Coconut and Eucalyptus
It's the reality of living by the beach in Southern California, that once school is out for summer and everyone is ready to hit the beach, the skies are grey and overcast until they clear in the afternoon, if you're lucky.
Last Friday, the Surfline report was unremarkable – 1-2 feet, fair conditions with 3 knots of onshore breeze. No one was out in the water on the cams, and as I sipped my morning coffee while watering the tomatoes, I was on the fence about going out. It was Kai’s birthday party too later that day, and there was plenty to do at home.
As I coiled the hose around the wall hanger, I caught a glint of sunshine poking through the early morning clouds, which seemed to be quickly dissipating. It was enough to decide it. I’d go, even if only for an hour. I couldn’t pass up a sunny morning in the ocean.
By the time I parked and made my way to the sand, the water was hopping – swimmers in matching rubber caps, prone paddle boarders charging down the coast a hundred yards off-shore. I found an empty stretch with some peeling lefts and walked into the water. It took little effort to paddle out past the break, and I sat upright on the board. The water was glassy, the waves rolling in consistently, and 1-2 feet might be the right size for me now.
The week prior, I tried paddling out in 3-4 foot walls, but the surges of whitewater kept shoving me back, the big closeouts crashing one after the other, keeping me from finding any kind of rhythm. I thought I'd just practice in the whitewater, but even that was too much. After 10 minutes, I barely made it past the shore break and decided to pack it in.
I lay back down and paddled a few yards further off-shore to try and catch the waves a bit earlier, giving me more chance to get to my feet. A mellow peak approached. I spun the board toward shore and paddled hard. Once I felt the wave lift me up, I got to my feet. I was off balance, and the board wobbled underneath me from side to side as the wave drained out, but I was happy.
All that pop-up practice in the garage paid off. I'd worn myself out first on the explosive version, then settled on a two-part move – back foot into place, then push with the arms to swing the front foot forward.
I paddled back out and straight into another wave. This time I made a short ride to shore before the wobbles sent me jumping off into the shallows. By the fifth or sixth wave, my form was getting sloppy and my head was pounding. The last wave in, my hand slipped while pushing myself up and the side of my head hit the top of the board with a thump. I touched my temple a few times – no blood.
Back at home, I was in the dog house with the wife, sweeping and vacuuming feverishly before Kai’s friends came over for his birthday party.
The skies have gone grey again, and the morning waves drained out by the low tide. I’m pushing through the mediocre sessions, though, reminding myself that at this stage I can still work on my paddling and reading the conditions in the water.
The last few nights I’ve gone to sleep with unopened boxes of surf wax by my head, waking up to the smell of coconut and eucalyptus.
