Eventually, I muster up the gumption to fight my way through the powerful ocean currents to be ready to snag my first wave. I watch a few sets and try to lock in my bearings. Ay de mi . . . it's thick, wedging, and dredging, and the sets are closer to ten foot. My heart is pounding as I try to find my niche so I can shoulder drop a medium sized one in order to get myself going, hopefully find a rhythm. My first wave is pure nirvana, an epiphany in wave riding for someone of my ilk - not a shredder, but a strong and competent surfing addict who loves the feeling of gliding on the face of a wave so much that it has become a part of my life in many ways. Coming off the bottom from my drop I am putting all my weight into a hard back side slashing top turn, re-dropping into the energy ball and flying around a white water corner for my next setup turn. Such a long ride ensues that I am forced to roar up to the blue skies as I kick off the back after traveling a ridiculous distance from the top of the point. As I paddle back out I am marveling in the reality of my situation: quality surf, warm water, no crowds. Where am I? At this very moment I have transferred into what us teachers call the endless summer: days that consist of the repeating pattern of surf, relax, eat. YES!




Wave two is even more radical but with similar results. My drop is sketchy and late, I grab my rail to hold my board into place and start to slide sideways, all the while blinded by stiff offshore spray. But if one believes . . . Boom! Rail catches, and I am flying down the line, blasting backside turns until the first of four barrel sections emerge, here I switch into pump-for-speed mode, skirting the lip with a hand stall. The free glory ended soon. Next wave I manage to get D-R-I-L-L-E-D. I watch from down the point the studs of the lineup pull late drop after late drop, straight into the first barrel section, only to come out with more speed and continue to connect line after line until way out of sight. Now it's my turn. I am perched at the gnarliest takeoff spot on the point, with an almost surefire collision with the rocks handed out for mistakes. But I just have to go for it. The blue wall looms, aggressively, I turn and stroke at full speed with everything I have in my muscles and bones, I feel the energy catch me and the split-second arrives for to the pop up from prone to crouching. Uh-oh, stalled in the lip, all I an do is kick my board away from body as far as possible and become merged with the lip of the wave like a two hundred pound anchor from gravity hell . . . BAM! My buttocks hit the sand with full force, and I proceed to get grinded and spun like I am no more significant than a speck of dust blown by a breath across a table. That experience rattles me a little bit. I was pretty lucky that I did not ass plant on a rock. Sand is a lot more forgiving than reef or rock. That reinforces what my instincts were saying, that I was not quite skilled enough to pull off the late drops in the deepest part of the pit of this incredible point break, so I settle for my original strategy which has been good for six waves thus far in the session. Maintain my position just off the outside rocks, but slightly inside and over from the main pack, who continue to grind it out in the paddle mill called a current. What a first day! Could it possibly get better than thist? Maybe I should just go home now . . .Naaaah! More to come.

ER Harris