Sunset surf session. Sounds harmless enough. The strong onshore winds are starting to die off and the choppy wind swell messing up the surf should subside any minute. I wax up the board and head to the beach for a brief hour session before it gets dark. The tide is high and the sea looks angry. There is no wind anymore, but the remnants are still being felt in the form of foot high side chop making the waves look ugly and causing them to break prematurely. If I can just get out there, I think, then soon it will glass over and everything will be fine.
I walk out into the water and casually jump the white water of the small waves breaking close to shore, eyeing the horizon for signs of incoming waves. Now waist deep, I jump up on my board and begin to paddle out in the rough ocean, buoyantly being bounced this way and that, it’s difficult to maintain the nose of the board above the water and keep a constant direction as the strong currents pull me one direction while the cross wave chop pushes me another. I soon arrive at my destination and pull myself up to a seated position and wait earnestly for a suitable wave. The waves look small and are breaking much earlier than those in my morning session. Soon a mound forms on the horizon, an incoming wall of water slowly rising in my direction. Nothing too big, maybe chest high, and it looks like it’s going to break right where I’m at, so I turn around, lay flat on my ribs and begin to paddle to accelerate along with the coming wave. The side chop causes the lip to break early right where I am and I surge halfway forward and stand up. The wave hasn’t completely broke yet, an effect of the early half breaking that the ugly condition of the ocean has caused, so I pump up and down with my front foot to surge forward. Now I’ve fully caught the wave and surge forward, turning down the line for a couple small turns before the wave closes out and the ride is over.
Jumping off my board, back over the white water of the recently broken wave, I pull on my leash to bring my surfboard back towards my body, and climb on to paddle back outside. The rest of the set is now coming towards me, each wave in the series breaking before reaching me. Now I duck dive under each broken wave, in so doing being carried back a little when I emerge on the other side. Constantly paddling out towards the horizon, repeating this seemingly futile procedure again and again as the onslaught of waves continues. That’s what you get for taking the first wave in the set, you have to endure this physical battle to get back out again. But these waves aren’t too big, and I feel it’s retribution for getting out so easily at the start of the session, so I endure and soon the set is over and I paddle the still rough choppy waters back to the deeper water and wait.
Not much time passes, maybe five minutes, before the next set materializes on the horizon. I can already tell that I’m in trouble. Much larger than the previous sets I’ve encountered so far, these waves are going to break outside of where I am now. Quickly, but not panicked, I paddle hard for the horizon, slightly away from where I think the peak will be, the spot where the wave will break first. I can already tell that I’m not going to make it, even though this wave is still quite a distance away, but I paddle hard none the less. Suddenly my mind is locked with indecision. Do I bail from my board and dive under the wave, hoping for the best? Or do I attempt to duck dive this monstrosity charging towards me? I know that waiting behind this wave there are more, perhaps larger waves, so I opt to stay on my board knowing that there is some chance of success if I can just hold on. I continue to paddle hard as the face of the wave climbs high and grows smooth, too large to be affected by the side chop as it sucks water up its mighty face. I take one last gulp of breath as I push the front of my board down under the water as the wave breaks directly above. The thick lip of water crashes right in front of me while I brace for impact. Feebly I try to hold on, but the tonnes of water rip me from my board sending me cart wheeling backwards, helpless and out of control. I tuck into a ball, awaiting a hard slam against the ocean floor, still spinning and disoriented, but no impact occurs. I am still being carried backwards when I splay my arms out to stop the reverse momentum and now attempt to swim to the surface. The aerated water provides little resistance against my feverish strokes to claw to the surface, making the task that much more difficult. My lungs scream for air as the water around me grows lighter, signalling that the surface is near. My head rises above the surface and I gasp for air, not knowing where or when the next wave may hit. I gulp in three more times while I turn and look towards the horizon.
My heart is racing and my head is light from the lack of oxygen. The next wave is directly upon me, equally as massive as the first. My board floats innocently beside me as though nothing is amiss. With no time to climb aboard, I quickly amass as much oxygen as I can when the next wave hits. As before, I tumble hopelessly backwards in the dark as the water is filled with black sand swirling all around me. I have to tell myself to relax, not to struggle. It’s the only way I’ll get through this with enough air. Let the wave take you, there’s nothing you can do until it passes, but the waiting is agonizing. Your only thoughts are “when am I going to be able to breathe?” The darkness passes once again as I swim towards the light. Five more waves come through, each as big as the last, and my ability to get enough air is diminishing. I am totally helpless out here, and if these waves don’t stop coming, I’m not going to make it out. After the fourth wave I desperately grab my board and sit atop to regain some air while not having to tread water. A quick respite in the middle of this hell before the onslaught continues.
