i love this shit

my first fall

"I've never had a two-wave hold down," I said shivering in the parking lot of the Pit.

It was late summer in Central California and I had just gotten out of the water. Drops of saltwater fell from my hair and hit the dirt making little brown craters. My four friends and I sat on the tailgate of Ben's lifted S-10 and watched the 10-foot, off-shore closeouts detonate on the inside sandbar.

I hadn't been able to get out that day (or the three previous before that) so I spend most of my session checking out the bottom and seeing how long I could hold my breath. My friends, much better surfers than myself, spent their session spraying each other with turns and pulling into the Morro Bay special (a screaming wall and a hollow death-pit).

After aspirating what seemed like half of the Pacific Ocean and being pushed into the beach where my fins scraped the sand, I gave up and went in.

My friends, as much as they loved to surf, saw me alone back at the truck and paddled in soon. We were all changing out of our wetsuits when the topic of winter came up.

"I can't wait for The Rock to get big this year," Mikey said with a towel over his head.

"Fucking Poly kids won't paddle out when it's huge," Josh said, with Chris and Ben behind him agreeing.

"Dude, no one paddles past shit rock, those lefts that come through..." Ben trailed off as he watched a set explode onto the sandbar sending whitewater 15-feet into the air.

Winter was when it got big at home. Like really big. And not like Hawaii-sunny-offshore-all-day big. Like 40-degree air and 48-degree black water double overhead, pure North Pacific Aleutian Juice big. Scary big. I had never surfed waves like that. I listened to stories about Chris dropping into waves at Cayucos Pier that were scraping the bottom of the walkway.  Mike and Ben were comparing big days at The Rock to South Jetty. Josh mentioned Mouse, our rogue slab up north. Nobody surfed that shit back then.

But still, I had never surfed waves like that. The conversation naturally shifted to what it was like to eat shit on waves on consequence and I shivered more because I knew what was in store when the leaves stopped falling off our Oak Trees.

"Last winter and Sand-Spit I scorpioned and blew the hood off my suit. I hit the bottom and it felt like a truck was sitting on my back. I had to climb my leash. When I was about a foot from the surface the second one broke right on my head. I thought I was gonna black out." Mikey was looking straight at me.

"I've never had a two-wave hold down," I said.

"You will this winter, it'll fuck your day up!" he said.

That winter was my first real taste of ocean power. I finally got good enough to make it outside, though not always good enough to time my paddle outs. I sucked more foam that year than anything and the times I did make it out I was too scared to actually paddle for a wave. My friends were always right there with me, actually surfing though, but pushing me to get better none-the-less. Surfing the Central Coast back then was a lonely, cold and sharky experience. More people in the water just meant less of a chance you would get eaten. So I was the bait for a few years.

I did experience my first two-wave hold down that winter. A big day at The Rock. Huge reeling lefts breaking past shit rock and connecting almost to the pit. I paddled hard for the first wave of the set, didn't catch it, and turned around staring up at a 15-foot face of water. I paddled out as hard as I could and tried to duck-dive. I was about two feet underwater when the lip hit me directly in the back. I lost the grip on my board and felt the leash pull tight and then pop. I got pushed to the bottom in the most violent way possible, spinning and twisting and feeling like all my limbs were being pulled in different directions. I opened my eyes and it was black. I closed them again and red flashed streaked across my eyelids signaling I needed air. Then I did what you should never do - I panicked. I swam for the surface I used all the strength I had to try and get air. A foot from the surface I could see the water get lighter from the sun poking through. It went dark as the second wave landed directly on top of my head. Every bit as bad as the first one, but this time with no air. I remember just letting go. I remember feeling calm, like I didn't need air anymore. I don't remember much after that. I popped up eventually and my first involuntary deep breath was foam. That snapped me out of whatever daze I was in and I started puking. Then I realized I had to swim in...through the shorebreak...without my surfboard. I eventually made it in and threw up again on the beach. Little bits of seaweed and pieces of sand mixed with saltwater and bile.

I found my board down the beach. I walked to my truck, changed out of my wetsuit and drove straight to work. I didn't talk much the rest of the day, but I thought about a lot. Those two waves, to me, felt like they were going to kill me. They didn't, but it scared the shit out of me.

In fall, when the leaves start to change and the barometer starts to drop I will always think about that first winter. The season just after the warm days and cool nights.  The season after  4/3's and booties. I think about those two waves that royally kicked my ass.

But I will also think about where it's going to get big. I'll start prepping my winter boards and wetsuits. I'll check the weather like a jet-stream addict and listen to the buoy reports over the NOAA-band radio. Ill fall asleep to the sound of strong winds blowing outside with the hope that they'll switch offshore in the morning. I wake up and crunch through the frost on the beach, armored up in neoprene, exhaling frozen breath like smoke.

I love this shit.