Deet d-deet deet
Charlie and I surfed today.
Wait, let me rephrase that...
Charlie surfed today and I was too busy letting the waves kick my ass to even attempt it.
We arrive at the Point around 1230 and slather ourselves with OFF! before traipsing through the tunnel to the beach. We know all about those unforgiving mosquitoes. I was bitten a hundred times too many last summer so I'm not letting them win. I don't care how much Deet I have to inhale; those bastards aren't sucking my blood. And I wouldn't mind if they were like normal mosquitoes that bite the s out of you in your backyard and you don't know until the next day when your legs look like my face. No, these things have teeth. Big ones. So it hurts.
We get to the beach and survey our usual spot. Five to six footers have replaced the typical one footer I have mastered. I watch as people drop down on the face and the curl swallows them up. Lovely. I quickly find a better break a little more suitable for me. I find one. No curl and a foot smaller. Charlie says he'll surf a bit with me at this break and then move over. That's fine, until we get out to my small break and the water decides to move us over anyway. Thank you riptide! It puts me right in the way of a big one. It starts to peak two feet in front of where I'm sitting on my board. I watch the looming blue mass speed right for me and decide I'm either going to paddle or die. I choose paddle. I take two strokes, it pulls, I have it, my right leg pops up automatically and then my left knee says, "I don't think so". I lie back down on the board defeated but enjoy the ride. I rest my chin on my hands and maneuver with my hips. I finally stick my arms in the water and pull myself back after ten seconds. I slide off and look behind me. I get smashed in the face with a wave. I hold my ground and begin the fight back to where I began.
Twenty minutes and five swallows of disgusting water later, I'm back out with Charlie, peacefully sitting. I watch the sets roll in and then finally look back at Charlie who catches a beautiful right and rides it like a pro. I pump my fists in the air and whoop because that's what everyone out here keeps doing when someone doesn't get trashed. Which isn't too often. I get antsy and try for a left. I don't drop in fast enough and the curl swallows my nose. The worst part about this is that I watch the water circle my board but I'm not in that water yet. And you would think this would be a good time to take a deep breath but instead I think, 'maybe if I just slide my tail my nose will pop out’. I slide it and end up sideways, without any air in my lungs, and get pulled under. I never said I was genius.
I get spit out basically ten feet from the shore. After fighting thirty minutes and riding baby waves, I give up trying to get back out to Charlie, who is having a wonderful surf day mind you. He comes in and we walk a half mile back to our towels. I de-knot my hair and start plotting on how to get out to the better waves. Charlie gives me tips. Easy for him to say. He's nine inches taller than me and has an extra 100 pounds to work with. When he charges out to the waves, the ocean moves for him. Nothing plows him over; he just puts out his arms and pushes it back the other way.
Needless to say, I never get back out there again. I only get up twice on good ones the entire day so it's not a complete waste. If I didn't have to tote a board out there I would be fine. I have less problems swimming against currents and waves when I'm not towing excess baggage from my left ankle. So instead, I watch Charlie enjoy his rides, and that is so much more fun to do then get smacked around by white caps.
Wait, let me rephrase that...
Charlie surfed today and I was too busy letting the waves kick my ass to even attempt it.
We arrive at the Point around 1230 and slather ourselves with OFF! before traipsing through the tunnel to the beach. We know all about those unforgiving mosquitoes. I was bitten a hundred times too many last summer so I'm not letting them win. I don't care how much Deet I have to inhale; those bastards aren't sucking my blood. And I wouldn't mind if they were like normal mosquitoes that bite the s out of you in your backyard and you don't know until the next day when your legs look like my face. No, these things have teeth. Big ones. So it hurts.
We get to the beach and survey our usual spot. Five to six footers have replaced the typical one footer I have mastered. I watch as people drop down on the face and the curl swallows them up. Lovely. I quickly find a better break a little more suitable for me. I find one. No curl and a foot smaller. Charlie says he'll surf a bit with me at this break and then move over. That's fine, until we get out to my small break and the water decides to move us over anyway. Thank you riptide! It puts me right in the way of a big one. It starts to peak two feet in front of where I'm sitting on my board. I watch the looming blue mass speed right for me and decide I'm either going to paddle or die. I choose paddle. I take two strokes, it pulls, I have it, my right leg pops up automatically and then my left knee says, "I don't think so". I lie back down on the board defeated but enjoy the ride. I rest my chin on my hands and maneuver with my hips. I finally stick my arms in the water and pull myself back after ten seconds. I slide off and look behind me. I get smashed in the face with a wave. I hold my ground and begin the fight back to where I began.
Twenty minutes and five swallows of disgusting water later, I'm back out with Charlie, peacefully sitting. I watch the sets roll in and then finally look back at Charlie who catches a beautiful right and rides it like a pro. I pump my fists in the air and whoop because that's what everyone out here keeps doing when someone doesn't get trashed. Which isn't too often. I get antsy and try for a left. I don't drop in fast enough and the curl swallows my nose. The worst part about this is that I watch the water circle my board but I'm not in that water yet. And you would think this would be a good time to take a deep breath but instead I think, 'maybe if I just slide my tail my nose will pop out’. I slide it and end up sideways, without any air in my lungs, and get pulled under. I never said I was genius.
I get spit out basically ten feet from the shore. After fighting thirty minutes and riding baby waves, I give up trying to get back out to Charlie, who is having a wonderful surf day mind you. He comes in and we walk a half mile back to our towels. I de-knot my hair and start plotting on how to get out to the better waves. Charlie gives me tips. Easy for him to say. He's nine inches taller than me and has an extra 100 pounds to work with. When he charges out to the waves, the ocean moves for him. Nothing plows him over; he just puts out his arms and pushes it back the other way.
Needless to say, I never get back out there again. I only get up twice on good ones the entire day so it's not a complete waste. If I didn't have to tote a board out there I would be fine. I have less problems swimming against currents and waves when I'm not towing excess baggage from my left ankle. So instead, I watch Charlie enjoy his rides, and that is so much more fun to do then get smacked around by white caps.