I can’t stop. The more I do it, the more it gets under my skin and fogs my eyes, occasional thoughts of surfing turning into (all-)daydreams in every moment that my skin isn’t dripping in saltwater.
Searching for and surfing good, shapely, long waves really deepens my ocean affliction. Getting out of the South Bay more often, I’ve been becoming a more-than regular patron of Malibu, Ventura, Blackies, and other various well known spots that are a longboarder’s quite literal wet dream. The length of ride and quality of wave at breaks such as these has made a tenfold improvement in my surfing — the time spent on one wave at Malibu equals (no sarcasm) 20 at most South Bay beachbreaks (although nothing beats a good wave at home, no matter how fun it is everywhere else). The last few weeks of consistently long, effortless rides has given me the gift of time — the time on waves I needed to cruise, flow, and dance around with different maneuvers.
Today in Ventura I surfed waist to chest high peelers for about an hour in the morning, then cruised out for a sunset sesh for a few windier and same sized breakers, and was surprised to find myself hanging heels on one wave, spinning back around and riding all the way in until it fizzled out nearly an eternity later to completion. I was nearly jumping out of my skin — holy crap, I’ve never pulled that off before. It wasn’t so much that I nailed a difficult maneuver, it was that time stopped — how good it felt to be riding backwards on the nose of my board, looking at the glorious little wave breaking in front of me rather than behind me, was I think the most euphoric I’ve ever felt.
Even now, all I’m thinking about is the ocean. It’s a liquid love affair that just I can’t shake, and I can’t get enough of the ocean’s unwavering grasp. I think it’s just going to get worse. And by worse, I mean better.
