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"The ocean can be unforgiving at times and it was no friend to me as I battled whitewater for 15 or 20 minutes.” Photo by Chris Ahrens
ColumnsWaterspot

Waterspot: A day to remember at Cardiff Reef

“A day will come like no other… and nothing that happens after will ever be the same.”

— “Big Wednesday”

I have been surfing Cardiff Reef since 1962. In that time, I have seen it big and small. Sheet glassy, blown out and raging offshore so hard you could barely make the drop. I have ridden some good waves and some bad ones in all tides.

I have surfed it alone, but mostly with standing room-only crowds. I have witnessed sunsets and moonrises, blistering sun and driving rain. Through it all, one day stands out among the rest.

The wind had been beating against our front door all night and the morning revealed dozens of palm fronds littering the front yard. The photo says this was taken in November 2007, but I recall it being in January.

Electronic surf reports were in their infancy and it was just prior to the news broadcasting swells as if they were the second coming. The only ones on hand, therefore, were those with hard-won local knowledge. Living a block from the Reef, I was taking my usual morning walk, when I peeked over the bluff and ran back for my board.

Upon arrival, Mike Emerson was taking off late and pulling into for a curtain call reminiscent of Sunset Point on the North Shore of Oahu.

The paddle out was easy and I immediately dropped into a set wave and was held at the top before being let in and fighting the wind the entire way while racing to outrun some hard-breaking sections.

Paddling back out led to the infamous “restaurant tour,” which takes paddlers south as far as the Chart House before depositing them on rocks before they are sent south to try again.

The ocean can be unforgiving at times and it was no friend to me as I battled whitewater for 15 or 20 minutes until I found myself once again seated outside.

I blame my next attempt on equipment failure as I was held at the top and blown back before my leashless board slapped the water and began blowing out to sea.

After a difficult swim, I shimmied onto my board’s deck and began paddling back toward the lineup, which now looked like it was miles away.

From the back I could see surfers taking off and disappearing behind the wall before exiting at the end of the ride, usually with their boards spinning in the air as if they were feathers. But I had little time for sightseeing as every moment not spent inching forward left me drifting backward, out to sea.

I chose a smaller wave and this time the wind was merciful and allowed me a fun ride without interruption. Straightening out on the inside section, I rode the whitewater toward shore until my fin dragged in the sand.

Walking up the beach I was greeted by a stranger carrying a department store soft board. He asked me how it was.

Not wanting to discourage him, but realizing it was no place for the inexperienced, I suggested he wait for the surf to drop a little. He gave me a sideways glance and began paddling. The last time I saw him he was walking up the beach from the Chart House.

Long into the afternoon, I sat in the sand, content to watch far younger and better surfers ride the best waves they might ever see in Cardiff. I think I speak for us all when I say none of us will ever forget it.