A huge
aspect of surfing is the journey; the adventure brought by an unpaved, dusty or
muddy road ending at a glittering, turquoise sea without a soul in sight. It’s about the anticipation of what type of
surf will be waiting there, after exhausting hours of travel. It’s the sweat
and tears that lead to the saltwater that wash it all away. It’s the quiet
satisfaction of noodle-limp arms following a soul quenching session of wave
riding.
Hurricane season is
my favorite time of year at home, because our coast is graced with waves I usually
have to travel to surf. Katia was one
such storm. Claire Rowley is an expert
at assessing the best surf spot given the variables of the wind direction,
swell direction, and tide. After
checking the sizeable, blown-out waves in front of my house, I decided to probe
her mind about where to go, ready to dedicate my day to the search. Claire knew the spot, so we went on a mission. Erin, Claire’s younger sister had school, but
would meet us after class if we found conditions worth the drive.
The hour journey to Playalinda,
a national wildlife refuge, ended with a fifteen minute stretch of road that
curved through palm trees, mangroves, and swamplands with an abundance of alligators
basking in the sun. The river and ocean
collided there, and water constantly surrounded us along with hawks, massive
black vultures, and seagulls that swooped and soared through the air.
Had we scored or
been skunked? After a drive filled with
conversation that jumped from eating chicken wings to how Playalinda was known
for being sharky, we reached the beach.
My feet pounded down on the long wooden boardwalk and produced a beat that
mixed with cawing crows and whistling birds.
I was greeted by multiple offshore barrels. My heart raced; I needed to drop into those
overhead lines. 
There were only
three other guys out who were way down the beach. Claire sent word to Erin, and soon we were
hooting and hollering at each other’s waves.
Jellyfish particles infested the water, but we dealt with the annoying stings
and itches for the barrels. Claire and I
took turns throwing spray and cheering each other into the biggest set waves. The jellyfish got stuck under our bikinis, and
we shouted when we got stung in sensitive areas. The waves were too good to let the jellies
chase us out. Our wild hearts found
refuge.
Claire screamed. Her face was a pale white, and she was
shaking.
“Dude, where did you
get stung?”
“I saw a shark… a
BIG shark. I’m taking the next one in,”
Claire stammered through deep breaths. I
never saw Claire scared. We worked together
at a surf camp, and when we saw sharks it was usually no big deal.
I didn’t see anything,
and the waves were just too good. I told
her that I would catch some more and then meet her back on the beach. The waves were so addicting that I was
willing to deal with the discomforts of jellyfish stings, an annoying drift,
and even a shark. It was torture and euphoria
at the same time.
A peeling right
approached, and I was in prime position, perfectly under the peak. The calm quiet of getting barreled sent my
soul into spasms as I shot out of the wave. Claire stood on the beach by the
boardwalk, and I wondered if she saw my barrel ride. It was not like her to sit on the sidelines. She also got a barrel on her wave to the
beach, but she was still shaken up from the shark sighting. I was still on a high from my tube and coveted
another, so I talked her into going back out.
We walked down the beach against the drift, and I reasoned that the
shark would be far away by now. I prayed
with her, asking God for protection and confidence. I reminded her God was in control, and He had
us. We shredded for a few more hours.
When Erin arrived
later, Claire and I were itchy and surfed out resting on the boardwalk. I debated whether to surf more with Erin, or
head back home with Claire. I decided if
Erin caught lots of waves and made it look fun, I would stay and surf more. The boardwalk was high up and offered a great
panoramic view of the sand dunes and coastline.
Right away we noticed two giant man-a-rays swimming close to shore where
Erin was about to paddle out.
Then I saw the
fin. As a wave sucked up about to break,
more of the colossal fin was revealed. The
fin rivaled jaws, and I realized a shark with a fin that large had to be at
least ten feet long.
“ERIN! ERIN!”
Claire and I yelled. I waved my
towel up and down, and Claire made a fin with her arms over her head.
“ERINNNN!”
Erin heard us,
backed out of the water, and then she saw it, too.
After seeing the
fin, I don’t know how I got Claire to paddle back out. Erin waited a few minutes and actually went
surfing. I decided that I was in fact
too tired to paddle back out.
Empty offshore barrels, annoying jellyfish
stings, stoked surf sisters to share the waves with, topped off with a monster
shark sighting equaled a day off well spent.
On our journey home, as a white crane sailed above the winding road I
realized I got all the adventure I craved, no plane ticket or board fee
necessary.
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