There I was. A bitter Nor Cal surfer who had been sentenced to live in Surf Purgatory USA for more than a year, riding a paltry smattering of waves during the entire length of time. And yet, suddenly it was too big to surf! After spending a bit of time perusing the main spots, snapping some photos and shaking my head at the preposterous parking dilemmas and crowds of people that the surf had attracted, I was ready to charge -- but where?

One of the less popular spots on the north side of town had very few rigs parked there, so I quickly bagged my gear and headed out the trail. To my dismay there were two separate crews of surfers toting their baggage with dry hair on their way back to the parking zone. 'Total washout,' said the first group. 'Too big -- nobody out,' said the second group. Usually this is a challenge for me and I relish the idea of being the first one to paddle out and catch waves at a particularly hairy spot.

But I was not up for it, and I am glad that I made the choice not to surf there because when I surfed there with several others on the following day with the buoys down a notch or two, it was not handling the swell very well. The warbled walls had odd shapes and were not feeling the rocky reef bottom very well. Each wave had a distinct nature of holding back, holding back, holding back and then exploding too far inside and too fast for fun take-offs. My friend who came down from Half Moon Bay just for the occasion loved the place, however, and despite riding only a 6'4" board he found his way into an almond-shaped barrel that formed from sea energy traveling many, many miles.

Big Wednesday became Coal Oil Point for the author of outdoor-weblog. Without even surveying the situation I began pulling on my wetsuit parked underneath the gigantic, alien coastal Eucalyptus trees. When I began jogging to the stairs that lead to the tar-stained beach I asked a guy how it looked who was walking back from the cliff's edge. "You haven't seen it yet?" He had a dismayed look. Then I heard the helicopter circling overhead. "Yeah, someone didn't make it back in. It's gnarly out there, dude, hardly anyone can make it out."

Gulp. No turning back now. I jogged down the stairs and my eyes gazed out upon an incredibly beautiful gorgeous sunny day. Blue skies. The smell of salt surf was thick and pungent in the air. Rows of white water extended out to the horizon, and the entire world seemed submerged in a symphony of crashing ocean surf.

There was a young man sitting on the beach looking forlorn as I started to make way to the top of the point. Immediately I engaged his presence and he admitted that he had tried and repeatedly failed to make it out. I urged him to try again and that he could make it, just don't give up, start at the very top and work your way around. We jogged together towards the terminus of Coal Oil Point. It was hard to fathom that these were the same waters that only a few months earlier I was snorkeling. At that time they were clear, calm tranquil turquoise fluids. On Big Wednesday they became a zone of total destruction.

ER Harris