This Is the Time I Have, so This Is When I Surf

It’s lovely that people can choose when to surf based on the forecast and once maybe every two months, I get to do this in a limited way, get to pick Saturday morning over Sunday morning, say, and it’s lovely. Charmed.

But most of the time, I’ve got a sliver of time I’m carving out between dropping kiddos and leading meetings so I’m going in the sliver of time that I can seize. Whether the wind is up, whether the seaweed has overtaken the beach, whether I’m solo or with a friend, I’m going. Because that’s the time I’ve got.

Although all I want is to be out there for every glassy, windless 2-3 foot day, with no need to wear a watch because I’m not on anyone but Triton’s time, only being able to go when I can go means I enjoy it more when I score and it’s perfect. Going under any circumstances also challenges you to learn how to have fun and surf even when the conditions are less than ideal: The period are five seconds. The waves are clumpy. It’s low tide in a high tide spot. No matter. I’m in the ocean, my phone’s down, and I’m on my board. Life is pretty good.

I’ve never been a very fussy surfer; it’s always fun to me. But now, those days where I arrive and maybe even the forecast was wrong and I’m staring at rippling glass and tide rising, well I feel like I took the moon. 

Trust your Gut: Be Surf

I woke up on Monday and hemmed and hawed about getting up to the beach but I knew based on the forecast and life it was the best day to go for the next week—offshore, low wind, not terribly cold. I figured if I just started putting on my wet suit though, I would inevitably find myself driving north. That worked (though if I hadn’t had it on when I went up to say bye to Nick, it would have been game over. He’d put the pink salt lamp and the fireplace space heater on and it was the coziest little walnut of a bedroom ever. It was a matter of fierce will not to forgo the whole plan!).

I looked out the window before I left and realized how foggy it was over the water.

Hmm I thought.

My hope was that it would somehow magically dissipate or somehow magically not be there when I hit the beach, but the highway was foggy and as I pulled onto 1A, I saw I couldn’t even see the water from the road. When I reached the beach, I couldn’t believe how socked in it was. I pulled up just north of Rest’s. and I could literally not see the waves. I could only see the water from them crashing to the shore.

Ergh, I thought. I’ll just walk down.

It was spooky as hell, white all around, like King’s The Mist. I walked to the edge of the water and strapped my leash on. I’d never felt so unsure about paddling out. There was Fear and Doubt and a feeling that it wasn’t a good idea.

I’ll just try for one or two, I thought. I paddled out and was completely unsettled. I could barely see my car and the houses on the shore—they were obscured by the thick white gauze of the fog. What complicated matters was I was fairly certain I wasn’t close to the rocks by Rest’s but it was so foggy I couldn’t even see boils on the water if I was close to rocks.

I nabbed two and went in. I definitely found my edge and it just seemed stupid to be out there alone when people couldn’t even see me. If I’d been with Maddie or Steph or someone, I might have felt a little better but I felt invisible and alone and blind.

I stood on the beach as the sun rose higher thinking Am I just being a scaredy cat? but your primitive body speaks to you in ancient wise tongues and I feel it’s important to listen. So I jumped in the car and headed home.