The pitter patter of drops on my zooming Subaru nearly drowned out the post-Mexico catch-up exchange between me and Paul Roustan of www.BumpSetSurf.com, moment capturing aficionado and shutterbug extraordinaire. Looking at my weather app last night that clearly was defective, the pouring rain that commenced wasn’t in said forecast.
As we neared the beach, the shadowy clouds that presented as a fistfight of dark matter seemed to make their peace, only to rejoin again in contesting their afflictions, sending jetstreams of water bouncing off the windshield, wipers set on high.
We had talked of finding a lonely wave when I got back. A “mystospot,” as my friend Shane likes to call them. So we set our sights Southward and began searching. As we got a peek of ocean over the cliff, the oil slicked water from the now timid drops and black reflections from the still convulsed sky had an eerie tranquility to it. Inviting and repellent, seductive and grim.
After the camera was sheathed in a thick plastic bag coat, we slipped awkwardly down a muddy hill and I withdrew into the remote sea, save one other board-wielding creature far off to the left. Or right, depending on if you were facing the shore, pounding inside waves creeping towards the towering cliffs. As me and big blue admitted ourselves in the murk, the tide started tugging on the rollers, and just as they looked as though they were about to heave, they would deflate into a sad, slow countenance, only to jack up just before shore and slam down with intrepid ferocity. I navigated back and forth between the only two spots with enough power to break, both quickly losing steam with the still rising tide.
I spotted it way out, and scrambled towards it in a wave-crazed flurry. After 30 minutes of tide grumbles and failed takeoffs it was probably the only rideable set that was going to come my way, and it was either catch this or get out, dry off, and continue the search in the already intensifying wind. Turning, it broke on top of me, and I managed to skip to the nose and eventually catapulted myself off into the face before getting slammed into the sand any worse, mere inches below the base of the wave. After choking up some grains I retrieved my thankfully unbruised log and tried for another, but that was the only steamroller of the session with enough brawn for a good liftoff.
Besides my never ending teachings from the sea, I learned a new lesson today. When you are sandblasted from shorepound on the regular, you should have water in your car for a quick rinse. And if the only water you have is Pellegrino, cast aside the bubbles and remain a bit salty and grainy, cause that stuff burns like hell in cuts and your eyes. That is all.
