Sunday Morning

When I woke up, I could see the sky was a fiery red through my curtain and that morning had arrived. I stumbled into the living room, trying to get a glimpse of the water conditions. The salt from a week’s worth of gale force winds covered the sliding glass door and when I opened I was surprised that the cold, blast of wind was not nearly as strong as it had been. The water on the bay was calmer now, but still had whitecaps and a considerable amount of current pushing it at the beach.

Still a bit foggy, cold, and relatively unsure if I felt like taking the hike to Cape Henry to surf, I brewed some coffee and checked my email. The surf report hadn’t been updated since yesterday so that was no help and low tide was around 9:30. It was 7...

“Stop being a baby,” I told myself, and the proceeded to load my winter suit, gloves, and boots into my aged green gym bag of some seventeen years, stitched with patches of destinations I was able to enjoy around the world…Thailand, Malaysia, Somalia, United Arab Emirates. So many years ago…

I grabbed my 7’2” Panamanian “fusil” and my bag and began the twenty-minute pilgrimage to 85th street in the north beach, my preferred spot as it’s less crowded, mostly locals, and a great view of the Cape Henry lighthouses when you are in the water.

Strolling up the walkway to the beach, I could see the horizon, thinking “don’t be too choppy, don’t be too choppy,” but as soon as I saw the break, my shoulders slumped. A sea of whitewater and it didn’t look like anything was breaking worth a damn. It was 7:20.

I could have turned around and gone home but I feel like a complete loser when I make the trek all the way to the oceanfront and turn around with my tail between my legs without even going out. So, I suited up, got up the courage, and paddled into the leftover rapids of the past week’s storm.

It took me forever to get out past the breakers, but when I finally got there, I justy floated for a bit, trying to get back some energy. I was pretty worked at this point.

The waves were thick and choppy and weren’t breaking worth a damn. If they did break nice they were closing out almost immediately. Then one came along and I paddled like mad into it. As it lifted me in, I saw it drop steeply and just dropped in, the glide was way too fast and I felt everything moving way, way too fast. As I started to plane across the water in the pit I could tell something was wrong.

“Oh sh…” ooooooughhhh…and I was underwater but miraculously avoided going over the falls. It was a big one and obviously had a whole lot of power but instinctually I shot towards the sea when I realized I was going down. I rose out of the water and saw the monster disintegrating in a mountain of whitewash as it made its way to the shoreline. It all happened so fast though, in seemingly a second or two.

That was my one ride of the day in the two hours I was out. Nothing else came along that didn’t either slightly break at the top of the curl and roll on or just close out altogether. I didn’t care. After a week of harsh winds and seas it was good to bein the water, on a beautiful sunny day, not a cloud in the deep blue skies. I was the only one in the water for obvious reasons but all in all, a good Sunday morning.