The bare slide. Photo: Stéphane Salerno
Standing at the water’s edge, the white foam of a wave ending its journey wetted my toes. Those waves, rising, peaking, breaking. Shimmering under the sun’s rays, danced in all hues of blue. Those floaty, dreamy thoughts got interrupted by a voice. No, not by the sea nymph I was fantasizing about, but by an acquaintance who was coming out of the water, surfboard under his arm and an inquiring expression on his face. “Where’s your board?” he asked.
Ah, that question. The one that always made me grin and sigh. “Here we go again…” I thought to myself. The question that I had so often attempted to answer, and usually in vain.
“You’re looking at it,” was my reply. “Unless the saltwater has blinded me, there is no board to be seen,” he said.
“Well, perhaps what is blinding you is the water gnome sitting on your head and blindfolding you. Or more simply, your limited preconceptions.” He looked even more perplexed. “I’m afraid that…”
“You are indeed,” I interrupted. “Afraid that swaying from the status quo of board surfing might disturb your comfort zone. ”
He looked non-plussed. “Think what you wish,” he said, “but I don’t see the reason to waste good waves on bodysurfing when you could be riding a board.” He knew I surfed on a board on occasion, and I told him so. “You admittedly do,” was his response. “But more often than not, you’re body surfing. And as much as I can understand it’s fun to splash around when the waves are average, when they get good, I fail to see why you would not be on a board.”
This is where we differ, I thought to myself. “Actually, the way I see it, the better the waves get, the more reason I have to bodysurf them. I almost always keep board surfing for subpar conditions.” What I was trying to tell him was that, in truth, I’d rather be immersed in the ocean. That way, I can feel the wave’s energy and flow around me, is only possible when being immersed in it.
“Whatever floats your boat,” he said, still not convinced. “But I guess bodysurfing is often part of a well-rounded waterman’s routine.”
It is so much more than that. “More than just a part,” was my response.
So let’s have a look at the concept of what being a waterman means. To most, it’s a person who skillfully uses an array of surf and water crafts. Whether it’s a surfboard, a paddleboard, a canoe, or a windsurfer, to me, all those activities are certainly a big part of it. I have certainly practiced all of them. There came a point, however, when I started to feel that I no longer needed, or wished to experience the sea via an armada of oversized floating toys.
I no longer wanted to spend either a fortune to acquire or the time to maintain all these toys. Nor did I wish to need garage the size of a warehouse, acting as a temple celebrating material possessions. But above all, I desired to remove any superfluous interface between the water and myself.
That is when I realized what my personal vision was of a waterman: an individual proficiently practicing the core disciplines of open water swimming, freediving and most certainly bodysurfing. Your body and the water. That’s all. A return to the source via simplification and purification. In all honesty, however, not all conditions lend themselves to bodysurfing.
We continued our conversation. “What a boardless session gives me is a complete connection with the elements,” I told him. “With a board, one imposes one’s desires onto a wave. Dominating it through this device in typical human conqueror-type attitude. In bodysurfing, you accept the wave’s flow and embrace it’s movement. You almost have no other choice than to dance with the water as it guides you.”
“And last but not least, I added with a mischievous wink, “I get to wear my bright, scant and form fitting speedos.”
