Surfing the Pacific... The first time
Being a kid you hear tales of the ocean being painted as a realm of immense power and enigmatic depths, teeming with unseen "creatures." Overcoming the primal fear of the “ocean” could lead to embracing it… In the form of surfing
Surfing has a long cultural history beginning around the 12th century in Hawaii among the Polynesians. It has had some interesting usages since then. Such as hunting for fish, traveling between islands, and, of course, as a sport for a lot of people.
When I was a kid, around 6, I was infatuated with the sport. From my parents subscribing me to the now-defunct SURFER magazine, to watching the surf teams on television during the Olympics or in person on the coast. Yet, one thing was lacking … I didn’t live in Hawaii, or in Southern California, or Florida… I lived in Oregon of all places.
Oregon is the middle state on the West Coast and in the Pacific Northwest region of the states. Meaning that it is unfortunately cold from the longshore current from the north running to the south.
One year, my mom used our tax return, I think it was 2020, to rent a set of boards at the surf shop in Lincoln City. It included wetsuits and even wax for the three of us, my Mom, Dad and myself. I fondly remember the name of that snow white longboard, even though it was almost five years ago. It had chipped and marred lettering reading, “NSP,” also known as “Nature Surfing Products.”
The scarring and chips resulted from years of abuse from the waves punting the board into the air and slapping it back down, and from being wiped out in the surf.
Our instructor that day was a man named Mike, or Chuck … or maybe it was something different and not basic at all. Regardless, he was a kind man that knew the surf and knew the ocean, while also respecting the ocean. Always respect Mother Nature in any form.
However, getting to the beach I was amused as we crested the never-ending flight of stairs and I heard my parents say they might need to be air-lifted to the top by the Coast Guard after this was over.
As we finally headed down, and being a 16-year-old who didn’t do much physical activity at the time, all I could focus on was the weight of that heavy-ass surfboard and hitting each step going down, probably adding even more chips and scars to the history-rich board. All while I admired the waves rolling in and out with the assortment of surfers already out there, ready to jump into the fray.
When we reached the beach, our instructor was already giddy and ready to go. He first told us what to expect. What to do in case of an emergency. God forbid a shark attack! But the thing that has always stuck with me was when he said, “Always expect something or someone to do something stupid.”
You never know what will happen. You never know if there's some sort of creature – like a kraken – lurking in the sand beneath you. That’d be kind of cool though.
Yet, if you set aside the danger or the threat of danger, you are left with rapture… rapture in attempting something new, something different, something that you accomplished by actually surfing the wave.
Something that is adrenaline rushing; where you forget all your fears of being in the water-forgetting what is around you.
It’s just you in that moment in time, with the concentration of balancing in the wave, until it is all done and you are left with the gritty sand after falling off your board and the turbulence from the wave kicking it up. Afterwards, you are kind of lost and eager to do it all over again.
Flash forward five years. I own my own surfboard, a red-and-white Torque with various stickers; one of those stickers being 18-inches long, saying “AutoZone” from my time working there, along with its own fair share of chips from various uses … like floating the Santiam River and over the rapids, which I don’t recommend at all.
However, my skill in surfing has certainly gotten better. Physically and mentally. Which is maybe the reason why I decided to study oceanography, rather than paleontology in college. Sorry dinosaur bones!
I must give credit to my parents for starting something new; they’ve gotten better as well. All three of us cheer each other on.
Who knows, maybe another 6-year-old will someday flip through a surfing magazine or website and see my name winning a surf competition.
Surfing has a long cultural history beginning around the 12th century in Hawaii among the Polynesians. It has had some interesting usages since then. Such as hunting for fish, traveling between islands, and, of course, as a sport for a lot of people.
When I was a kid, around 6, I was infatuated with the sport. From my parents subscribing me to the now-defunct SURFER magazine, to watching the surf teams on television during the Olympics or in person on the coast. Yet, one thing was lacking … I didn’t live in Hawaii, or in Southern California, or Florida… I lived in Oregon of all places.
Oregon is the middle state on the West Coast and in the Pacific Northwest region of the states. Meaning that it is unfortunately cold from the longshore current from the north running to the south.
One year, my mom used our tax return, I think it was 2020, to rent a set of boards at the surf shop in Lincoln City. It included wetsuits and even wax for the three of us, my Mom, Dad and myself. I fondly remember the name of that snow white longboard, even though it was almost five years ago. It had chipped and marred lettering reading, “NSP,” also known as “Nature Surfing Products.”
The scarring and chips resulted from years of abuse from the waves punting the board into the air and slapping it back down, and from being wiped out in the surf.
Our instructor that day was a man named Mike, or Chuck … or maybe it was something different and not basic at all. Regardless, he was a kind man that knew the surf and knew the ocean, while also respecting the ocean. Always respect Mother Nature in any form.
However, getting to the beach I was amused as we crested the never-ending flight of stairs and I heard my parents say they might need to be air-lifted to the top by the Coast Guard after this was over.
As we finally headed down, and being a 16-year-old who didn’t do much physical activity at the time, all I could focus on was the weight of that heavy-ass surfboard and hitting each step going down, probably adding even more chips and scars to the history-rich board. All while I admired the waves rolling in and out with the assortment of surfers already out there, ready to jump into the fray.
When we reached the beach, our instructor was already giddy and ready to go. He first told us what to expect. What to do in case of an emergency. God forbid a shark attack! But the thing that has always stuck with me was when he said, “Always expect something or someone to do something stupid.”
You never know what will happen. You never know if there's some sort of creature – like a kraken – lurking in the sand beneath you. That’d be kind of cool though.
Yet, if you set aside the danger or the threat of danger, you are left with rapture… rapture in attempting something new, something different, something that you accomplished by actually surfing the wave.
Something that is adrenaline rushing; where you forget all your fears of being in the water-forgetting what is around you.
It’s just you in that moment in time, with the concentration of balancing in the wave, until it is all done and you are left with the gritty sand after falling off your board and the turbulence from the wave kicking it up. Afterwards, you are kind of lost and eager to do it all over again.
Flash forward five years. I own my own surfboard, a red-and-white Torque with various stickers; one of those stickers being 18-inches long, saying “AutoZone” from my time working there, along with its own fair share of chips from various uses … like floating the Santiam River and over the rapids, which I don’t recommend at all.However, my skill in surfing has certainly gotten better. Physically and mentally. Which is maybe the reason why I decided to study oceanography, rather than paleontology in college. Sorry dinosaur bones!
I must give credit to my parents for starting something new; they’ve gotten better as well. All three of us cheer each other on.
Who knows, maybe another 6-year-old will someday flip through a surfing magazine or website and see my name winning a surf competition.
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