Surf. Courage. Consequence.
"3 o'clock in the morning courage" - Stolen from a Dave Parmenter article in Surfer Magazine. Dave is a great shaper, (meaning for non-surf types, he builds works of art that are called surfboards) an amazing writer, and was married to Rell Sunn, one of the most full of aloha women these islands have ever known. Rell was one of the best surfers, ever. Want to know more? Google 'em.
The quote is from the start of a piece on what flows through a surfers mind before the challenge of a new day begins. You already know there will be surf. You know it will be big. You are faced with the reality check of are the balls brassy, big enough? It stays with me to remind me of the need I have in surfing, and in the firehouse to stay strong, be not afraid, go out, conquer.
It simply means something takes alot of balls. Not just man kind balls, but guts. Wahine (women) have it. Ever tried to give birth? Why is it men take on stunts like car racing, sky-diving, surfing, death teasing challenges? We do those things becuse we are not the chosen ones. We will NEVER bring life into this world. We get the fun part, but not the work. Nothing is, or will have the challenge of the birth process. No man has balls big enough. So we go and prove ourselves, that we are equal to this challenge, by taking risks (see we are not afraid, meek woman!) , working to the bone, tempting the fates. All just to try to raise our status to that of the life-givers.
Waves of consequence. You see, surfing is a patient sport. Not everyday is great, perfect, off-shore breeze conditions. True believers stick around for the long run. The shit days. The cold days. The flat days. My good friend SK, he surfs. He is paranoid/hypocondriac. He is a good Joe. He is a bit on the cautious side. For me, I surf with abandon. It is my freedom, my place. I always like to take SK out for something that is a bit out of the comfort zone. Reason? you gotta live. You cant hide on the shoulder, waiting for the easier waves. You just gotta charge. How would you know wether or not you will make a macker wave unless you try?
And you know when they are coming. Years in the water of Mother Ocean preps you. Read the signs, that horizon that seemed 13 miles away, is now looking to be a bit less than around the block. Its coming. Right to you. A blue cobalt badland, millions of gallons of salt water, primed, tired from miles of travel, waiting to explode down the line of the reef your waiting at, timing to explode its energy on or with, you.
Put that fear away boy, 'cause your ass is grass if you dont go. Not only will you get pounded if you are not ready, you wont get shit from the others in the line-up. You better have some guts to put it on the line. Chicken-shits wont be allowed on this playground. If you cant handle the worst thing possible happening to you out there, get on the beach. Surf line-ups can be vicious. Everyone wants to be the top dog in this kennel. Whining pups will be eaten, alive. I have seen local bruddahs physically grab guys, take them out if the water, and tell them "you will not go back out". Localisim? You bet. Safety, thats the important part. Some clown out there in the way is more dangerous to others as well as themselves.
Waves come, you go, you survive the limits pushed. You take from that a bit more of life. The sun shines a bit brighter, the day crisper, the water a tad more refreshing.
Going to the brink. Anyone who surfs, who surfs long enough, has this tale.
Haleiwa. Winter. 10 feet hawaiian style (20 ft+ faces of the waves) Probably the biggest day, gnarliest conditions I have been out in. Dawn on the North Shore. (Not the fucking movie, OK?) The real, living breathing, gonna kick your ass, North Shore. It is an hour drive from my home. Not long by mainland standards, but island style, it is a eternity. 'specially when you know its macking. Get there and it is huge. Haleiwa has an angry, angry current it pulls continually. If you are outta place, so long, adios. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I know this is the upper end of my ability. It doesnt help that I ride 9 ft longboards to begin with. But she is sooooo inviting. The rights (my backside) are just cranking, feathering, and hollow tubes of water are spitting with abandon. ( OK - note- surfers are either regular foot - Left foot forward, OR Goofy foot - Right foot forward - I, of course, am a Goofy foot, thereby explainig WTF i mean by backside) So on the coming morning, out to the water I paddle. My fucking chest is bouncing on the deck. I try to breathe, relax, play a tune over and over in my head. The arena is littered with few this morning. Maybe 6 guys out. Small, compact crowd for this perfect of a morning. Converse with the crew out - "sets about 10 minutes apart, bro", "get like, 8 waves in a set, but da last one, whooooo, cuz, she boardering on 'bout 12 feet". Whoooo, is right. That is some frequent, big, killer surf.
Catch a few, pushing 8+. rhythm starts to set in. Comfort zone has been breached, and a new level attained. Strange calmness has invaded the heart - the pounding has subsided to a lite ...pulse. The pulse of my life. The day. The timing of the waves. I pass a few early waves to the bros lines up better, more inside, more on the peak, sharing never felt so good. Hoots around the line-up. I can see the horizon closing. No one else near. This beast, this animal coming, is mine. And it had my name on it. And it was written in Las Vegas neon. The specfics were about 11, 12 feet. Thick. Standing up way outside, inviting me to go. I went. The drop down the face went smooth, lined up 20 feet in fromt of me, nothing but a 2 story building, ready to unfold a crystalline dream of a tube. God, I thought, this is perfect. Perfection, tho' nice, is unattainable.
As soon as I caught my rail trying to draw my line, I knew I was toast. Buttered. This wall of water that 1 second before was calling a oceans siren for me to enter, was now about to take me, my precious board, and all my organs, and give them a taliking to. Really, really, loud.
Down to the bottom, up back over the falls, down again. Time stopped. Calm. Remember - always remain calm. If you panic, you will use your air, and then, ....youre fucked. Capital "F" The leash of my board, I could feel, was stretching to the max. I hoped it held. Eternity raced on. This bastard was not releasing me. Why? Currents, torrents of water, pushed and pulled. Fuck. Dragged. Now, I was being dragged. Fuck. My board has got to be tombstoning now. (meaning - my leash is attached to my ankle, but I am under water, the board stright up on the surface, hence - like a tombstone) Fuckity. Fuck. Fuck. Where the fuck is the surface? grab my leash. follow it. Fuck. I am outta air. Fuck. Dont panic. Fuck. Leash. Surface. Air. Blue. Everywhere at once. Oh shit. Fuck.
I panicked.
I gave up.
Truly, I thought I was dead. I pulled for the surface, I pulled again. I let go of the leash. I pulled to the surface. And again. I gave up. Nothing raced in my mind. Beaten. Beaten, beaten. Foam. Seafoam. Surface. Air. Calm. No waves. Churning water. I was over in the area known as the toilet bowl, a graveyard. I had survived. I did not deserve to.
I panicked.
Audacity. Never will panic again. Waves. Waves of consequence. They give you something that no one, no man, no being can ever take away from you.
Aloha. Peace.
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