Finally the outside set has passed and the ocean becomes calm. I find myself standing on the ocean floor, water up to my shoulders, while I look back towards the shore to see Denielle. Does she have any idea what I’ve just gone through? What I’ve just survived? Probably not, as struggling at the base of these monsters I would surely be obscured from view from the beach. What now? I have regained my oxygen, I can breathe, and I am not tired. A rogue set I tell myself, surely. I have only been out in the water for less than twenty minutes of my intentional relaxing sunset session. So like a fool I turn towards the horizon to catch more waves. The big set had cleaned up a lot of the side chop and the conditions looked as though they were beginning to improve. If I could just get back out there and catch a couple of nice easy waves, then I could forget all about what had just happened and enjoy the sunset.
So I paddle out, and continue paddling to try and get into position. But the currents are strong as the water fills the imbalance from the previous surge of the last set. I keep paddling but the waves appear to be continually just beyond me. I race from peak to peak of these smaller sets coming through, trying to get beyond so I can gather some rest before attempting a wave. But I just can’t get there. The wave machine is turned on full and they keep coming, so I keep paddling. As though in a nightmare where you know you have to run but your legs move in slow motion, I keep paddling and seem to stay in the same spot. And then I see it. An outside set, bigger than the last one I narrowly survived, is forming on the horizon. I am now deeper than I was then, but my arms are weak from the constant paddling. With survival depending on it, I muster every bit of strength to make it out before these waves break on my head and force me into the onslaught that I had just experienced not ten minutes before.
The first wave approaches, an eight foot monster hell bent on doing me in. I stride forward with every desperate stroke in the water as the towering wall threatens above. Just as the lip starts to jump forward over my head I pierce the front of my board into the heart of the beast, holding my breath and my hopes in my chest. The lip pounds my feet as I go through the wave. My head surfaces on the other side and I feel myself being sucked backwards towards the beach. Like a madman I paddle to avoid being sucked over while my eyes grow wide with the sight of the next wave. This is the biggest wave I have ever seen from the water. It must be at least ten feet if it was an inch, and now the realization that I am indeed caught inside with no hope of ducking under, a flood of panic and indecision washes through my head. I decide to preserve my energy for the upcoming barrage and sit on my board drawing in the last few breaths. At the last second I take one large breath and jump from my board as deep as I can go. But it’s futile. The full force of the wave grabs my body and sends me backwards and down. Everything is black. I tumble like a rag doll. I try to maintain my tucked little ball for fear of impact on the bottom, but my arms and legs are ripped from my body by the force of the wave. I go limp, as any resistance will do nothing by tear at my joints. I tumble for what feels like forever. Stay relaxed I keep telling myself, but the scream for oxygen is all I can think about. The movement begins to slow, but everything is still black. I can’t tell where I am, which way is up. I start swimming out of desperation until I see faint signs of light creeping through the dark sandy water. Stay calm. Swim hard. The two don’t mix, and soon panic wins out. If I don’t make this last attempt for the surface I don’t think my lungs will hold. All in. I claw for the surface, and my head briefly breaches, enough to gulp in half a mouthful of air and half a mouthful of foam before my board tugs at my leg from behind and pulls me under again, but not far this time. I’m able to surface again and begin to breathe, hyperventilate to get as much oxygen as I can, for there are 5 more waves about to crash on my head.
Fortunately the second wave was the biggest of the set, and my black tumble to oblivion had carried me far enough inside that the remaining five waves broke further out. Releasing the full brunt of their force before reaching me, my subsequent submersions go quicker. After the last wave has passed, I weakly climb atop my board and start to weigh my options in a panicked state. Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, what do I do? If I get caught inside by one of these giant sets again I’m pretty sure I won’t make it. If I paddle towards shore I won’t move as though trapped in some sadistic water treadmill with the currents heading back outside. I have to catch a small wave in between sets. My life depends on it. Soon a wave forms outside. It’s going to close out, but it may be my only option. I paddle as though my life depends on it because it does. If I don’t catch this wave, who knows what’s going to happen. I put everything into the last few strokes as my feet rise up behind me. I surge forward on the brink of catching the wave and being left behind. I rock all of my weight forward and stand, sliding down the face as the rest of the wave breaks around me. I ride the white water of the broken wave for a few moments before jumping down to my belly, riding it all the way to shore. I’ve made it. I’m alive.
Tyler.
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