They got big

Day three brought some decent sized waves. They were bigger than yesterday – steeper, more powerful. The shortboarders were all duck diving, getting the tip of their board under the wave with ease. Me? I got thrashed. Not on the wave. I’m getting alright with that, but getting back out. I would even dare to say that it is a 90% - 10% ratio for the getting past the break to surfing energy spent.

I get a little ways, sprinting for my life, then sigh as another mound of white approaches at break neck speed. That white froth is like seeing vertigo approaching. The aerated water gives me no control. It boils under my feet, bucks like the steepest kicker, then hits like the jump I once overshot only to land on the flats. After getting off my board, I take a deep breath, because I’m not going anywhere until the set has decided to leave me be. In the meantime, I quickly let go of the concept of up and down. The next couple waves pull me under. There is an odd calm, as I alternately see the sky, rocks and many, many tiny white bubbles. Finally the last wave of the set runs me over and I’m pretty much back at the shore, gasping and looking at pure glass, because of course between sets there is the utmost calm. After hacking up a lung, getting my bearings back, and standing up, I wimper my way back to the line, wait for a bit, only to see the next set coming in the distance. My thoughts: Lets get the next one! Charge!