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.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Like Totally Bra…
Every body that surfs the shores of south eastern Virginia will tell you that there’s more waves in a bathtub than in the ocean. 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 was between August 3rd and August 13th of 2004 and hurricane Bonnie was floating across the Atlantic. When I heard about this torrent of wave slashing power, I called all of my friends and immediately went through everything I needed to survive the weekend. The surf session of a lifetime was on. But 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.
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 the shit!” 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. We sat watching the news and Frisco was getting some pretty heavy surf. I couldn’t wait to leave because Frisco beach was only a three or four hour drive and I had plenty of gas if Scott pitched in. So I turned to Scott and asked him what he thought about the drive. But with waves that good and the Weather Channel giving the report, few words were spoken as we headed to the car.
Once we were on the road, it was smooth sailing. We made it to the outer banks in less than 2 hours 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 after a bit of a workout, we crossed through 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 clouded my vision. 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 not the smartest decision I have ever made, but I did it. 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 swing across the barnacles that were attached to the pylon 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. Even though it seemed like I was under that pier for eternity, 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. Tunnel vision, massive blood loss, and dehydration were taking effect. The last thing I remember was the car. I was done.
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. I now know that there was a purpose for those waves that day. The pier was north of us and not south for a reason. Even though I screamed at the top of my lungs for over an hour, no one heard me. And I was alone on the brink of death. There are more than 100 deaths in the coastal U.S. because of surfing accidents. That’s 12,383 miles of coastline in the U.S. including Alaska and Hawaii. That’s one surfer every 123 miles. Now I should have died but I didn’t. I survived without a single scar. I missed out on the statistic and stereotypical logic that comes with surfing. I’m just glad I’m alive.
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 the shit!” 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. We sat watching the news and Frisco was getting some pretty heavy surf. I couldn’t wait to leave because Frisco beach was only a three or four hour drive and I had plenty of gas if Scott pitched in. So I turned to Scott and asked him what he thought about the drive. But with waves that good and the Weather Channel giving the report, few words were spoken as we headed to the car.
Once we were on the road, it was smooth sailing. We made it to the outer banks in less than 2 hours 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 after a bit of a workout, we crossed through 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 clouded my vision. 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 not the smartest decision I have ever made, but I did it. 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 swing across the barnacles that were attached to the pylon 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. Even though it seemed like I was under that pier for eternity, 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. Tunnel vision, massive blood loss, and dehydration were taking effect. The last thing I remember was the car. I was done.
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. I now know that there was a purpose for those waves that day. The pier was north of us and not south for a reason. Even though I screamed at the top of my lungs for over an hour, no one heard me. And I was alone on the brink of death. There are more than 100 deaths in the coastal U.S. because of surfing accidents. That’s 12,383 miles of coastline in the U.S. including Alaska and Hawaii. That’s one surfer every 123 miles. Now I should have died but I didn’t. I survived without a single scar. I missed out on the statistic and stereotypical logic that comes with surfing. I’m just glad I’m alive.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Lets be Rreal
This has been an amazing semester for me. Iv'e had more fun in the past 16 weeks than Iv'e had in school anywhere else. Though the complaints are far and few between, and I mean few, there is still some things I could see some improvement in.
lets start with the good and work our way down shall we?
Because highschool is so hard to let go of sometimes, college can be very overwhelming but don't get discouraged... I promise you it's not as bad as it seems. the change is there to help you grow and establish good work ethics, a solid foundation for building a responsible and seriously honing your beer pong game... hahaha just kidding... but really your death cup shot rate will increase dramatically. though there is no better way to get out and enjoy college life to it's fullest there's a lot of work ahead of you. All of the "pre-req's" and "gen ed" credits suck a lot of ass but there's really nothing you can do about it so bite your tounge and bear it, it'll make your later schooling a breeze once you have the routine down. but that's why I liked this class so much.
it's not your typical listen to a lecture from a man that's so old he watched Jesus's birth, it's fresh and inspiring. there is so monotone man behind a desk and three hours of taking notes (excelent time to take a nap because usually when you're in this position, everything you need to know is in your 700 lb. text book.) Paul's class is a lot of fun and energetic but still has an academic atmosphere. kind of like home if you like the discovery channel. i learned some stuff like the ethos, logos, and pathos of writing can really make a difference in your writing, for example...
ETHOS- a man is broken down on the side of the road and is clearly in distress. Upon seening the situation a tow truck driver pulls over and for no charge, hitches up the man's car and tows him back to his house. a.k.a. morallity
LOGOS- 70% of all statistics are false... a.k.a. numbers
PATHOS- i can't really think of a good example right now but yeah... a.k.a. feelings
Good thing i know this now that Iv'e finished the 111 course. on top of that cool stuff the atmosphere in the class roon boils down to one word... fun. this class is a lot of fun. plain and simple. from cracking jokes to having in depth conversations about home child birth it's fun to partisipate and debate your views against classmates and even Paul himself.
But the one thing that I would change is the fact that the class room had no windows and the assignment scedualing. I'm too A.D.D. to not have windows but that's a personal preference. the assignments on th other hand are quite a handfull if you're not used to blaskboard but Paul's gotten better at using the anouncements so i don't think is should be a problem.
All in all, fun class and awesome experience. I know I'm gonna miss this class because Paul is a good teacher and ass kissing doesn't really work all that much. So if you get a chance to get a spot in his class, take it. You won't be dissapointed.
lets start with the good and work our way down shall we?
Because highschool is so hard to let go of sometimes, college can be very overwhelming but don't get discouraged... I promise you it's not as bad as it seems. the change is there to help you grow and establish good work ethics, a solid foundation for building a responsible and seriously honing your beer pong game... hahaha just kidding... but really your death cup shot rate will increase dramatically. though there is no better way to get out and enjoy college life to it's fullest there's a lot of work ahead of you. All of the "pre-req's" and "gen ed" credits suck a lot of ass but there's really nothing you can do about it so bite your tounge and bear it, it'll make your later schooling a breeze once you have the routine down. but that's why I liked this class so much.
it's not your typical listen to a lecture from a man that's so old he watched Jesus's birth, it's fresh and inspiring. there is so monotone man behind a desk and three hours of taking notes (excelent time to take a nap because usually when you're in this position, everything you need to know is in your 700 lb. text book.) Paul's class is a lot of fun and energetic but still has an academic atmosphere. kind of like home if you like the discovery channel. i learned some stuff like the ethos, logos, and pathos of writing can really make a difference in your writing, for example...
ETHOS- a man is broken down on the side of the road and is clearly in distress. Upon seening the situation a tow truck driver pulls over and for no charge, hitches up the man's car and tows him back to his house. a.k.a. morallity
LOGOS- 70% of all statistics are false... a.k.a. numbers
PATHOS- i can't really think of a good example right now but yeah... a.k.a. feelings
Good thing i know this now that Iv'e finished the 111 course. on top of that cool stuff the atmosphere in the class roon boils down to one word... fun. this class is a lot of fun. plain and simple. from cracking jokes to having in depth conversations about home child birth it's fun to partisipate and debate your views against classmates and even Paul himself.
But the one thing that I would change is the fact that the class room had no windows and the assignment scedualing. I'm too A.D.D. to not have windows but that's a personal preference. the assignments on th other hand are quite a handfull if you're not used to blaskboard but Paul's gotten better at using the anouncements so i don't think is should be a problem.
All in all, fun class and awesome experience. I know I'm gonna miss this class because Paul is a good teacher and ass kissing doesn't really work all that much. So if you get a chance to get a spot in his class, take it. You won't be dissapointed.
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