in each set. My board sliced through the obsidian surface, white foam spraying from beneath the rails. I carved a couple of broad, looping turns, the spray now arcing out over the back of the wave in a great curve. At the end of the second ride, I flopped to my belly and rode prone to the beach, where three guys were putting on wetsuits to head out.

And then I went to work.

Eleven hours later I was back: same parking lot, same shorts, sunnier skies and a lot more people. But they were mostly bunched up near the shorebreak, where they could launch their skateboard moves and hurry back to try them again on the next little ramp. A couple of people were out on the reef, where occasional peaks would rear up out of the slate sea and offer up short speed runs. Every so often, though, a set would roll through that sent people scurrying for the shoulders. I paddled out there.

And I waited. But because there were so few people out there, when those sets rolled in, I was free to choose. And with the tide dropping ever so slightly, I was able to make it all the way through to the shorebreak, where the skateboarders had to watch as I rode past. No, I wasn’t as good as they were, but I still managed to throw some spray and carve some turns. And on that inside section there would be one, final move, an ecstatic toss off the very top of the breaking wave.

It was the perfect way to frame a workday.

To top it off, after returning home this evening, I finished the book I was reading. There was the melancholy sadness that came from knowing I wouldn’t be spending any more time with engrossing characters and unpredictable plot lines, but there was also the satisfied happiness that came from knowing whether or not the protagonist would get out of yet another jam and save the day. And, spoiler alert: the lead, in both my stories, triumphed once again (as I suspected he would) and lived happily ever after.

1 CommentOcean Fun, , , , , ,

A Cruel Mistress

For a whole host of reasons — all of them horse shit so I won’t go into them here — I haven’t been in or on the water much lately. Every time I hear that Counting Crows (remember them?) line, “Been so long since I’ve seen the ocean…I guess I should” it hits home — until I realize I live about a quarter-mile from the waterline. At which point I feel even more pathetic. It’s a wonderfully vicious cycle.

But for that same whole host of reasons — all of them still horse shit so I still won’t go into them — I’ve been making an effort to improve several aspects of my life. And that includes prioritizing water time. That should be the priority for a Pisces, shouldn’t it?

What’s been sobering is that it hasn’t been easy. Well, the actual getting out and DOING those ocean-centric things has been; I’ve been motivating fairly well (see above re: “horse shit reasons”). No, what’s been difficult are the actual acts of sailing and surfing, usually two things that are Zen-like in their mental aspects (at least for me).

Take yesterday, for instance: I went down to San Diego to watch a regatta of schooners go by on the bay as part of a race. It was cool to see these majestic boats cruising past on the breeze that was rolling over Point Loma and down San Diego Bay. Wait, what? Wind? In San Diego?! That’s right: actual freakin’ wind! After the schooners had gone past I motored over to Mission Bay where I rented a 16-foot dinghy and went out to enjoy that same wind.

And enjoy it I did…but it took a while to get there. Tacking out of the basin where the rental boats are tied up, I unfurled the headsail only to have the jib fairlead snap. Whoops. About face…back to the dock. The guys set me up on the other 16-footer and off I went again. Several quick tacks and voila! Past the rock jetties and out into Mission Bay.

I tacked my way up toward the broader, windier part of the bay. And plenty of other people had the same idea: there were tons of sailboats of all sizes, several kiteboarders (including one guy on a foiling board who kept getting yanked clear of his foot straps), a few sailboarders (didn’t know anyone still sailboarded) and the rest of San Diego’s water aficionados: SUPers (both good and beginner), jet skiers, water skiers, booze cruisers, cops…you name it. Hell, out of sight around the one island there was a rowing regatta. It was like both directions of a busy Southern California freeway with none of the lanes drawn on the pavement. Thankfully, nothing drastic happened while I was out there. More damage to the ill-maintained dinghy (topping lift broke and several of the plastic mainsail cars slipped out of the track on the mast) but nothing major.

What was really frustrating, though, was my seeming inability to read the wind. Performance? Hell, I was just trying to keep the sails trimmed not TOO horribly. I mean: there were times it felt like I couldn’t even tell what the hell point of sail I was on.

But before my rental was up and it was time to return to the marina, there were one or two instances where I actually DID get into a groove: the sails trimmed properly, the boat heeling just SO and the hull slicing through the water with a sense of purpose. In those moments it felt like the boat was smiling just as I was.

