This is the true story of how I surfed the biggest waves of my life, and lived to tell about it...
Published on Steemit for the first time anywhere, I've tried to illustrate this story with images that convey some of the drama, magnitude, and magnificence of that day.
It must not have been my day to die...
"A Darkling Winter Day"
Photo courtesy of Tim Marshall and http://unsplash.com
It’s the Wednesday before Christmas, 2005.
The imminent giant swell has been all over the news for days. It's finally here, and I'm champing at the bit to get out and surf it.
Having lived in San Diego County since the 1970's, I'm not surprised by the swell. It seems that December and January are typical candidates for "the big stuff."
I somehow manage to persuade my son to come along and film me.
He's using a Sony camcorder with impressive zoom capability; unfortunately, it's a real bear to tell "who's who" in the miniscule black-and-white viewfinder.
Sony Camcorder
Photo courtesy of Laura Lee Moreau and http://unsplash.com
We go in separate vehicles so he can return home at his leisure; he knows I won't be ready to leave when he is. If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times; "On any given day, the hardest thing I do is get out of the water."
My quiver is not very large.
I own a couple of shortboards, one nine-foot fiberglass Teas Custom Longboard, and a Mike Doyle Softboard made of foam. There is no question in my mind which board I'm taking out today; my Doyle Softboard.
Mike Doyle Softboards; mine was most like the board on the left.
Photo credit: http://www.mikedoyle.com
In the monster conditions I'm expecting to see,
the Doyle is definitely my tool of choice. Why? Simply because it's the least likely board to whack me over the head and put my lights out.
I've never been out in conditions this big, but I have been working up to it. I seem to learn best by trying new things, gradually pushing the envelope just enough beyond my comfort zone to stretch my skills.
On a BIG Day, Waves Appear to Fall Very Slowly
Photo courtesy of Max McKinnon and http://unsplash.com
The scene at the break is surreal.
On a good day for surfing, you'll likely see a flock of surfers out in the lineup and two or three spectators watching from the cliffs. Not so today.
A Long Cliff Overlooks the Surf Break
Photo courtesy of Yux Xiang and http://unsplash.com
The normal situation is reversed.
Today, the cliff is packed with "lookie-loos" of every description, and only a handful of surfers out in the lineup. There are no parking places to be found nearby. We have to park a block or two inland.
While my son parks and gathers the video equipment, I cross the street and find a place to eyeball the break. What I see is rather daunting.
"A lifeguard cruises back and forth on his jetski"
Photo courtesy of http://pixabay.com
Outside, a lifeguard is cruising back and forth on his jetski.
Sets are coming in fairly regularly. The steady offshore breeze called "Santa Ana" is blowing. This tends to keep the incoming waves smooth, holding their faces up and blowing spray outward from their crests.
When watching empty ocean waves from the shore, it's very hard to determine their size. If the waves seem to be moving in slow motion, that's a clue they are much larger than they appear. Today, the waves are triple overhead or larger; in other words, you could stack three or four upright surfers -- one on top of the other -- between the trough of the wave and its crest.
"The waves are triple overhead or larger..."
Photo courtesy of Anton Repponen and http://unsplash.com
As I size up the situation,
I see guys half my age trying to paddle out, but instead being pushed back into the cliff...
Nonetheless, I'm determined to give it a go. Even though winter is upon us, I would normally be wearing only trunks. Today I've made the concession of wearing a neon yellow rash guard. This is so my videographer son will have a prayer of spotting me out in the lineup. Wave height what it is today, the lineup is perhaps twice as far from shore as normal.
Waves are washing over the lower stairs.
I wait for, then think I've spotted, a bit of a lull. Timing my entry very carefully, I leap in.
I paddle a short way northward, and manage to catch a wave reflecting off the cliff. The retro-wave carries me outward fairly quickly. Stroking with all my might, I begin to think I'm going to make it outside in one go.
My optimisim is unwarranted.
