Walking over dunes::: looking down from a cliff::: motoring out to a reef pass::: coming to edge of the jungle. I am super excited for the hundreds of times that my heart will bounce off my throat and my stomach will drop to my knees. Sets stacked to the horizon, it is HUGE out there! And certainly bigger than it looks from here. Adrenaline scorches the senses.
Oh I’m paddling out there…it’s probably not a very good idea, but how else am I supposed to experience this world on such a raw level? Every surfer has these experiences. Each to their subjective degree. Everyone has their own 1969 Greg Noll at Makaha moments.
Sitting on the beach hyper-ventilating, psyching…wave after wave explodes viciously down the point, across the reef, onto the sand-bar. Breathe, wax excessively, check- recheck the leash, time the sets, visualize, breathe, stretch. Maximize the oxygen reaching my lungs. “You’re ready, you are prepared for this, you will survive the worst, you will scream with joy after the best.”
It is time, the time is now. It’s just me and the ocean. Walking to the shorebreak, the ground quakes under the immense power being unleashed in the water. Paddling out might take an hour of small progressions. Paddle hard- duckdive, back where i started...again and again. Rare bouts of damning of the Ocean. "Damn you! Chill out for like 30 seconds, Please!" Finally, She might relent.
Sitting outside watching monsters attack the seafloor, and chase me- paddling hard over the top or into the channel before i'm eaten. I question my desire to be there. But my soul quickly answers, “This is where we LIVE.” Live Dangerously.