Know Your Roots

The sun is shining. The winds are light and off-shore. And the air temperature is a warm 80 degrees. The swell is high and the tide is low, and I’m sitting on my lanai watching the sets peel off of the reef in front of my house. I’m surfed out and it’s only noon, already a three hour session in the morning. And so I sit, wait for my muscles to have some strength again and sip the beer in my hand. But it wasn’t always like this…
The sea is gray and the sun is never out. The winds are heavy and the water cold. Huge, overbearing northwest swell pummel the coastline with accompanying gale. And we’re putting on out wetsuits. Stretching the neoprene around our feet, and over our shoulders, and pulling wet booties over cold, blue feet. Scrubbing very soft cold water wax on the decks of our (certainly too small) surfboards. Trotting along the crunchy sand and into the gray, tumultuous, ocean. .
As our foursome wades into the shore-break, icy water begins to seep into our thin armor. But nevertheless we continue, pushing past foam and backwash. The water deepens and we start to paddle, mentally preparing for the frigid duck-dives under the outside sets. And without incident we make it out, panting and feeling the repression of the rubber suits which insulate our bodies. Even through the cold, that rain, and the looming close-outs we’re out there. And its fun.
I think I appreciate the waves, weather and wind here because of where I’m from. The cold, the close-outs and the current made me a tougher surfer, and a more thankful one. My home rooted me in sand bottom beaches, and I’ve been trans-planted onto coral reefs.

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