A sizeable wave crests in front of me, but too far away for me to make it over the top. It crashes on my head instead, pinning me down in a"spin cycle." I come up, gulp some air, and resume paddling vigorously.
"A sizeable wave crests right in front of me"
Photo courtesy of Austin Schmid and http://unsplash.com
Purely by the grace of God,
after a long and tiring haul, I somehow make it past "the strike zone."
The scene is truly eerie... There are so few surfers out here, I feel as though I've joined an exclusive club. It's a relief to be able to catch my breath for a few minutes, far enough out to avoid the repetitively crashing mountains of water.
All too many waves are "closeouts," pitching over and falling all at once. Finding a wave with rideable form could be difficult.
As I rise and fall with several incoming waves, I try to gauge them, to understand them, to take their measure.
"You could stack up three to four upright surfers."
Photo courtesy of Anton Repponen and http://unsplash.com
From the rising crest of wave after wave,
I feel as though I'm looking down from a three story building.
Far below, I see two or three surfers in the distant trough. They look very small from up here.
I've rested enough; it's time to put up or shut up. One or two more waves go by as I struggle to choose the right one to take. I know that, when I commit, there is no turning back. I had better choose well. Finally, I see the one. Paddling like mad, I catch its crest and begin my drop. And what a drop it is!
Dizzyingly high, fast, and steep, I struggle to my feet in time to crank in a bottom turn to the right. Going right is my only choice, as these waves are almost all "walls" with briefly open right-traveling faces. My first wave is no exception, beginning to close almost at once; no sooner have I turned right, than, looking high above, I see the lip starting to pitch forward.
There is nothing for it but to veer left and try to get out ahead of the massive waterfall racing to catch me from behind. Success, but only by the skin of my teeth! I am still upright, a ragged mountain of white foam nipping at my heels.
As soon as I can, I turn back ocean-ward. Diving under the whitewater, I come up and start to paddle outward like mad again. Once more, undoubtedly by God's kindness, I make it back outside.
"Looking high above, I see the lip starting to pitch forward."
Photo courtesy of Jeremy Bishop and http://unsplash.com
My second wave is much like the first;
huge, terrifying, and invigorating. However, there are a couple of interesting "twists."
As I make the drop this time, I am holding the rail of my board all the way down to the trough. This drop is so steep, I'm afraid I'll wipe out if I pop up any sooner.
Once again at the bottom, I finally rise to my feet. I turn right and see the top of the wave already pitching out ahead of me. This time, however, after turning left, the wall of whitewater catches me from behind and knocks me down!
Thinking it's all over, I am surprised to come to my senses and find that I'm lying on my back, still on my board. I am skimming shoreward at a rapid pace - a chip of flotsam racing on the reforming wave, once more ahead of the foam.
With a grin of sheer delight, I rise to my feet again and, regaining control, I steer toward the base of the cliff. Thankful for my amazing experience, and grateful to still be alive, I make it back to the steps and exit quickly to avoid being slammed by the next wave.
Without a doubt, these were the two biggest waves of my life.
I can't say they were the best, but they were certainly the largest waves I've ever ridden. Big, fast, menacing, and — from the instant of take-off to the end of the ride — over very quickly. I wash up, wrap up in some warm clothes, and stick around for a while to watch other surfers, younger and more skilled than I, conquer many of the remaining giants. I remember one impressive right that carried an amazing athlete almost all the way to Palomar Airport Road!
During the next couple of days, the swell backs off to the point where it is no longer "life-threatening." I do, of course, return for those days to enjoy many wonderful, memorable, "amusement park quality" rides.
However, I shall never forget "Big Wednesday," and I hope I've managed to convey a small taste of that thrill to you.
Here's a video taken that day at a beach somewhat further south of where I surfed. Notice how deceptively slowly the waves appear to be breaking...
I hope you've enjoyed my surfing story.
You can read many more if you check my Topical Table of Contents, linked below.
Thanks for your time and attention.
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This post is intended to count towards @dragosroua's Challenge30.
I have very eclectic interests and hope, over time, to write about all of them.
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