Coal Oil Point had about seven or eight guys that made it out. The current was running "river" strong south from the top of the reef towards the deeper water of the crescent shaped bay that used to be my backyard ten years in the hazy past. Several ant-sized shapes were getting eaten up and driven further south each millisecond by large rolling walls of whitewater. Wave energy that had broken two football fields outside continued to carry that energy all the way through to a beach that was awash with ripped up kelp and chunks of tar. Not a very inviting lineup. That was until I saw what I was looking for.

Way outside a guy riding a big gun was taking off far into the glint of midday sun. He rode that wave so far with such nice, long cutbacks that I now had an agenda, formed simply by witnessing this fantastic ride. Wading out up to my chest I waited for what seemed like a lull and jumped onto my board, laying prone and paddling with ferocity.

I tried to ignore the current and just focus and what was in front of me. Although it did not take more than ten minutes to make it to the shoulder, I realized that I had been sucked several hundred yards south during my feeble attempt. My human strength was puny in comparison with the force of the breaking waves and tidal currents. But I would not be daunted on that day.

Sneaker set! Despite being the furthest outside, I was easily caught be a freak set that broke way further out than most of the stronger waves had been breaking. Thank goodness for five plus years of Ocean Beach experience. My instincts told me to angle hard for the wave, not paddle straight at it, but for the shoulder. I found the lip and punched through it vertically, board and body pointed directly up to the heavens, and had just enough in my push that I did not quite get sucked over the falls backwards. Now I was flat on my chest in an instant and paddling for the wave behind it, again angled towards the shoulder.

My eyes grew to the size of illegally plucked oysters. I was in the zone on this one! By making the duck dive moments ago I suddenly was in that magical place of time and space where the ocean opened a door for a ride on its Aquarian roller coaster. I turned towards shore and kicked, clawed, scratched, fought and yelled my way into the fourteen-foot wall of blue crystal just as it was picking up steam over the reef.

The drop kept going and going. My arms were not wind milling but they felt like they should have been, because I was flying! A scatter of guys on the shoulder paddling over screamed at me and I reciprocated with a lungful of precious air wasted on a guttural cry of relief and joy as I made the long bottom turn into a high arcing cutback that felt like I was window-washing with my feet two stories high.

I'm glad I didn't fall on that one I thought to myself as I kicked off the back of the wave one hundred or so yards from the takeoff spot right before the wave jacked and closed out further down the reef.

ER Harris