Surf Lessons
It was a bright Saturday in February. The air temperature was around 40, and the water temp slightly lower than that. The last time I’d been out in the surf I’d had a problem with my leash tangling up both my ankles, so I spent a little extra time on the sand making sure the boots and the leash were secure. I stepped into the water and, as usual, felt nothing more than the pressure of water on my feet and legs.
I took up surfing in the fall, and most of my time in the water has been since January. Surfing is thrilling and adventurous: paddling out over the breaks, finding my launching spot, pumping hard to catch a wave, the thrill of feeling like I’m gliding over the water. Well, that’s the feeling I’m looking for. So far, I’ve yet to actually pop up to standing on the board.
Once beyond the break, I sat on my bright orange long board and watched the swells rise with the reflection of the sun on the water. The air was still, the sky almost completely blue, and the water rippled like it was alive. I saw a swell form and I pivoted my board, found my center line, and began to paddle hard for shore. Within seconds I felt the wave swell beneath me and I glanced to my left to see it break twenty yards or so down the line. Then, I felt the wave roll beneath me.
Disappointed, I looked over my shoulder to see another wave right behind the first. Quickly I began to paddle, hard. Within seconds I felt the wave lift the back of the board. I put my hands flat beneath my chest, pushed myself up, slid my right foot forward, and lifted my hands.
For a brief moment I was almost standing. For a moment. My balance was off, though, and I fell sideways into the surf. The wave rolled over me and when I felt the current pass I stood up. I had almost done it!
I was eager now to get back out, and for the next twenty minutes I tried and failed repeatedly to catch a wave. I was either too slow, or too far ahead, to get it. And when I did get myself in the right position, my balance was off and I’d tumble over the side.
Finally I was in the spot when a swell began to crest. I paddled hard and when I felt the board rise beneath me I gave it three more hard strokes. Then I put my hands flat on the board right below my shoulders, took a breath, and pushed. I got my right foot forward in time to watch the nose of the board dip below the face.
(For my friend Matt: I now get what you meant when you advised me to get my weight on my back foot.)
I fell forward. Instinctively, I put my hands over my head and curled into a ball. I took a deep breath. The wave crashed over me, sending me spinning like a hamster wheel beneath the surface of the water. Having fallen off a surf board more often than I’ve ridden one, this was something I was used to.
But this wave spun me all the way around so that I was curled onto my back with my face tilted up towards the sky. The under current pushed against my face with what felt like the force of a firehouse. Frigid ocean water rushed into my hood and down into my suit.
I was still being rolled as another wave crashed over me and the pull of the undertoad wasn’t giving me a chance to come up for air. It took another twenty to thirty seconds of rolling in the swirling water before I broke the surface and took in a deep breath.
That’s when the cold hit me. My head felt like it was being closed in a medieval iron maiden. Hundreds of icy spikes pierced my skull, jamming into my brain. I think I might have even let out a scream as the pain was momentarily so intense.
I got my bearings, shook off the cold, jumped back on the board, and paddled out to catch another wave. Another set came just as I was getting into position, and again I pivoted and paddled hard to catch the rising face. Again I was too far forward when I popped, again I watched the nose of the board dip below the face, and again I fell forward as the wave crashed into me from behind.
And again I felt the icy cold of January ocean water rush into my suit. My back tingled with a thousand icy spikes piercing my skin. I rolled with the wave, covering my head with my arms, turning sideways to avoid the path of the board. When I came up for air, my whole body was in the iron maiden. I reached behind me to discover that the entire back of my wetsuit had come unzipped.
Briefly I considered getting on the board and paddling out beyond the break, fixing my suit issues on the board. But it wasn’t just the zipper. I had tied the leash tight so it wouldn’t twist, but it was now sealing the left leg of the wetsuit. The suit was bloated with icy water and had already numbed my skin. In order to fix that, I’d have to take off my gloves.
I sloshed through the shallow surf back to shore, dragging the board across the water with the leash still attached to my leg. When I got to land, I sat down on the board and, using my teeth, unfastened and pulled off my gloves.
My hands became almost instantly cold. I grabbed the tail on the zipper and pulled it up, then retucked my hood under the collar and fastened the velcro strap that helps to keep it all in place. Then I loosened the leash (discovering an easier way to attach it in the future). Water gurgled out of the suit, and much of it fell into the boot. Once my suit was more or less empty, I reattached the leash, pulled my gloves back on, and then ventured back out into the surf.
I made it beyond the break when I began to shiver in earnest. My toes and fingers were starting to hurt. Additionally, the cold had completely zapped my strength. I let my surfing buddy know that I was done — it was just too cold.
Eventually, thanks to a long, slow rest in a hot tub, I warmed up. And I learned a valuable lesson. Endless summers are fun, as long as you remember the cardinal rule of winter surfing: be sure to seal your suit.
