Writing Honorable Mention: “The Breaking Point”
Photography Honorable Mention: “Shore” by Kevin A. Gilligan
by Sue Dell
It was the winter of my 30th year surfing. A typical afternoon, or so I thought.
I scrambled down the cliff in my wetsuit. I grasped my tri-fin in one arm taking care not to slide on cracks of powdery dirt caked from seasonal dryness. I paused for a moment, squinting at the horizon mindful of the setting sun.
I had the presence of a warrior defending my territory or stalking prey, anticipating a battle. Five guys were out and I didn’t recognize anyone.
“I’ll get my fair share,” I thought.
At the base of the cliff, I grabbed a frayed string of ice plant, and swung off the embankment. Like a crazed leaping frog I hopscotched across boulders in a mad dash to reach water. The tide was on my side and the surf appeared to be too. I waited for a lull, scrambled across two exposed reefs, and waited impatiently for a surge. Grabbing the rails, I hugged my board and dove, oblivious to the temperature in a frantic paddle to the line-up.
I’d been surfing quite a bit the past few weeks, so I felt on top of my game. The paddle to the peak was no more than 100 yards, but from a distance it appeared that one guy had control. “Wave hog,” I muttered under my breath.
Paddling into the pack is always an enlightening experience. The hierarchy changes depending on who is present.
There is an unspoken protocol. Those with the most ability and years surfing a particular break, get the majority of set waves. Unfortunately, protocol isn’t always respected, especially when attitude, aggressiveness, and mind games are added to the mix. This is where my story begins.
I reached the point, straddled my board, taking time to attach my leash. It was a subtle attempt to slowly assess the situation. I was right. One guy was a “Wave hog.”
His buddies didn’t seem to mind. Two were laughing and the others were like buoys drifting aimlessly from the main break.
The laughter died as Wave Hog slid into a little inside left. I struck up a conversation with one of the guys.
“So, have you been out long? Any sets? What’s the tide doing?”
One was friendly enough, but we were interrupted by a set looming in the distance. Although I was in position, Wave Hog outmaneuvered me and took off. I let him go, but was silently seething.
As he made his way back to the peak, Wave Hog feigned innocence by ignoring me.
I took a deep breath and barked,. “Is there some reason you just cut me off?”
He was cocky, arrogant and too ready to challenge me.
“I had it,” he shrugged, and continued, “I’ve never seen you out here before!”
“You just said the wrong thing to the wrong person,” I yelled contemptuously. “I’ve been surfing here since 1979.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” he dismissed me with a wave of his hand.
“Do it again and it will be the last time,” I threatened.
Before I could finish, he lowered himself on his board, swung in position and let an inside left suck him down the face. He was barely to his feet when I dropped down in front of him.
Caught by surprise, cut back, grinned wickedly and slid in front of me. But I had momentum, and caught him off guard from behind. I tugged his leash. He became unstable. I yanked harder and he was airborne. His board and body went flying in separate directions.
I laughed out loud, maintained my balance and swerved around him. His head popped up a few yards away just as I kicked out of the wave. My expression was smug as I stroked past him like a gold medalist paddling her final victory lap. He hopped on his board and paddled after me ready to face off. We were now within spitting distance.
“You snaked me!” he snapped.
I was losing control, and it was all I could do not to say, “I’m old enough to be your mother,” or “I’ve been surfing here since before you were born.”
I spun around on my board and put my hands on my hips. “I told you if you cut me off one more time you’d be sorry. You’ve snaked everyone out here. Who are you? You don’t live here!”
“I live just down the street,” he said unconvincingly.
“Really. So you own property, huh? You can’t be more than 19,” I said, in disgust.
He defended himself. “My parents live here!”
I was close enough, so I kicked his board.
“Have Mommy and Daddy pick you up, Trust Fund Baby, and don’t come back here again!” I gave his board a final shove and paddled over to a pier appendage.
Wave Hog didn’t stick around long. I never did see him get out of the water. The tide dropped with the setting sun. Three of us were left, and the silence was deafening. No one spoke a word. The wind picked up, and the swell was dying leaving nothing but leftover scraps. I jumped on the last set of the day. Darkness closed in as I kicked out on a reef.
The climb up the hill was steep but the regret I felt about my behavior far outweighed the burden of carrying a surfboard.
My car was parked in its usual spot. I fumbled with keys, and left the door open. I noticed a shadowy figure moving toward me. Before I could react, he was standing in front of me.
“My friend feels really bad about what happened out in the water.”
There was a long pause and I responded.
“I do too. I don’t usually get that upset. I really have surfed here a lot of years.”
“I know. I’ve seen you and I know you’re a local.”
“Where’s your friend?” I asked him.
“Over there.” He pointed to a navy blue truck parked around the corner.
“I’ll go talk to him,” I said.
The kid seemed hesitant. He didn’t realize that I, too, was remorseful and wanted to apologize for my behavior.
I heard laughter as I approached the truck. It quickly subsided. Wave Hog was peeling off his wetsuit. He caught a glimpse of me, and recoiled instantly like a snake.
I stuck out my hand, waiting.
“No way, I’m not shaking her hand.” He looked at his friend for validation.
“Aw, come on,” I pleaded. “I’m really sorry. I don’t normally get that upset.”
He looked at me suspiciously, trying to decide if I was being earnest, and tentatively grabbed my hand. I introduced myself, and apologized profusely before I walked away.
The season passed and a year went by. Localism and hassles spurred my memory. Otherwise, the incident was long forgotten. I’d never see Wave Hog again.
I was wrong.
“Never burn bridges,” I’d been warned as a child. For me, the old expression is true now more than ever. Our family got together at a local club in Hermosa Beach to celebrate a 30th birthday. The place was packed.
A pretty brunette walked up to me, her eyes sparkling. She was a good friend of the family.
“Sue, I’d really like you to meet my boyfriend,” she said excitedly.
“I’d love to,” I replied. I turned around and there he was…
“Don’t I know you?” he asked.
I didn’t recognize him at first but there was no doubt he knew who I was.
“I don’t think so.” I said.
“Do you surf?” he asked quizzically.
And then I knew. He was “The Wave Hog!” We stared at each other for a long moment, then burst into joint laughter.
Puzzled, his girlfriend seemed unsure of what to say. It was one of those awkward moments.
Taking her cue, he extended his hand. After a few more laughs, we shared a drink, and our story.
The South Bay truly is a small world.
Before he got up to say good bye, his eyes twinkled, “It was really nice to meet you, again!” B