Monday, August 30, 2010

Surf's Down

Not me.  Not even close.

Let me begin by saying that I feel infinitely cooler carrying a surfboard.  I'm not sure what part of lugging a long awkward board down the boardwalk to the beach does it, if it is the additional glances you get from passer-bys or the feeling that you have somehow been inducted into some exclusive underground club   a culture that looks exclusive as hell from the outside   but I know I walked with my head held just a bit higher as we strolled to the beach last Sunday.

The feeling didn't last.  You quickly realize why surfing seems so cool to the rest of the tourists and sunbathers on the beach:  it is a pain in the ass.  The ocean is not a forgiving body of water.  For someone who is used to calm lakes in northern Michigan and the occasional trip to swim in one of the relatively tame great lakes, the Atlantic ocean might as well be on a different planet.  Even on calm days the waves have enough power to knock you backward as they crash onto the shore.  But with hurricane season upon us and a storm having swept northward through the Atlantic, the waves were higher than I had seen them in my entire stay in Virginia Beach.  Surfers love hurricanes, because if they aren't directly in your area they are making enough noise out in the ocean to raise the surf to dangerous levels.  All the flags on the lifeguard stands were red as we picked up the boards and made our way to the water.  They were red for good reason.

When we went out at first there was just two of us, both completely new to surfing.  My friend Joe had a slight leg up on me since he is an experience snowboarder.  My only attempt at snowboarding ended with a trip to the ER and a separated shoulder.  Don't think that wasn't in the back of my head as I started to paddle out.

Our crash course in surfing 101 was terrifyingly brief.  "Keep your leash on.  Don't ride someone else's wave or they will have a few choice words with you  Paddle with the wave and try to stand up when you feel the wave begin to lift you."

"That's it?" I thought when the friend of a friend we borrowed the boards from finished up with, "Oh, and have fun."  Joe and I shot each other a quick glance of confusion and worry over this sink or swim method of instruction, then grabbed the boards and made our way in, determined to make the best of it.

You can easily tell who is a surfer and who isn't just by the way they carry themselves.  The air of confidence they have as they stroll to the water, walk the board out and paddle far enough out to sit on the board and wait for the perfect wave.  Conversely, even the most clueless of the tourists on the beach could tell I was woefully unprepared as I struggled to harness the leash around my ankle as I was standing a foot deep in the water and the waves pushed the board away from me.  I was fighting a battle against a leash that was too small and the surf that even ankle deep wasn't going to take any shit from a first timer, and I was losing both.

Once I was strapped in I began to paddle out.  The choice waves are tough to get up on, and even tougher to get past for the inexperienced surfer, and there were a few times I was thrown backwards just as I thought I had made it to the crest and would make it down the other side.  One wave hit me so hard that it threw me backward, and then threw the board fin first into my elbow, knocking the feeling out of half of my left arm and hand.  Had I not been able to see that part of my hand still attached, I would have swore that I lost it somewhere in that wave.  Even a day later my fingers tingle and my elbow aches.

Finally I began to make headway and get out past the bigger of the waves.  Now it was time to try to ride one.  I turned the board so it pointed toward shore and waited for what I thought was a suitable wave.  Not knowing what I was supposed to be looking for, I paddled with the first wave that I saw, and fortunately I was right, it was a big one.  Unfortunately, before I was able to get my body off the board and into a standing position, the wave had grabbed the back of the board and flipped me end over end.  Getting dumped was exhilarating.  The waves were powerful and fast, and it made me even more determined to harness one, even as I spit a pint of sea water out of my mouth.

Beaten and queasy with sea water, I gathered myself and made my way out for another attempt.  This one ended much the same.  My body catapulting off the board on the power of the wave rising up behind me.  This happened a couple more times, but I was beginning to get my bearings.  I knew what the waves I wanted looked like, and I knew what they felt like.  Now I just needed to know what it was like to get up on one.

After making my way back out, I saw the next wave and began to paddle with it.  I felt the back of my board rise, and I started to pull myself up as I noticed a flash of color coming toward me from the left.  It was another surfer, already up and riding down the wave as it crested.  He hit me at full speed and we toppled over in a mess of arms, legs, and boards.  The hastily made leash that was rigged up that morning came unattached and after sorting myself out of the aftermath of the collision and assuring the other surfer that I was okay, I swam to shore, frightened that the board I had borrowed would somehow be sucked out to sea, to wash ashore somewhere in New Jersey.

As I waded in I saw a man pluck a board from the shallow surf and set it on the beach.  I knew it was mine when he made his way over to me.  "Are you okay man, I saw that guy come down on you," he said to me, as he motioned to my marooned board lying on the beach.  I told him I was fine, and wanted to ask if he had seen my pride wash up somewhere with the board.  As I went to check on the board a lady nearby laughed at the state of the patched together leash and told me in no uncertain terms that I couldn't possibly take the board back out. Beaten up, bruised, and still hungover from the night before, I agreed with her whole-heartedly.  I grabbed the board and walked through the throngs of people to our spot behind the lifeguard stand.  This time my head was held a little lower as I walked.

This is not a tale of redemption.  I put the board down for the rest of the day.  The ocean beat me on Sunday, and I will admit it.  However, this isn't the end of the fight.  It is merely the opening round.  I'll be back another day, when the waves are a little lower and the beach a little less crowded.  I've felt what it is like to be part of the surf culture, and I've felt what its like to get swept up by a wall of water, if only for a few fleeting minutes.   Next time I'll be a little more prepared and a little less uncertain.  I'll ride that wave.  Next time.

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