Oh, how needed
2023
At last, a set of distant rollers appear with white caps on the peaks. I think to myself, while uncurling my numb hands from my armpits and placing them into the frigid water, this one might finally break on the outside reef! My mind must break the shell from sitting perched with only legs submerged, and lay my belly onto the fiberglass, allowing the numbness to spill up my back. As I'm observing its shape, traveling at around 10 knots, its mass builds at an abnormally fast rate. Having been immersed in the tide for around three hours, my analysis of this anticipated set began to indicate a substantially bigger wave. I’m antsy to score one in order to get warm. Gazing off into the disrupted horizon line, my paddling turns from casual to rapid. I'm within fifty yards of the first wave, analyzing side to side. Where's the peak? Where's the peeling section? It seems to be one huge wall with no tapers, all wanting to crash down at once. The entire 200 yard span was itching to throw its weight forward and clash the ocean floor at once. I decide to see what lies beyond, and duck-dive under in the nick of time. I glance back immediately to see it slam. The water creates mesmerizing reverbs of barbarity. Shattering in silhouette, the morning sun blinds me as it finally peaks over the mountain. The gaze is interrupted by sparkly, soothing droplets of great amounts, trickling off the backside, coating me in the numbing blue. Its harmonizing pitch fades away and I’m snapped back into reality of what's ahead.
A week earlier, I was driving along bumpy dirt roads. Occasional branches obstructed the track, forcing me to get out and work to clear the way. The overgrowth onto the narrow, fading path only escalated. Seclusion resides, finally. I spent multiple days driving from home, and the road was nearing the end. A grand tree laid in front of my line, forcing the 1990 pickup to park. I hopped out to the smell of burning oil and popped the trunk. Sitting on the tailgate, vertigo came and went as my head tilted into the swaying pines and red cedars. Oh just how nice it is to be present. To be alone with my thoughts, to feel connected with nature. I turned around and opened the janky wood drawer under my bed. Its squeaking slidepath mimicked the chirps from the jays and ravens. I grabbed the essentials – rice, water filter, pot, MSR mini stove, tarp, sleeping bag, jacket, wetsuit, and wax. Crammed into my pack, I threw it over my body, tossed the board under my shoulder, and set out into the maze of vines and shrubs. Hours passed bushwhacking through the forest, dodging thick sections of debris, puddles, and pulling spider webs off my face. Just when my back was about to ask for a break, a gleam of light shined into my eyes. I powered towards the opening where the quiet trees and occasional bird calls were masked by the ocean’s melody. My pace naturally picks up and I stumble upon a lookout point.
I rested the bag and board down and found a log to lay against. I observed a lovely looking break, and could spot a channel of energy approaching. Pulling my camera out in hopes to capture the set, I frame the scene and begin to run through the image I want to make. The soft light coming through the clouds accentuates the textures on the foreground cliffs. Incorporating the land into the left side of the frame will help bring layers of context and pull the eye toward the crashing wave. Cutting out the horizon line further emphasizes the sense of scale, a seemingly big wave overshadowed and diminished by the magnificence of ocean space. After those quick seconds of thought and positioning, I witness the set wave fold over through the lens and click.
The crash echoes off the rock walls as I lower my camera and watch it barrel down the line for seconds—seconds that felt like minutes.
I open up my journal to try and place my feelings into words.
Oh how peaceful. Oh how beautiful. Oh, how needed.
I have finally made it to the edge of land, and I’m greeted with what seems to be amazing waves. All that’s left is the cliff walls I rest above.
My head rises off the page and down to the sea. This place in time, the undisturbed being. My opportunity to witness, my privilege to take a week away from school and work. The freedom to merge my spirit with Mother Earth's creations.
What lay ahead was a slippery, tree grabbing descent. Only a few dings on my board later and I’m one rock drop away from the sand. I traversed over to see if the thirty feet of vertical would decrease. It became apparent the ocean strength had shaped this never ending formation throughout its past. The only way to touch down on sand - climb. While confronting the logical choice of sending my backpack off the face, my hands had already let go. Using a tree close to the edge, I wrapped my feet around the trunk, free hanging with toe-hooks. With my board in one hand and the end of the leash in the other, I gently lowered the board to have it face the smallest impact possible. What concluded in only a fifteen to twenty foot drop onto sand, the cringeness of a loud smack thankfully caused no serious harm. Gripping the rock, I walked my upper body back up to the top. I then went feet first and downclimbed, wondering how I’m going to get up it when I leave. The dampness of rock added to the complexity while searching for crimps and ledges to place my sole detaching Oboz on.
Physically here. Mentally there.
Sitting in class all day, scrubbing cast irons all night.
Mind surfing the natural elements that resume miles away.
Powder caked spines into granite tower couloirs.
Hollow tubes spitting only water.
I want to position myself out of one setting and into the other.
The so-called “balance of life” feels too heavy on one side.
Once grounded, my shoes and socks were the first to go. Spooning my toes into the invigorating sand, I bounced around pulling washed up wood together to form shelter.
Stressful thoughts of an ongoing to-do list generated from societal responsibilities is replaced with simpler, more personal duties. My mind sits at ease. A single task at hand. A rewarding outcome.
Throughout the next few days I stayed posted at the beach. Consistent drops of water fell from the luscious growth hanging off the cliff. The pot sank into the sand at the base of the rock, collecting fresh drinking water, allowing a much longer stay than anticipated.
The tide was rising, the waves were building. The rocks and dead reef stayed planted on the ocean floor. The waves preferred to be ridden an hour before and after high tide. With a 7am high, blue hour lip smacks were in full swing. I bobbed up and down, side to side. My tranquil state, fixated on the horizon, perched waiting, waiting for the next set to arrive. Traveling lumps gracefully paint across the surface, my mind begins to analyze. Analyze every attribute. Compare its shape, curves, and depth to previous findings. All in hopes to place myself in the exact position. The pocket that offers a fleeting moment but can feel so everlasting. A moment in time my spirit touches eternal peace. Eternal for only seconds.
Early morning glass sessions provide soul healing and love giving. Afternoon winds came with rice fueling, hydrating, and body stretching. Dusk moments painted reflections.
The rice bag began to lose its shape.
Somewhere around day eight, my eyes were forced open. It occurred during an afternoon stretch, when a relentless onshore breeze threw me off balance. Off at sea lived a dark, angry giant. Flashes in the distance encouraged me to grab as much wood as possible to build a better wind and waterproof shelter.
White caps filled the sea scape similarly to traffic consuming the valley. The head wind chills mimicked my early morning bike commute. As rain and wind pushed me inside, thoughts of returning home in the near future crept in.
Dozing off to water droplets tickling my face, the scene drastically flipped after the moon made its journey and the sun was ready to say hi. Eyes still closed, the sounds of dawn were no longer flooded like hours before. There was one sound. One breathtaking, alluring sound. The sound of waves – A few seconds of silence, a tumbling, beating roar, dissolving into a higher pitch of harmony. A few seconds of silence, a tumbling, beating roar, dissolving into a higher pitch of harmony.
I rise from the sand and peak my head out. A wave is beginning to break. It is not like any I’ve seen before. When I thought it was nearing its height, it was only halfway there. It folded over so delicately, wide enough to make a visitor feel at home. When I thought I had seen the ride, more pressure from an outer force kept the wall traveling. The empty spit of water out the barrel left me yanking my stinky, damp wetsuit over my fried thighs. All that was left to do was go chase that connection. To be connected. To feel like my life and spirit have purpose. To communicate with mother nature. To touch a not-so-eternal peace.