Physical pain is excruciating, but it's the
emotional wounds that truly break a man!
Sometimes you track a swell quarter-way ‘round
the world and everything goes right. The waves produce, the winds
are light, the sun is out and you put on the performance of a
lifetime. Then a filmer captures your best ride of the trip and you
manage to seduce a local temptress, only to put on the second-best
performance of your life. This is what we all dream of, no?
Well that’s never happened to me. Oftentimes one or two or maybe
three of the criteria persist, but to expect a perfect sweep would
be delusional. In reality, most of us are lucky to get one or two
memorable waves on these ventures, as the terrifying and perplexing
realities of foreign surf travel are enough to throw even some pros
for a loop.
For two-and-a-half days the waves were absolutely flawless in
Fiji. Long period, immaculately angled swell was met with soft
offshores, the results of which were the most imacculate waves I’ve
seen. The best of the bunch were trading their time between getting
one exceptionally long barrel, or two-to-three medium length
barrels per wave. The mediocre guys settled for a few stand-tall
sections and fire-hose spits.
I was happy with my performance on day one. I got five waves
that were better than anything I’d caught in California this
season, and one of them was a proper bomb. I even have some
(blurry) photographic evidence, which will be cool to show my
grandkids someday. It’s amazing how, in a historical context, a
photo can change someone’s legend from from pussy to pirate, just
like that.
Like, what if Eddie Aikau only caught one big wave in his life?
What if the Tiananmen protester just had to go back and pick up his
wallet real quick? What if Trump didn’t have the most
widely-attended inauguration of all time? Photographic folk-lore is
powerful.
Day two was big — that in-between big where Cloudbreak isn’t
quite on the outer reef, but it isn’t really on the first reef
either. You can either sit way out the back and stroke into a rolly
one, or sit on the ledge and hope to nab an insider before getting
the sets on your head. Cat and mouse, as they say.
For the pros, especially the Hawaiians, this was no big deal.
These guys handle poundings at Jaws, so a few second-reefers at
Thundercloud probably doesn’t scare them much. As I watched from
the boat, these boys (along with a few equally brave boatmen)
consistently nabbed long, running, double-up tubes from takeoff to
kickout. It was beautiful and terrifying.
Eventually I worked up the courage to paddle out. Upon entering
the lineup, a medium one swung wide and came right to me. I was
deep, and late, but I had chance. I swung around and started
grinding toward the tower until I saw the line stretch out and felt
my tail begin to lift. At this point I made the biggest mistake of
my day — I pulled back.
Now, granted, according to people who were watching this from
the shoulder, there’s almost no chance I would have made it. But
had I gone, I have a feeling the rest of my session would have
played out differently. Had I just taken that initial pounding, I
would have been freed from the fear and able to enjoy myself from
there on out.
The rest of my session was spent getting paddled around (another
unfortunate result of pulling back), wearing wash-throughs on the
head, and misreading the two very good waves I caught. I’ve learned
that Cloudbreak is a difficult wave to understand for any newcomer,
but on your backhand it’s another level. I returned to the boat
three hours later exhausted and ashamed.
On the last day the swell had died considerably, though there
were still a few gems to be had. I made a conscious decision to
paddle to the top of the point, wait my turn, and get at least one
screamer to wash away yesterday’s disappointment (classic Slater
move).
On my best two waves, I was burnt to a crisp by a couple of the
visiting pros. I guess some of them were on ‘shrooms and just
fucking around in the relatively playful surf. Though playful for
them can be world-class to the rest of us.
The swell is now gone, so I’ve decided to sit the day out and
address my wounds — both physical and emotional. I’ve got New-Skin
for the reef cuts and this article for my aching heart.
But please don’t mistake this tale as a general complaint. First
of all, I understand I’m unjustifiably fortunate to even have this
opportunity. Second, I’m actually glad I’ve yet to have the
‘perfect’ trip. Because where do you go from there? I never want to
score so hard that I end up thinking, the forecast
looks fun, but how could it live up to Pohnpei in 2015?
No, I’d rather continue on my path of half-successful ventures
with maximum levels of froth, rather than having already hit my
apex moment. Much like with food and sex, the anticipation of
sterling surf is often, if not always, greater than reality. If you
kill the possibility of improvement, you’re stripping yourself of
the most exciting part.
