The Scene:

A winter Sunday at the Jersey Shore. Waves are big, messy and a little dangerous. Water temperature - 40 degrees. Air temp, about the same.

The Players:

My three surfing friends: Sunday, Pete and Clint (with ass crack showing). And me. (Photos from last summer.)

Oh and I forgot another very important cast member....

The Jetties....




















The Story:

It's a big wave day - big for the Jersey shore. 6 - 7 foot waves, hollow, fast. Arriving at our surf spot late, I'm amped up but a little nervous. I make sure my wetsuit is on properly; hood tied, gloves on correctly. You can't mess around in this temperature. It's a few degrees above freezing after all.

I run onto the beach and Sunday is getting out of the water already. What? Sunday is a marathon surfer. She'll stay in forever. She has a frozen smile on her face but something appears to be wrong.

"What happened?"

"I got hit in the leg with my board. And the paddle out is a bitch. Walk up north a ways. The current is strong. You'll get pulled toward the jetties quickly."

This is not a good sign. If Sunday is having trouble with the paddle out, it has to be difficult.

Quick little side lesson: paddling out is the most strenuous part of surfing. It's when you are literally swimming upstream. Once you are out past the breakers, you can sit on your board and catch your breath and wait until you're ready to grab a wave. Until then, you are in danger zone.

(above) Me last winter, paddling out and punching my board through
an oncoming wave. Not for the faint that heart.


Now if you're paddling out and there's a current, you have added problem. You need to paddle out quickly so you don't hit these:



















Jetties are rocks. Slimy, sharp, barnacle-covered, unyielding rocks.

Pete has gotten out of the water as well. He says the same thing: "Give yourself some distance. The current is strong."

Okay, fine. So I start walking up the beach, away from the jetties, about a 1/8 of a mile so I have lots of room to get pulled down and still make it past the jetties. Which are rocks. Slimy, sharp...oh I told you.

But suddenly, I see a lull. Calm as a lake for a second! I decide to forgo their advice and paddle out much closer to the jetties. I can make it out in time. It's easy. I'm fast. And I'm good.

Bounding into the water, I begin my paddle out. Hmmm...interesting. That lull has suddenly disappeared and been replaced by a set of large, breaking waves. Not a problem. I'm a rock star. I'll just get past the oncoming waves and I'll be fine.

Looking over to the right, I see the jetties a little closer but I still have a good amount of distance. Not nervous at all!

Then a serious wave hits me and I "rag doll." That's my surf lingo for getting the crap beat out of you by a wave. When I finally resurface, I look to the right and what do my wide eyes see?

This:
















This is bad. Really, really, bad. I'm only a few feet from the jetties now. If the next wave hits me, it will slam me into these rocks. I jump off the board and start swimming furiously in the other direction. This is a silly move but what happens when you panic.

At this point, I feel something that I can only partially put into words: the pulling action of the jetties. The jetties have currents swirling around them. To be caught in one of these currents is an unmistakable sensation. You can't move. It's like nature's supermagnet. You stand no chance. None.

I see an approaching wave. I know this one will bring me onto the rocks. The waves lifts me up like a world class wrestler and SLAM! Right on the rocks. I lay there for a moment, stunned.  At the shoreline, I see Sunday, Pete and Clint in a panic, running all over the place, not sure what to do. Sunday has her hands over her mouth.

There's nothing they can do. Short of an airlift, nobody can get to me. It's too dangerous.

I look behind me and realize the fun has only just begun. Another wave is poised to crash on top of me again.

Lift, SLAM!

It's funny - or perhaps, not funny at all - the strange thoughts that run through your head when you're in such peril. First, everything slows down to a surreal crawl. Second, you feel strangely observant of all sorts of random things. There's seaweed on my face and I remove it. My thoughts become simple, basic: "Why am I here? I have a feeling this isn't good. Hmmm..."

But my most prominent thought is the safety of my board. My precious, new surfboard. It is a yard ahead of me,  still attached to my ankle, lying on top of another rock and getting the shit beat out of it. My heart cries out each time I see it get hit. For weeks afterward, I will wonder why an object gained more importance than my own well-being that day.

I belly-crawl over to it and lift it up, determined not to let it hit the rocks again. BAM! Another wave hits me and the board is taken again.

That board is one of the only things I've purchased for myself in a year. On a tight budget, a fancy new board doesn't fit in. But who doesn't tire of constantly paying bills? That board is my only new item. It was a gift to myself.

Every day, I encounter something broken in my home. Or something worn. Or something torn. When I walk by my board in the living room, it's pretty and white and new and hopeful. Now it's getting banged up repeatedly so it can look like everything else in my life, including me at this moment.

Suddenly, Clint appears. He paddled out to the "safe" side of the jetties. He still needs to stay several yards away or he too could get sucked in, even on his side.

He shouts:

"You're in danger! You need to get off of the rocks now!"

Somehow I manage an ounce of sarcasm: "Ya think?"

"Are you alright?"

I check in with my body for the first time. Nothing is broken. Bruised - yes, very seriously. Wetsuit, torn. My body feels strangely relaxed. Starfish, you're supposed to pose like a starfish when this happens (just in case you're ever caught on top of jetties.) Lay low, flat and outstretched. Don't even think of standing (its more slippery than ice) and let the waves wash you off, if you're lucky.

I see Clint look over my head suddenly. That's bad. Another wave. I refuse to look this time.













This wave sweeps me off the jetties, next to Clint.

I'm safe now.

"Come on. Let's get you in."

"Hell, no," I tell him. And I start paddling out to catch a few waves.

Clint paddles up to me.

"You're in shock. You know that, right?"

"Story of my life."

Finally, safe beyond the breakers, I take a look at the damage to the board. Poor board, poor, poor board. Beth's board. Beth's new board. It was designed for me. It says "For Beth" on it.

I ride a few waves and when I get back to shore, hugs and slaps hit me on the back instead of hostile waves.

Later that night, I sit with Clint in front of the fire. The aches are beginning to set in and I pop an Advil or two.

"Why Clint? Why didn't I care about myself? Why did I only worry about my board?"

"Suicidal?"

"Maybe."

"Or ballsy."

"Hmm..."

"Maybe you just knew you'd be alright. Maybe God was with you."

"Maybe all of the above."



Me and few of my "war wounds":