“The best surfer in the world is the one having the most fun.”
—Phil Edwards
A moderate northwest swell wrapped into Cardiff Reef when I grabbed my new 7’6″ asymmetrical Carl Ekstrom, walked down the road, jumped into the lagoon, and slipped into the stream headed for the lineup. Once I broke free of the current, I began paddling, noticing three erect figures standing as proud as the mast of Captain Cook’s ship, Endeavor. These Stand Up Paddlers (SUPs) greedily ran down the best of the four-foot set waves. Having surfed this spot for longer than the oldest of them had been alive, I knew I could outflank them and test my new board. When I reached the outside, however, eight SUPs were choking off the lineup, feeding like sharks on anything that wasn’t another shark.
Looking shoreward, nine more SUPs approached the peak with the ferocity of war canoes. They were soon feasting on everything from the smallest swing-wide dribbler to the biggest outside barrel. I was as jealous of their paddle power as I was their camaraderie as they jumped into the revolving door, joked among themselves, and lifted their paddles in salute to one another, possibly unaware they were stealing someone else’s fun. I paddled for a wave and was dropped by a paddle-gouging stinkbug. The wake of his board hit like a fire hose, and I surrendered to the soup before ever standing up. I shouted a word I promised myself to never scream in my adult incarnation, flipped off the entire crew, put my head down, and paddled in.
Storming the beach, I passed a chubby, middle-aged man smiling broadly while dragging two boogie boards by their leashes through the damp sand. Beyond his hearing, I mumbled, “Who’s this idiot?” Mounting the sand berm, I turned to face the ocean, hoping some of the invaders were satiated enough to leave the lineup. None were.
I focused on the shoreline where the jerk with the boogie board was helping a young boy, probably his jerky son, attach his leash to his wrist. The jerk stood mechanically before reaching for his own sponge. Then I noticed that his right leg was not of human flesh, but rather, flesh-colored plastic. A tiny wave hit him, and he nearly fell over before reaching out to help the boy get into deeper water. They were about 20 feet from shore when they stopped and turned their boards around. I could see that the man was offering some instructions to his son. His laugh was deep and loud, especially compared to his boy’s, which was light and melodic. They waited for a soft whitewater wave, oblivious to the hard world that had taken the man’s leg and the 17 SUPs gobbling up every wave beyond them. Six inches of whitewater caught the pair and whisked them, deliriously happy, toward the sand. Once they made shore, they high-fived one another. After falling twice, he stood again, and began the brave process that resulted in the two getting another wave. Their joy was big enough to eclipse an entire ocean of self-pity.
The above is an excerpt from my soon to be re-released book, “Good Things Love Water.” To learn more about the book, please visit perelandrapublishingcompany.com.
To see the video of this story, please visit our YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AvHMgU5ar-Q&t=1s
