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by ez_ed, as originally published on NYNJSurf.com, January 29, 2006
Pulled into a near empty lot at daybreak. The earliest glimmer of sunlight reflected off the glassy darkness of the bay. A lone figure with dog surveys the scene over a mug of coffee. I peel off my sweatshirt, grab the vipers and jog across the lawn past the Eddie Aikau memorial and across the cool deep sand to warm up my body.
Stop and stretch lightly, more to check out the sandbars than for flexibility. It's head high or so...not death defying but solid nonetheless. Walk to the shore, put on the fins in knee high water and duck under a waist high insider....swim in the cool water toward the set waves and tread water waiting for the right wave.
Always important to be a bit selective at Waimea (whether you're surfing monster waves or bodysurfing the pounders). The first one jacks up on the shoulder of the sandbar. I flutter kick, angling left and try to project myself into the pocket. In the barrel all I can see is the tiniest teardrop shape of daylight. I aim for it, drawing the highest line I can muster....Then the sweet detonation......Exploding water then the relinquishing of control to the mighty Pacific.....I repeat the process for about another 40 minutes or so, attempting the odd corkscrew now and then. I'm lost in my own watery world, immersed physically and spiritually. It's Sunday and I am worshipping God as I see him.
During the slow walk up the dunes to the public shower, I feel that whole body soreness and the endorphins flowing through my blood stream. It's that "good soreness" that blisses you out like I imagine the zen monks get after hours of "seshin". I turn on the truck radio to the UH radio station and it's Billie Holliday...and she's never sounded better. |
