Vagrant Optimisim*

* Yeah, yeah, Hunter S.

There was this one surf session not long ago. Myself and another had staked out the early morning dawnie for a surf. The surf was forecast to rise a bit, but as history has shown, the forecasters are always predicting shit, and turning out over hyping it.

The present swell, while not large, was indeed bigger than average but not consequence days surf. No doubt, just go out. We had just invaded the oceans pristine glass for less than a half and hour. Pacific blues and morning sunstreaks of gold and reds were pretty much inflating the stoke of these 2 mere beings in Neptunes playfield.

A couple of pretty good waves and I had assumed the mindset of a cocky bastard; tempting the fate of the jealous and the selfish. Again; it wasnt huge, it was well, just right, big but not survival mode.

I think I have spoken of the way the horizon looks at times. Anyway, it does this thing where the whole edge of the planet seems closer, and it is. Incoming swells tend to give the freakish illusion of that horizon line being closer. And at this time, it most certainly was. Knowing that a possible large set was looming on that ever closing horizon, I paddled with that same "Aw shit, gotta go further out, and I was so comfortable right here" bullshit fuck-wad attitude that permeates the cocksure gunslinger right before he is shot thru the head.

The first lump of ocean was now walling up well ahead of my labored pace. I increased the stroke, but good old Mom Ocean set her tides and currents right in my line so that 2 strokes gained jack-shit. Enjoy that cocky - boy I am sure she muttered under salt-fused breath. I dug harder. I crested that problem still with the attitude that I was indeed tha master of this morning, and that I was indeed infallible in my knowledge and preparation for watery combat.

Fool.

After cresting that mass of the Pacific, my eyes probably widened quite to saucer size as what I saw in front of me was on e very large, very long, wall of water, that I was no way or how going to make over, or get in front of.

I was gonna get humbled, seriously.

In the next few spasms of thought, I tried hard to relax my brain from going into total fucking fried-out mush mode and screaming for mommy. For the most part it worked. The problem was is that that small period of thought was enough to de-rail any chance of catching a real deep breath before the humbling was to begin.

Spanked good, spanked well.

The first impact of white water isnt so bad if you are in the right place; you can duck-dive and pretty much not lose ground to attempt to get to the outside of the sets/waves. Waves come in sets. Sets are series of waves, and tend to be grouped in 3,4, 5 or so. really, any amount.

This set was going to go on for awhile, but as yet I wasnt on the mailing list.

Getting pummeled in the wrong place, the wrong time, was my date. I lost ground badly, which meant for whatever next waves were coming, I was going to be in even worse position. Great.

It became a paddle, paddle, take a deep mofo breath, dive, get thrashed. Paddle, paddle, (Fuckin air, isnt there more?) dive, get thrashed. Repeat again, and again. It seemed that this barrage of waves was never ending, I was at a count of 10, and the damn horizon was still dark with ocean matter headed towards me. So much for cocky.

No way out, no where to respite. No more cocky; thats for sure. Humbled and spent, and fucking taught a lesson -

Throw it at you; paddle, breath, dive, forge on; you can master anything.

But be humble.