Surfing Sucks

Between August 3rd and August 13th of 2004, hurricane Bonnie was floating across the Atlantic. When I heard about this trans-Atlantic development, I called all of my friends and immediately gathered gas, food, a tent, a towel and my board. The surf session of a lifetime was on. Little did I know that when my life was on the brink of ending, all those phone calls I made would give me a lot more than an unforgettable road trip.
Every body that surfs the shores of south eastern Virginia will tell you that there’s more waves in a bathtub than in the. But this week had more than the usual droll of another “ankle-slapper” surf report. There was a storm brewing off the coast and it looked promising. It had to be no later than six a.m. when I made my first phone call to my surfing buddy Scott Sterling. After the phone chirped a few times I heard a voice on the other side.
“Dude, please tell me you’re thinking what I’m thinking” shoots across the line.
“I’m all ready like eight steps ahead of ya” I said throwing my board shorts. ”Are you gonna be ready in the next five minutes? I’m all ready to go.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve been ready for like an hour now. Let’s hit it!” and with that the conversation ended. By the time the receiver hit the base on the wall I was out the door and in my car.
He was already outside when I pulled up in the driveway. I turned the car off and walked over to where he was waiting. We ducked inside and set up our base camp in his living room. That’s where the idea for a road trip came into motion. We sat watching the news and Frisco was getting some pretty heavy surf. The first thing that went through my head was Frisco beach was only a two hour drive and I had plenty of gas if Scott pitched in. Frisco is a town on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. So I turned to Scott and asked him what he thought about a little drive. Of course, after a short discussion, there was no arguing the fact that we were Frisco bound.
Once we were on the road, it was smooth sailing. We made it to the outer banks in just under an hour and the next stop was Frisco. All that was left was to pray that there weren’t too many people there to crowd the best waves.
When we pulled up, there wasn’t a sole in sight. The waves were breaking about a quarter mile off shore and they were big. The official tally was 17 to 20 feet in seven wave sets. So naturally it was a bit of a workout to get to the breakers.
After my first few waves, I started to drift pretty hard toward the pier that was north of us. I figured if I caught one in, I’d walk down the beach and paddle back out. Well that’s where my troubles began. I took off on a smaller wave and misplaced my leading foot. I slipped off my board and was crushed so hard by the lip of the wave that my feet folded over my head to the point where I could feel the back of my knees touching my shoulders. My right side was hyper extended so severely that I separated my floating rib and left stretch marks that looked like a purple lightning bolt. That first hit hurt so bad it knocked the wind out of my lungs and that was the easy part. I fought the pain with one hand and swam away from the pier with the other but it just wasn’t going to happen. Wave after wave came down on me like buildings in a demolition project. But right before I thought I was in the clear, the pier sucked me in and there was no getting away. So the next thing I did was one of the smartest things I have ever done. I charged the pier.
As the first pylon came within arm’s length, I flipped my board up and braced for impact. The wave that pushed me into the pole forced my legs against the barnacles that were attached and sliced through my skin like razor blades. Once I got some control back, I pushed off the pylon and started towards the other side. I didn’t get very far when I realized that my leash got wrapped around something underwater.
Once that happened, I gave up and I prayed. I prayed to be delivered from the mess I was in and for my life to be spared that day and right when I said that my leash gave way and I was pushed out the other side to safety. By the time I reached dry land my body and mind were shutting down. I reached the car and slept for over 24 hours.
Since that day I have not touched a surfboard. There’s something about the water that gives me a feeling I never had before that. The ocean holds a new form of respect in my heart because of that day. It showed me that recklessness can come with a price I’m not willing to pay just yet.