======== Newsgroups: alt.surfing Subject: Re: Giddy at the thought. From: jfmill@capecod.net Date: Tue, 03 Feb 1998 15:38:25 -0600 In article <34D5933E.2FEF@nist.gov>, Foondoggy wrote: > > Again last night, TV images of Ventura and Manhattan Piers. This time > waves breaking equal in height to the pier top. One long sequence of > some guy riding, racing to beat the section; forget about style, forget > about grace, forget about form - surfing for survival. The waves were > huge. > > It brings to mind the few times my buddies and I ventured into what by > my measure was big surf, approx 2x ohead. Basically these experiments in > terror and cajones took place in treachorous beach breaks of Montauk NY > and again at Blacks. Each time as we launched ourselves into the fray I > could feel the tremor of fear tingle my whole body, and I fought the > sensation of my bowels going liquid. It was always reasuring to survive > the first thrashing, even if we got pushed all the way back in. At least > we were heading to safety. But credit good timing or strong arms or > determination and we would find ourselves racing out into open water > trying to judge by the disipating foam where the last set went off, > gazing down the line to judge where other sets were breaking in relation > to where we were. Did we paddle outside far enough? Too far? What if we > get caught by the mother of all sets? > > Giddy - a common word which attached itself to everyone who made it > outside. Associated with nervous smiles, stupid jokes and > uncontrollable laughter for no apparent reason except....we made it. Our > giddiness and joy could quickly turn into the "Oh SHIT, Please GOD!" > syndrome as we looked outside and judged by the monster set bearing down > on us that we were about 100 feet short of the outside and were sitting > approximately at ground zero in the impact zone. Tired arms would thrash > like paddlewheel boats on speed, and every eye and every instinct was > tuned to the question, "am I going to make it?" > > When the waves were cooperating and a few of us would get good rides, > our giddiness would turn to delight, even bravado. We'd conquered the > ocean and by association, our fear. We would take off on anything that > seemed reasonable with some assurance, even if we didn't make it, we'd > be back outside for more. Those were heady times, full of high spirits > and full throated hoots for everyone. But there were just as many times > when we would collect on the shore, having spent an hour trying to get > out, staring down at the sand exhausted, heads hung low, when we all > knew the ocean had won this round. Those were some sobering moments. > > So as I see the evening reports on high surf all along the CA coast I > sit and wonder. How long do you stand in the lot, on the cliff, on the > highway and watch before the magnet pull drags you out to test yourself > against what comes along so rarely. Will you measure up? If not, does it > really matter? You tried, you tested yourself and found the limit of > your ability, strength, experience, fear, bravery. There's a comfort in > knowing too what you can't do. > > At this moment hundreds if not thousands of Left Coast riders are > contemplating these ideas as several storms line up to come ashore. > Reports of another fierce Nor Easter gathering strength to blast the > Right Coast probably have our brothers here doing the same thing. These > are extremely rare times when inhabitants of both Coasts can share the > same thoughts. > > Whenever I see one of us scrambling for the horizon to meet a wave, or > survive it, I can't help but wonder, "what are you thinking at this > moment?" I bet I know. It makes me Giddy at the thought. > > -Foondoggy I remember a day, waaaay back, when Cape Cod was closed out. Just plain big, with the outer sandbars a half mile out to sea breaking top to bottom. Paddling out? Hooboy. Most everybody with any sense went off-Cape to a place the other side of Cape Cod Bay, where it was gonna be survivable. Except for three idiots. A former semi-pro pitcher, a guy who used to be a singer in Mexico and this nitwit on a kneeboard. After looking around, break after break, we finally picked Four Mile to try it. If you looked carefully, every now and then there was a hint of a channel. A hint and that was all. Hank and Doug couldn't get through the shorebreak, but I was able to push the kneeboard under the heaviest stuff and make it outside. Waay outside. Doug and Hank were the size of gnats on the shore. Now, I'm not really sure of why I did it, let alone how, but I was out there, cross current going to beat the band and every now and then a peak coming in that was just.......whoooo.....am I gonna make it over this sucker. There is a point you reach, past scared, where you realise that not only can you die out here, it is kinda probable that you will. And yopu also realise that you are really a land creature, not all that well adapted for being on or in the water. Especially water that is waaaaay up there and crashing down with a sound like the end of the world. I knew that if I stayed out there, something was going to happen. And it probably wasn't good. It wasn't getting any smaller real fast. It was make it or break it time, and I picked the shoulder of the smallest wave I could find. Couldn't catch it. Didn't dare get too far in, 'cause they were jacking up fast inside, the takeoff zone for something with a shoulder, any shoulder, was the impact zone for everything else. Tried again-no . And again. I realised it was gonna be one shot and that would be all. If I got caught inside, well, there wasn't much chance I wasgoing to hang onto my board and zero chance that anyone would save my dumb ass. That would be it-I'd get a few moments before I got Rinse Cycled to hell and gone, as literally as it gets. So I watched some peaks real careful. And a few more. And then one came in. Kierkegaard writes about fear and trembling, and I didn't need a whole lot of intro when I read his stuff years later, fear and trembling when you make a decision. There are just some that you make because you have to decide, and there is no going back, you're committed for good or ill. I took the peak, the very barest shoulder of the peak. And it jacked up, so big so fast and time slowed down, every bump on that wave was like a long slowly told story of hanging onto my board and just easing the rail like a jeweler cuts a diamond, with exquisite care and knowing what a mistake will cost. Hanging on for dear life, really for dear life as things got real steep, making the decision to turn in without a conscious thought, just reflex telling me when. My fins getting blasted loose by the white water that I was buried in until I was blasted loose in front of it all. Making it in through the shorebreak-that's something I don't remember at all. Guess I over loaded a bit, just my senses saturated by the idea of getting past it all, the adrenalin making things go dim. Later that day we all got outside. The swell was a short one, gone the next day. It was still big, later in the afternoon, but there were a half dozen out and somehow it was easy. My last wave of the day, at dusk, I was cocky and it wasn't over head high and I charged it, bottom turn and hit the lip at the same time as the backwash and up and over....they tell me I made it all the way around with the lip and was going down the line just before the section closed out- But that's another story- Doc -------------------==== Posted via Deja News ====----------------------- http://www.dejanews.com/ Search, Read, Post to Usenet