SURF BREAK
I was awakened today well before the sun rose by the sound of laughter and voices coming from a spot not far away from my open bedroom window. I wasn’t startled because this is not uncommon. I live on a bluff above a major surf break and there’s many a morning when intrepid wave riders -- carrying surfboards and wearing headlamps to light the way -- pick their way along the dark cliffside to the hidden path which will take them down to the beach. It doesn’t annoy me to be roused from my sleep on these occasions. It’s a privilege to live so close to the ocean which belongs to us all. Once the sun comes up, I love watching these men and women catching wave after wave below my expansive living room windows.
I am not a surfer myself. I would love to be, but I think it’s too late for me. A left ankle badly broken at age 25 has left me with such severe arthritis in that joint at age 54 that the prospect of being able to quickly “pop up” into a standing position on a surfboard does not seem like a likely scenario for me. I will stick to body surfing and boogie boarding -- and then only in the warmer summer months. It’s January now and there are still dozens of surfers in the rather frigid Pacific winter waters below my windows on a daily basis.
I try not to take where I live for granted. Unfortunately, my children do. It’s just what they are used to so I guess I can’t really fault them. They started coming here for vacations when they were very young and have lived permanently here at the beach since they were 9 and 5 years old. Before that they grew up in the icy, sub-zero winters and humid, tornado-spawning summers of Minnesota. I would have thought that they would want to spend every possible moment at the beach, as I had during my childhood vacations. I grew up in landlocked Sacramento and absolutely lived for the week or two when my family would take our summer vacation at the beach in Santa Cruz, California. For my 5 siblings, my parents and me, the beach was pure heaven. I spent every possible hour riding the waves with nothing but my little body. No inner tubes, no boogies boards, nothing... just me and the waves. My dad taught me to do this before I was even in kindergarten. Looking back on it as a parent now, I can understand why I made my mother so nervous. I was just this little bit of a thing, being tossed around and ground into the sand by big waves... and I loved it. I was fearless. It was good life training.
My kids don’t dislike the beach, and they actually know how to surf. Both my son and daughter took Surf P.E. at school and learned to ride the waves, but neither has a passion for it, which makes me a bit sad. Their surfboards and wet suits lie unused in the garage. I am thinking of donating them back to the school so kids with less advantages and more passion for the ocean might have the chance to learn to surf. You can’t force your kids to have the childhood you wish you could have had, nor should you... I learned that long ago.
Not only are there surfers in our local waters, but we regularly see dolphins, and at this time of year, whales. We spot them spouting as they surface on their way south to the warm Mexican waters of Baja California, where they will have babies... and then make their way later this Spring back to the frigid waters of Alaska. And thus is has been for thousands of years. Nature is an awe-inspiring thing.
There’s still a bit of fog hanging in the air. I can see it and feel it even though the sun is not yet up. It’s a funny thing how, even over the roar of the waves, I can hear the laughter of the surfers down on the beach below the cliff. I can’t see them, but I imagine they are waxing up their boards and waiting for first light, which should be about to break any minute. Soon I will be able to see them paddling out, catching wave after wave in the crisp morning air. It’s going to be a good day, I can just tell.
