Reflections of a Kook
I almost died today. On a beautiful brilliantly blue day, the voice in my head said, “This is it.”
I have been surfing on and off for a couple of years now, and it’s on again right now because recent life, uh, stuff put me right back where I started. Square one is not rock bottom though. So taking life by the horns but still flowing with the universal daily dips of the sun, I returned to the red earth of home, to its chickens, to the twinkling sunshine shooting through trees and shrubs, the occasional thunder of an avocado falling and hitting the tin roof of the shed, and the simple mundane sounds of daily existence. This is home.
Several kilometers farther east is home break.
Recent weather has not been really good to the swell, side- and full onshore winds messing up the arrival of the groundswell and its clean sets. But surfing is surfing, so the boys and I still head out whenever we can. We take what Mother Ocean gives. And today she gave this kook rookie surfer more than he could take. Yep, through all those years and months and days, I am still a rookie. I still even cringe when surfer refers to me. You know what you can do and what you cannot when you hit the water and all those aquatic Homo sapiens are zooming past you almost effortlessly like smiling seals and land dolphins.
For over a week now, the home break has been a mess of whitewater with outside sets of hip- to shoulder-high waves swinging like a crazy pendulum. But today was different. The wind shifted due west, offshore. Anticipating clean sets, my brother who was supposed to go on a city trip to see his old lady and little girl decided to delay the trip a few hours for a few rides. Ain’t no temptress like Mother Ocean. I tagged along, closing my laptop and the manuscript I was supposed to be editing. I don’t need much tempting myself.
The tide was low, but outside was firing with beautiful clean sets the break is known for. A few stretches, a few wax rubs, and we’re off, my reef-cut feet complaining. I took some time negotiating the inside rips as I always do, my paddling still lacking that needed power. But I was on the lineup soon enough, sitting on my board, coughing out seawater, and catching my breath.
Then they arrived. A few sets I let pass me by—like life’s tests and opportunities both—because they were too small, I was in the wrong position, or I simply wouldn’t be able to catch ’em. One beaut was coming though, especially for me, I thought. Position check. Down on the board. Start paddle. Position check. Ease paddle. Position check—
“Back! Back! Check the back!” one of the local legends warned. He pointed.
I looked. Another wave was looming over the one I was intending to ride, fast, ten-or-something feet of pure water slab. Too late, I thought. I gave up on my wave, started to head up and over. Too late. I checked the guy. He was heading toward the shoulder, and I decided to follow him then realized it was too late yet again, so I did the next best thing my kook mind could conjure. I bailed and dove.
Underwater, I spun with the wave’s force and power. Board, was my first thought the second I came up. I grabbed the leash and pulled the board toward me. I was good. Another eight-foot beaut was forming. And then kook eagerness took over. I paddled like crazy and heard the wave behind me. I heard its speed too. No time for position check—I knew where I was going to be. In a moment, I was going to be at the bottom. Oh shit.
The world went boom!
The wave broke and crashed right above me, sending me plummeting to the reef, the air in my lungs following Boyle’s goddamn law. I spun like a rag doll then abruptly felt air around me as I realized the wave took me up again. I stole a breath and held on for what I know would inevitably follow.
Boom! I was under again, my feet being dragged by my board, which was being thrown all over the place as well. I spun some more. My brain was screaming, BREATHE! BREATHE! BREATHE!
I opened my eyes to the verdant blue and white enveloping me. I was weightless. Wait, goddamit! I cursed my mind. We’re still underwater!
But my body did not listen. It was not even five seconds yet, and it was already screaming for air. My mouth opened without my say-so, and I breathed water. Pure goddamn salty seawater. There was nothing left.
Shit, this is it, I told myself. And a sense of calm, of peace descended on me. It’s not like what I’ve heard. My whole life did not flash before me. I just thought of it. Yep, not much. But there are people to say goodbye to. Goodbye, world. It has been, uh, yeah—it has been something!
In every wipeout, I’ve learned to quit flailing around—it’s useless, just wasted energy. So I just hung there suspended in the water. Every cell of my body was screaming for air, air, air. My eyes felt like they were burning, bursting, burning all at the same time. My chest felt like it was both contracting and expanding all at once. It was raring to blow, but whether to implode or explode, it couldn’t make up its mind. I didn’t have anything left. But I swung my arms upward.
I broke the surface and forgot to breathe. Stupid. There was no time for that thought though. I was now caught in the inside rip. Another wave crashed on me, sending me under again, swirling, spinning. Up, down, sideways I didn’t know. My gyro quit working.
Yep, this is it, bud. Say farewell. It all slowed down. Peace, peace, peace. That ever-awesome calm of the aftermath, of realizing that there’s nothing left to do but say buh-bye. I didn’t though, and I found my feet striking bottom. I kicked up. It stung. Another reef cut. It’s fine—what’s another?
My board was there, still whole, when I finally hit the surface. I grabbed it and did not care to do anything else. Whitewater whooshed around me, and I rode the board on my belly. I realized I was still forgetting to breathe.
I reached the shallows finally. I stood up, leaned heavily on my board. Saw my brother a few yards to my right, coming up from a wipeout of his own. “Wooooooooohhhh!” he yelled, elated.
He looked at me, smiled, raised a thumbs-up. “I’m going for one more!” he said.
Okay, I nodded. I pointed to myself and shook my head, slashed my hand across my neck a few times, and pointed to the shore—I’m done. I walked on. My brother paddled out.
I almost died today. On a beautiful brilliantly blue day, I met Death and said hello. Tomorrow, I’m surfing again. Not because I have a death wish but because square one is not rock bottom. Oh, and yeah, because surf is life.
hora somni 