It just keeps getting better. Photo: Tim Marshall//Unsplash
About four years ago, I frequented a specific surf break, mostly because it was a quick drive in the early morning. Then we moved, and I fell in with a new lineup. I’ve mostly surfed that spot ever since, and I’ve learned a lot and met some great people.
Recently, the only entrance to said surf break temporarily closed, and I was forced to return to my old stomping grounds. As I paddled out amidst the regulars, I felt a lone spotlight shine on me, and I thought about how slippery the concept of time is, and how the way we experience it changes as we grow older. Four years had flown by, and I vividly remembered early sessions at this place: the way the sunrise gathers on the bluffs behind the beach and turns them gold, the “secret” wave that occasionally appears, way over to the left. However, on this day at least, I didn’t recognize anyone anymore — and no one recognized me.
The place hummed with a different vibe than I was used to. The crowd was thick, but lot of people were sort of just hanging out, chilling and talking. It was a smaller day, but there were set waves that arrived every so often, and as I looked around, I realized that no one was really in position, or even that concerned with snagging a few before work.
Not to say I surf at a hardcore spot with an intimidating tribe of locals, or the break a few blocks away where adolescents crank airs in hopes of being pros. But where I’ve been surfing, people don’t talk much. If they do, they squeeze it in between sets. We’re focused on getting our waves, and an element of competition reigns, which I dig. Let’s put it this way: no one’s out of position, and if you are, people will grab your wave while you sit there, trying to figure it out.
After a few minutes of internal debate, I paddled out the back and sat further out than everyone else and waited for a set wave. When it came in, I looked around. A few people looked puzzled, a few spun slowly around, and a few paddled out to make it over the wave. One guy, on the shoulder, sort of looked at me with an eyebrow raised.
I paddled, turned, went. A fun, loping right.
I paddled back out, assuming I should let other surfers get into the takeoff zone: no takers.
So, I sat there for a couple of hours. The set waves were fleeting and there was a lot of waiting, but it was a treat — and a bit of a shock — to have them at my disposal. At one point, I began to feel like greedy jerk, so I let one pass…and no one went. Instead, on my left two guys discussed the finer points of surfboard design, and the longboarders to my right were happy with the inside rollers.
At one point, I spied a nice left coming, and I paddled as hard as I could to where I needed to be, thinking someone would get there first. Instead, people gave me strange, sidelong looks, like: where’s he going so fast?
To be straight, I’m not slighting beginners, or anyone. I’ve had my share of rough and/or kooked-out surfing moments, especially over the last few years.
The revelations kept coming. Between sets, I glanced to my right and noticed a guy on the shoulder, paddling his ass off and missing waves. He slapped the water in frustration.
The more I watched the guy on the shoulder, the more I realized that he was me four years ago: pissed off, slapping the water, not understanding that I needed to move to a better spot, needed to challenge the lineup that, at the time, felt bigger, stronger, fiercer.
I didn’t know the break, I probably brought the wrong board half the time; but more importantly, I still hadn’t harnessed the feeling, the sensation when a set appears and you inherently know where to go and when the wave will break.
I don’t do that many things right in surfing, but over the years I appear to have learned something about focus and awareness. I keep my eyes peeled. I watch the surface all the way to the horizon for the glimmer of a possible wave in the far distance. And, I get more waves now, which is really the point of it all, right?
So there I was, getting waves. Having fun. Chatting with some people, and realizing over four years, I’ve become a different surfer, and that when we change as individuals, we look at what was once normal and routine from a different angle.
The act of surfing can lead us towards varied revelations, and in this case it showed me that even when we don’t realize it, we’re always changing. Always evolving.
Always moving. As I sat there, grinning, more memories of surfing the spot flooded back. A bad collision, sure, but also the pack of guys who patrolled the peak back then. Big. Grumpy. Stoic. Hats on their bald heads. White beards. They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to. I irrationally resented the sheer number of waves they racked up as I scratched away on the shoulder.
These guys wouldn’t let you have a wave even if you were in position — instead, they’d give you the evil eye, or worse. Hell, on some days I hated them.
I also admired them.
In that moment I saw myself in a new light. Hat on. Beard sadly turning white. Mid-length quad. Sometimes cranky when I don’t get a wave for a while — or before coffee. Prone to possibly giving the evil eye.
Damn it.
At one point, the guy who’d been pinned to the shoulder moved deeper, into position. A set wave came, and as I stroked into position, he churned his hands as if they were on fire and looked at me with a harried expression , one I remember very well. “Should I go?” his eyes said.
“All you, brother!” I pulled out and watched him arc down the coast.
Then I smiled and sailed out towards the next set.
Always evolving.
Always moving.
