you are familiar with the voice. the voice that has you dry on the shore, watching beautiful waves peel in, not running back to grab your board, nor when back, able to decipher the source or origin of the voice, except it’s not a voice, you can’t understand what it’s saying, it’s a dark murky feeling that won’t show you its face, and you are twin-pulled between two opposing teams of horses, go, don’t, go, don’t, and you don’t know why…
it goes on like this for a day and a half, until, flipping and flopping like a fish that has overshot the bank, you say enough. it is a matter of will, you say. a matter of hump-getting-over. you’ve been on dry land too long and it is simply time to hoist your self up by the nonexistent bootie straps and get in the damn water. what of the unfamiliarity of the break, the fact that you've never surfed a reef break like this, that you are paddling out alone… pshaw, you say, it is time. you know there is an element of fear, of the wide and long shelf of reef right at the water’s edge, and the next shelf a little further out, and the one after that, but you finally decide your fear is overblown, you’re just out of practice, etc etc. you DO ask a fellow surfer the best way to paddle out, and then, unaware that you have not asked the most important question of all, you head out. strangely, there is still fear as you paddle out, over and through the first section of the reef garden. there is still fear as you begin to appreciate the power of these particular waves jacking up on shelf after shelf and pounding down and you working hard to push through. there is fear when you begin to appreciate just how weakened injury and surgery and travel-complicated rehab has left your arms, how aerobically unfit you’ve become. and there is still fear as you bob out on the ocean and face these walls of water coming at you. you are out of your league and you are scared. it is then that you become aware of the most important question you were previously too confused in your push to overcome to think to ask. “how (the hell) do i get back in?” you stay out, breathing, trying to calm and clear your mind, make the most of the fact that you’re out there, and when the time comes, you plan to ask someone for advice on the best exit strategy. you catch a couple of very nice waves, a few of the peeling rights you’d appreciated from shore, when they looked smaller somehow, friendlier. after your last wave, halfway between where you started and the beach, you decide to go in. this is the first of a series of poor decisions you will make. you haven’t yet asked about the best route to paddle safely in to shore. you decide to aim for the spot where you got in. when you realize the idiocy of that choice, it is too late - there is no paddling back out, your arms like overcooked noodles, there is no control any more, you are not aiming anymore, the ocean just has you, and, like an ill-trained and pent up puppy, it wants to play. you cannot see the concerned citizens on the beach trying to point you to a spot way down the shore where you could get out. you can see a 7 wave set rolling in behind you, the sky, the white foam all around you, and the massive wide shelf of sharp dead coral between you and deliverance. the waves come. you are pushed into the shelf, then sucked over and back out, at one point you are submerged at the confluence of three directions of water with limbs every which way and the leash wrapped around your neck. you bump bash scrape are grated like cheese, you sputter gasp brace surrender scream “fuck!” once or twice, the only mercy is that each successive assault bumps you a little further in to shore, until finally, the last wave of the set drags you over the shelf completely and deposits the battered bleeding tangle that is you into a sandy-bottomed pool at the water’s edge. shame, pain, nausea,disorientation all bundle under the cloak of shock as you muster an ironic grin to greet the 3 men, Dinesh and 2 strangers, who have rushed to your aid. you check your board first. you sit to catch your breath. broken not bitchin’, not a shining example for Surf Like a Girl, tail tucked between wobbly legs, you just limp back - your ego, your stoke, and your left hip feeling shattered. back at the hotel, you give, and weep for 10 minutes under the shower’s cold stream. and so concludes Lesson One at Mr Humble’s School of Reef. perhaps tomorrow, you will have learned what all of living seems to conspire to teach you - when to push, and when to sit quietly and LISTEN. post script: all heals well. mostly minor, and no infection, thank the gods. grateful for good luck and for what seaweed there was on the reef. post post script: there are many many breaks here in midigama, with easier access. it is also the one place in sri lanka that has A-frames with really good lefts. the above is not a cautionary tale about midigama surf, but one about not grounding and listening to your gut. come surf here. you’ll love it!
1 Comment
pat
12/3/2016 03:58:43 pm
Very impressive specificity. I can't imagine coming out of that except with a blur of aches / pain / fear / relief. Damn.
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