12/31/2000

“Let’s hit it, man!”
“Rightee-oh.”
Man, it was chilly. I was looking at the waves crashing along Ocean Beach with my friend Ron in San Francisco on the last day of the millenium, December 31, 2000. The sun was out, the wind was blowing, and the large walls of white foam were endlessly falling and reforming and falling again, filling up the horizon in front of us with their exertions. I was visiting my friends in San Francisco during my winter holiday in America. I had seen the ‘rents for Christmas and now I was here to see in the New Year. I hadn’t surfed in over a year, since I moved to Tokyo, and I was a little out of shape, but still excited to be out with my friend’s 9’6”.
Ron pulled his surf hat on, as well as his gloves and booties. Surfing up here in the winter was serious; big, black, evil waves and ice-cold water. I was a little more used to the warmer temperatures and cleaner conditions (i.e., better formed waves, although with this statement I’m opening myself up to all kinds of sectarian criticism) of Los Angeles and southern California beaches. Not to say that I wasn’t used to gnarly sets; I’d ridden the eventual 8-10 footer, (which means around 16-20 feet on the face) in very harsh conditions at El Porto in LA, put my time in at Venice Beach and had my nose broken in a rather stupid incident at Sunset Beach in Pacific Palisades. I’d learned my lessons, (I thought) and I was a cautious and smart surfer; but at the same time, I had the bug, liked riding fun waves with friends, and was jonesing for some more rides after a year of purgatory in central Tokyo.
So, we started paddling out past the beach break, which was pretty intense- this ends up as an endurance test/lucky break. You hope that you are rewarded with a break in between sets so that you won’t wear yourself out. No such luck. Maybe about 10-15 minutes later, we reach a manageable spot past the breakers; big, house sized waves were still bobbing us up and down, but they weren’t breaking yet, and gave us a space to rest and maneuver. I was breathing hard, reflecting on the fact that I was really too out of shape for this, when Ron mentioned, “Little farther, let’s keep going.” I paddled after him, trying to ignore the fire in my arms.
I was looking to my right, noticing some surfers about a hundred yards down; one guy was taking off on a wicked 10 footer.
“Hey, Ron...check that guy-” and as I turned to look Ron’s way, I saw what was right in front of us, the extension of the wave the other surfer was riding, a 15 foot monster about to dump right on us. I made eye contact with Ron, read the exact same thought in his expression: fuck.
I slid off my board, took 3 panic breaths and dived straight down, breast-stroking frantically through the black water, trying to get as far away from the impact zone and my board as possible. I got out a few more strokes and then it had me, the force spinning me down and around madly in a dark maelstrom of foam. My back bounced off something, the bottom, I realized, and I floated, not moving for a moment. Opening my eyes to total darkness, I realized that I couldn’t tell which way was up, and I still wasn’t moving, so I felt for the bottom again and swam in the opposite direction. I reached the surface, a white plain of salty foam, gasped and looked around for my board, pulling the leash quickly towards me. Grabbing my board, I saw Ron treading water close by on his board, and behind him, another big wave approaching.
“Look out, man!” He turned and nodded. We both took about another 15 seconds rest, then dove under again. I didn’t hit bottom this time, but my breath in reserve was much less, the fire in my lungs getting a little hotter. I came up, and Ron was already leaning across his board. He bowed his head toward the horizon, another big wave approaching. I gasped and nearly foundered, looking back at him with wide eyes.
“Ron...I’m, I’m having trouble,” I got out. He winced and nodded. We both knew what weight my statement carried. We were both accomplished lifeguards from Austin, where we had worked together and endured the rigorous training and standards at special facilities like Barton Springs and Town Lake. We surfed, water-skied, swam competitively, etc. Being comfortable and able at all times in the water was second nature, that is what made us love surfing so much; not just riding the waves, but the challenge of handling ourselves well in such a demanding environment. What I had just said acknowledged that I was no longer in control of my own safety, that I needed help. And he couldn’t give me any, he was too busy dealing with it himself.
Down I went again, stroking through the cold, swirling water as if it was a lap pool. Came back up again, and Ron and I crawled on top of our boards, hugging ourselves to the top as the next shorebreakers pushed us into the beach, eventually. We stumbled out of the water, and sprawled ourselves on the sand, my lungs and heart pumping, the only movement I could muster.
“Happy New Year,” Ron said with a smile.