Surfing waves of consequence can open doors to new perceptions. If you’ve ever been near drowning, you know the feeling. My first out-of-body experience occurred in Newport Beach when I was 14 years old.
A big winter storm pushed the waves at Newport River Jetties to double overhead, plus. Hard rain filled the river mouth and the ocean with mud. That made the already powerful walls of water twice as heavy. I paddled out alone, and just as I was about to make it outside, the wave of the day slammed me to the bottom.
The wave hit like molten lead and pinned me to the bottom for what felt like an eternity. I surfaced, dizzy and out of breath. Before I could catch my breath, another, bigger wave was upon me. Once again, I was tumbled into cold darkness.
Struggling for the surface, I nearly broke through before being pushed back down again. I believe this was a two-wave hold-down, but I’ll never know for sure. Now I was in a panic, fighting for life. I recalled something my uncle told me.
“If you are ever drowning, take in a lung full of water; your body can’t tell the difference between water and air,” he said.
One breath of saltwater and I relaxed, unaware that I was in deep trouble.
Then something happened I had only heard of: I saw my short life pass before my eyes like a newsreel. Still underwater, I felt a peace comparable to being tucked into bed at night. Closing my eyes, I prepared to drift off to dreamland.
Suddenly, I was at the surface, coughing up the water I had inhaled. Once my lungs had emptied of fluid, I took a breath of air, followed by two or three more. When a smaller wave hit, I easily dove beneath it and surfaced quickly. When I did, I saw that I was far from shore, caught in a rip.
What was I doing out here? I wanted to live, grow old and die at home. I swam out parallel to the beach, out of the rip and into the impact zone. Once there, I swam toward shore until the water was shallow enough to touch the bottom. A wave broke outside. I threw myself into the whitewater and was soon washed up on the beach.
I realize that the story of this wave comes nowhere near those I’ve heard from surfers like Jojo Roper, who was once pounded by a 50-foot wave at Jaws. Jojo’s wave was many times bigger than what I experienced that day, and I have no idea how he and other big-wave riders survived to tell the tale.
If the El Niño models prove true, many gremmies will paddle into the biggest waves of their lives this winter. Some will get beaten, feel like they’re drowning, and never return to the deep end. Others will find a place inside themselves they never knew existed.
The north swells they ride in Southern California will be their first step into big water. They will risk it all for the rush of a 25-foot drop and find life and light at the end of the tunnel.
