Read part 1 ->
The birds were busy with their morning chatter as we entered the tree-covered foot path, and for a moment I felt as though my brother and I were birds, too: he in his traditional all-black suit, a crow, and me and my modern electric blue, a flightless peacock. He seemed to belong in such a wild place, and I felt like I had long ago been domesticated. He set a quick pace, and I tried to keep up, hobbling along on my cold bare feet. Times like this are sacred to my brother, when little is said but much is understood. I am always amazed how much he is able to see and learn just by walking through the woods, or watching the ocean from the coast. He might look at me and nod, as if to point and ask if I had noticed something, too. And afterwords, the manner with which he reveals what he has seen is filled with such reverence and awe, you might think he'd seen it in a church. But all I could think about now besides my cold, stinging feet, was how enormous the surf had looked from the road, and whether or not I stood in the good graces of King Neptune today. When the trail emerged from the trees beneath the red sandstone cliffs, the sound of the birds was replaced by the echoing thunder of the breaking waves. It sounded like the regular, relentless cannon fire of an invasion from the sea. My brother looked back to me, and I jerked my head to acknowledge the power we were hearing. The thunder and crack of every wave grew tighter the knot that was beginning to form in my stomach. The walk out to Billy-Bob’s is just short of a mile, and below the cliff, where the dirt underfoot turns to sand, the trail quickly bends to the right. The trees stop, and for the first time you see the breaking waves from the beach. This morning the water shone like mercury, and the offshore wind dropping over the trees in little blasts rippled it briefly before it turned to glass again. The sun was behind us, and as the waves were breaking a brilliant flash of light would light up the peak and streak like an arrow along the face of the wave. The waves had looked big from the hilltop, but I was taught long ago that without any reference for perspective, making estimates from that distance was highly inaccurate. Seeing them now from the beach, though, confirmed my fears. These were the biggest I had ever seen. Butterflies took flight in my stomach as my brother put his arm around my shoulder. "It's big today, bro,” he started. "And I can remember times when I felt what you might be feeling right now. But there are two things I want you to remember. First, and I told you this time and time again: we play safe so that we can get up and do it again tomorrow. And second, it's not just you and ol’ Neptune out there today, it's you and me an ol’ Neptune, bro. We can do it together. “ As I stood there listening to my brother, his brown eyes shone. His tan face, cheeks still flushed from the cold morning walk, was surrounded by short, wheat-colored hair. He stood firm and straight in his black suit, his green surfboard at his feet. I did feel safe in his company, but I knew that a time would come soon when I would be on my own. I looked up to the waves, took a slow deep breath. I watched another perfect set of giant hollow tubes break. "I'm going out, Erik, "I said. "Either I can sit here on the beach and watch, or I can go out there and know what it is like to stand inside one of those barrels.” We stood together for several sets, watching and learning how the waves were breaking today. We counted the seconds between each wave and between the sets, and saw that the peak did not shift, but was breaking at the same place every time. As the sun warmed our backs, we slowly moved to the water’s edge, and began the final act of the surfing ritual: rubbing the waxed surfboard deck with sand to roughen its grip, and then attaching the rubber surf leashes to our ankles. We walked through the water over smooth cobble rocks until we were knee deep, and stopped to watch the approaching set waves. One of the first surfing rituals that I had learned was that it was at this moment in a civilized man's life that it is permissible for him to pee in his pants. I could barely pee morning, and when I did it offered me no relief. "Get ready, bro. This will be the last wave of the set," my brother said, his voice full of encouragement. “You'll have to paddle hard, but only ‘till we get to the channel. I know you've got it in you. Let's do it! “ The water was cold on my hands and face as we jumped onto our boards and started paddling. It didn't bother me like it might have another time, though. The giant waves marching toward me were all that I could see. “Okay, King Neptune,” my brother said just loud enough for me to hear, “We've come today to play. Please show us the gentleness in your strength.” I said a silent Amen. The waves were breaking well out from us, so that by the time we had to punch through them, much of their strength was gone. Still, burrowing under 10 foot high walls of seething, churning water is no easy thing, and after every wave I was more and more out of breath. From what we had learned while standing on the beach, the set waves would be coming again any second. My muscles began to burn, and my attention turned inward to muster what strength I had left. “Paddle to the right, bro, and you'll find the channel.” These words came without strain from my brother, and filled me with the strength to push the last 15 yards. I looked up to see his smiling face, and felt relief to see that he had stopped paddling. “You made it, bro. Take a break,” he said, and rolled off his surfboard and onto his back, barking like a seal and slapping his feet together. His playfulness startled me, but the life or death feeling inside of me quieted as I watched him, and I let out a few nervous barks, too. The channel has no breaking waves, and affords a safe place to watch and learn. But with the waves this big, we could see only dark mountains of water and the crisp profile of the breaking wave as we sank deep into the trough between every wave. We would rise to the crest again every 10 or 12 seconds and look quickly to sea and shore, to see what was coming and to plot our position. We watched like this as two sets of waves came crashing through. Being this close to the waves leaves no doubt about their size, and these waves were easily big enough and hollow enough to drive a freight train through. "You've surfed here plenty, and know how to line up points on the land to plot your position on the water,” my brother coached. "Look for the boil on the water where the waves are breaking over the rock shelf– that's the takeoff zone. It's big today, but Billy’s never gets cleaner. Tuck in those huevos, and have yourself some fun. And bro, I'm stoked to be out here sharing it with you.” I said a silent prayer to the Water King, and started moving toward the breaking waves. I was sure to keep checking over my shoulder to refer back to the land, knowing that when the top of the southernmost palm tree on the point lined up with the top of Mount Onyx in the distance, I'd be near the takeoff position. From my side I heard my brother noting the boil on the water surface just ahead. This was a classic time in a surfer’s life, when all knowledge and preparation hinge on one thing: commitment. I was in the zone, and the set waves were approaching. What came next was entirely up to whether or not I could seize the moment and ride not on the wave, but with the wave. I was on my own; there was nothing my brother could do to help me now. To be continued…
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Parents' Circle
Welcome to the Parents' Circle, written and managed by Troop 758's parents. You'll find stories, recipes, tips for being an effective scout parent and troop leader, etc. ArchivesCategories |