To Read a Wave: Assessing Close Outs, Rights, Lefts

When I first started surfing, I recall that the surfing veterans around me astounded me with their ability to judge waves. “This one’s going to close out—watch,” they’d say. And I would believe them and watch, astounded, as they called it right nearly every time. I looked for clues in the water that would allow me to see what they were seeing but I couldn’t. “This one’s a right,” they’d say. Or, “This one’s a left.” And again, I would watch the approaching liquid energy and think how the hell? when the wave would roll through and they’d be right. What sort of blessed divination were they gifted with? I wondered. It went on this way for years, this proven prophecy followed by my impressed headscratching.

Then last year, I started surfing nearly every day. I’d been surfing a lot before that, or what I considered a lot, but it was 2018-2019 that the obsession really took root and I prioritized it over essentially everything else in my life. Drive, zip, wax, run to water. Drive, zip, wax, run to water. Like a repeating sequence in a movie.

And last week it dawned on me that I was calling waves, without even thinking about it. I was sitting in the pocket and I realized I now know, mostly, when to go left and when to go right. I now could pull off a wave that I realized was going to close out, or not even paddle for it to start. It was a moment of sunshine. I realized that the year of being in the waves, watching the waves—it had given me that secret, invisible knowledge that the other surfers had so shocked me with. It was a 10,000 hours moment, one for which the only guidance and curriculum was this: Surf as many hours as possible.

It’s the only way.

Warm water, bare feet, sloppy joes

We’re back in business people. The beaches are open, as I mentioned in my previous post and it’s ON.

The two months the beaches were closed, I swore I’d be out there as often as possible and I haven’t let myself down. In FACT, June 1, I started a challenge to yoga, meditate and paddle every day. I haven’t been 3/3 every day but I’ve been nearly there and it feels really good.

Enforcing this challenge for surfing has been the strangest and most surprising part. I’m going to be honest—sometimes it makes going surfing feel like a chore. That’s typically just the feeling while I’m driving up to the beach, and by the time I’m paddling out, that feeling has dissipated but it’s interesting. My theory is that so much of our lives feel controlled or forced in some way and surfing, for me, has always been a portal to absolute freedom, that adding it to the list of “things I have to do today” robs it of some glitter. Having it constrained in some more rigid way has felt awkward and strange to me and, quite frankly, not great but the moment I’m in the water, that grouchiness is gone.

The big win this week was jumping into what felt like bath water yesterday. I don’t know which generous water god sent currents of warm aqueous bliss up the New England coast but I bow to you and light a candle in your honor. I jumped in gloveless for the second time this year and couldn’t even believe it. I quite literally stayed out longer because it was so goddamn warm and just putting my hands into the water that typically numbs them within seconds was amazing. Today was a bit colder but I said fuck it, and went booty-less anyway. It was cold at first but I was used to it after five minutes or so.

The waves once more were chunky as they’ve been this wk, with short periods, but they had some power to them. Some great sets rolled through that I just wasn’t in the right spot for but I had a sweet drop on one wave that left me marveling at the distance between where I was a couple years ago and now. There’s just this confidence and faith that I’ve got this when I’m standing at the top of a wave that could only come with so much time on the water.

Happy place. (C) Sara Dyer

Beaches Open. Back Surfing.

It was this article, shared by my buddy and fellow hard core beach bum Steph, that sent me cartwheeling around the room with a shit-eating smile on my face last week. The countdown to the beaches reopening to surf had begun.

Monday couldn’t come fast enough. I didn’t give a damn that Magic Seaweed was boasting a less than fair forecast. I had to get out there.

I jumped in at Long Sands for the first time in over two months and immediately felt that inner boost. My first wave, I caught a left, which sent me over the moon. I’d almost felt sure that I’d come back and lose everything I’d worked on over the winter.

Wednesday, I drove up to Long Sands and had to keep driving north, as it was almost unsurfable—sloppy and choppy. Short Sands had some rubber suits but I kept driving north, as it was low tide and I knew the spots that might be working. Peeeeeeeling waves just north of York and I was so stoked that for the first time, some local earned knowledge came in handy. After a long paddle, and a sweet wave, I got my ass handed to me when I got caught in the inside. I tried to paddle back out but, afraid of how gassed I was getting and knowing I’d been on the bench for two months, I decided I’d save it for another day.

Which was today! Happy day at Long Sands w Maddie. Love sharing waves with her. Just north of restaurants was perfect and I was so sad to leave the 80 degree weather for the computer but it was just the beginning of warm water.

The silver lining of not surfing for two months is that it’s almost 4/3 time, and the water’s actually started to warm up. Life is good.