My return to surfing this weekend was painfully similar. Friday night after work I jumped into the water for a sundown session. The waves were fine: fun, big enough for a heavy guy like me to have fun, not too many people out. Could I catch a wave? Nope. My paddling was anemic and my judgment worse. It finally got so dark that I was the only person left in the water and that still didn’t help. I managed to get worked by a couple of clean-up sets and finally said “to hell with it” and just rode in, prone on my board.

Saturday morning wasn’t much better but at least I wasn’t worried about being stuck out there after it got dark. Of course, it was the weekend so not long after I got into the water, several fat guys on SUPs and even more old guys on longboards paddled out, just to make the maneuvering that much more of a challenge. I managed a couple of rides — none remotely special — and called it a day. I figured I’d go check out the schooners in San Diego…that would be awesome right? You’ve read about that already…

And this afternoon I went to the beach figuring I’d just read a bit and soak up some more sun. As I pulled into the parking lot a bomb set broke on the reef and a rider in each direction enjoyed a great ride. The chair and towel stayed in the car and I paddled out to join the half-dozen guys (a shockingly low number for this particular break) in the lineup.

The swell was solid with occasional sweeper sets that caught everyone off-guard, but other than those the tide made for funky paddling. The waves would stand up and then ledge out in front of you so there was no way to get onto the face and ride. It was a frustrating spell but after paddling for, and missing, a few waves I found myself farther inside. I paddled off to the shoulder of the reef sets and sat for a bit.

And then, what to my wondering eyes should appear (to coin a phrase)? Another of the very infrequent wide sets, perfectly lined up for yours truly with no one else around. A quick spin, a couple of quick paddles and UP! to my feet, driving for the drop-in…just in time for the wave to suck out. The sloping wave that was there a moment ago disappeared and I wound up ass-over-teakettle at the bottom of the sea.

But I’d found my spot for today. A quick paddle back and there was another wave bearing down. I got into this one quicker than the last wave and moved down the line before the section disappeared and enjoyed a high-speed, weaving sleigh ride before the wave shut down. A few more just like that and my frustration from the previous two outings was gone.

I don’t know if the ocean was making my pay dues for having been elsewhere (mentally, emotionally, physically and any other way possible) for the past few weeks, but I do know that this happens every time I’m away from the ocean for very long without a legitimate excuse (injury, illness, living in the high country, etc.). You can draw your own conclusions.

Ocean Fun, Personal, Sports and Fitness

The Power of One

No one will ever be so confused as to consider me a good surfer. The farmer from Iowa, having just driven west across the rest of the continent will, upon pulling up at the beach at South Cardiff, Calif., and seeing the ocean for the first time and finding no one but me in the water amid solid, quality surf, watch me ride a wave and remark, “Well hell, even I can tell that guy ain’t so hot.”

But I do know, more or less, what I’m doing out there in the water. And I continue to go down to the sea upon a board as often as able. When I can’t get into the water — the flu kept me dry-docked for three weeks recently — my life gets off-kilter.

All it takes is one thing — one moment — to keep the ocean’s grip firm. One wave, obviously, does the trick. One wave where everything comes together: my skill level on that day, my fatigue and my positioning; the wind, the tide and the swell direction; the size, vibe and location of other surfers in the lineup. When that happens, when I pick off a set wave and glide through a ride that is a flowing dance with a wave and the wind that created it thousands of miles away, well, the stoke that results is the stuff on which an industry has been built.

Other events can set the hook, too. The pelican that dives headlong after a fish close enough to splash me. A green flash as the sun sets into the horizon. A pod of dolphins passing just a few feet below me in clear water. Venus and a sliver of day-old moon overhead. A thunderhead over the inland mountains glowing orange, red and magenta in the evening sunset.

The prudent thing to do upon experiencing one of those moments is to smile, give thanks and exit the water. More often than not, I try to squeeze more out of the moment, to which the universe often just shakes its head and smiles. Then the good ride on a great wave becomes a long lull that stretches past sunset and into darkness. Or the lineup that was spread out enough for me to work my way into position for that wave becomes a seething hive of aggressive surf-star wannabes boiling the water as it paddles for every slight undulation in the water’s surface.

Occasionally, though, I have the good sense to savor that one moment and know that I’ve just experienced a peak. I’ll ride that high until the next time I get into the water and chase another wave.

Ocean Fun