I can’t stop. The more I do it, the more it gets under my skin and fogs my eyes, occasional thoughts of surfing turning into (all-)daydreams in every moment that my skin isn’t dripping in saltwater.
Searching for and surfing good, shapely, long waves really deepens my ocean affliction. Â Getting out of the South Bay more often, I’ve been becoming a more-than regular patron of Malibu, Ventura, Blackies, and other various well known spots that are a longboarder’s quite literal wet dream. Â The length of ride and quality of wave at breaks such as these has made a tenfold improvement in my surfing — the time spent on one wave at Malibu equals (no sarcasm) 20 at most South Bay beachbreaks (although nothing beats a good wave at home, no matter how fun it is everywhere else). Â The last few weeks of consistently long, effortless rides has given me the gift of time — the time on waves I needed to cruise, flow, and dance around with different maneuvers.
Today in Ventura I surfed waist to chest high peelers for about an hour in the morning, then cruised out for a sunset sesh for a few windier and same sized breakers, and was surprised to find myself hanging heels on one wave, Â spinning back around and riding all the way in until it fizzled out nearly an eternity later to completion. Â I was nearly jumping out of my skin — holy crap, I’ve never pulled that off before. Â It wasn’t so much that I nailed a difficult maneuver, it was that time stopped — how good it felt to be riding backwards on the nose of my board, looking at the glorious little wave breaking in front of me rather than behind me, was I think the most euphoric I’ve ever felt.
Even now, all I’m thinking about is the ocean. It’s a liquid love affair that just I can’t shake, and I can’t get enough of the ocean’s unwavering grasp. Â I think it’s just going to get worse. And by worse, I mean better.
