Endless Session, Day 311: Water
A peek at Cowells from the cliff. Photo
I’ve always loved water. To be around it, in it, and hear it. As a child, a bath would turn into hours of sloshing, and I’d demand dinner (usually taquitos or a Hungry Man — cooking not being my mom’s forte) to be placed on a chair outside the tub so I could slide back and forth, making waves between spilling bites, and I would read Harry Potter books and surf magazines until my little body pruned up into a mini sea-monster. Flash forward a few years and as a recipient of cyclical vomiting syndrome I was ill almost every week, and there was no medicine more soothing than hearing the faucet running or drops from a leaky tub. Even now, having made it through CVS in my younger years, if a flu gets the better of me, I feel rejuvenated sitting at the bottom of the bath being pelted in the face with streams from the showerhead.
My grandma would always have to pry me out of her hot tub, and I’d ignore her neighbor’s 20 minute digesting rule after eating, jumping into the pool after a few hot dogs, nearly wishing I hadn’t after they’d try to make their way back up.
When I woke up I could smell the Santa Cruz ocean from my longtime friend Eric’s balcony. My tiresome trip yesterday brought me to the shores of Northern California for the Santa Cruz Longboard Union Invitational, which I planned on arriving a few days early to warm up before my heat (somewhat impossible in the 56 degree water). The forecasted report called for extremely small waves – but still big enough to charge down the line on a group of heavy logs. Not seeing much of a wave at the contest location of Steamer Lane, I parked down the road at Cowell’s, the friendly beginner spot that was showing a little more action.
My shoulder gave me some grief on the drive up, probably from over-exertion and too much surfing, but felt surprisingly spry today as I spent hours in the cold knee-high walls. I peered over at the lane and squinted to get a glimpse of a few possible lines coming in with the changing tide. “Does anyone ever paddle all the way over there?” I asked a girl dripping in local-esque appeal. “Everyone normally gets out and walks – there’s a lot of kelp and sharks on the way.”
Steamer Lane, watch out for the rock (s). Photo
I had already made up my mind before I asked her. I started the 1/4 mile paddle to the lane, occasionally having to detangle my fin from thick clumps of kelp and pausing to look at the massive cliff beside me, as well as the occasional otter prying open fresh abalone. I paddled slow, pretending I was alone with naught but the ocean as I meandered along the steep shoreline to the iconic rock at steamers, where life was beginning to show in the form of foam. Another two hours of prep work there and finding my Doheny vice president Josh Rapozo and some other teammates, and it was time for a hot shower to get some feeling back into my feet that were so numb they felt absent from my limbs.