A set looms in the kelp and at first glance I think, "I'm far enough outside." True for the first four waves, but by the fifth I'm caught in front. There's one part me that cannot stop staring at the beauty, the view straight up to the crest, the awe, and I think: I have to see it. But for that view you pay a price: board ripped from your grip, gallons up the nose, hold-down. Here's the funny part: during all this I'm fine. Sure, I get pissed at myself for not holding my board tighter, for having to climb the leash.
So I come up. A guy says, "You OK?" I smile and say, " Yeah, I didn't like that set so much. It scared me a little. I should probably get out." He says, "When I'm scared, it helps if I smile." I am smiling, I think to myself. "Look, it cleared everyone out though," he says. I look to the beach and, sure enough, more than half the guys are now on the sand looking out to sea. "It's going to keep sucking out like that, why don't you take one of these smaller ones in? Don't wait too long or there'll be another set just like that," the guy says. "You just want me out of your way," I reply. "No," he says, "I don't like seeing people frightened. Stay out as long as you like. I dodge people all day in Ventura." He seems sincere. A minute later he disappears behind one of the smaller ones, and I think he's showing me the exit. On the horizon another set looms. I've waited too long.
The happy-go-lucky girl who drove down the line the day before got lost, and Chicken Little replaced her. I hear the guys talk: "Today's bigger, but yesterday had better shape." Behind the wheel, all the way home, I feel happy I made it in and out of the water safely, but disappointed that was my only triumph for the day. Just another surf day in L.A.
Wish you were here,
Annie
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