One More
Stockpiling before the hard stuff.
I knew there had to be a reason. A reason I felt so compelled to get “one more.” Usually I can get in and get out. My surf windows are short these days. It doesn’t take much. Just the act. The routine. “A couple” and I’m satiated. Happy even. But last week, during a ridiculously good surf, I knew I needed another one. And it’s a good thing I did.
I woke up happy. It was Saturday. My soulless surf cam check featured howling south wind, high tide, rain and misery. I felt relieved! My morning window was a no surf zone. So this was one less thing to think about. I was making bacon and eggs, drawing purple and green spiders, dancing around like Bert in Mary Poppins while making beaded bracelets. AKA: entertaining a two-year-old indoors while it rains outside. A juggling act of comedic insanity (that I love). It definitely helped to know the waves sucked. I was missing nothing…until I wasn’t.
Around noon, my wife came home from the grocery store. I was attentive, my daughter was fed, happy, coloring, snacking, doing her thing. I was a coffee mug superlative dad before everything changed.
My chill demeanor and attentive parenting thanks to the shitty waves suddenly turned into a deep slow panic. My midday surf check showed me the impossible: the wind switched and it was on. Out of nowhere. I watched empty waves spit. I started twitching. “Hey babe, you think I could run down to surf? You think she’ll nap today? How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”
I turned into a 12 year old who thought if he was good enough he’d get to go to the toy store. I started pacing. Then I became extremely helpful. I unloaded the dishwasher. Put the groceries away. Had a dance party with my daughter — staring over to get a read on my wife’s demeanor. I was the best dad that ever existed for those critical 20 minutes, the ones that would precede my campaign for an afternoon surf.
After my performance, I got the green light. Next came the excruciating drive to the beach, panicked the whole time — that the wind would switch back, that the masses would check their cams, that something would change. PCH was closed due to flooding so my drive took even longer. Excruciating. The horror! But 15 minutes later I was there. And it was still on.
The next 2 hours were bliss. Rights, lefts, barrels, turns, no crowds, only a few friends and locals. Just pleasant as could be. I got it. But after 2 hours of great waves, I still had this desire to get “one more.” I just kept paddling back out. I don’t know why, I was cooked, but I needed one more. The one that would make everything OK. A foreshadowing of my future — a future that would include a lot of difficult news, stress, grief, frustration — a reminder how little control we have over anything at any moment. This past week was hard. It’s one I’ll never forget. And it precedes a trip that will not feature any surfing or ocean contact. Which is occasionally cause for concern.
Tomorrow morning I’ll wake up in the dark, join the holiday rush, and board a plane from LAX to DC to NY. Thanksgiving will be spent in the city. I will not surf. I will no doubt talk about surfing a lot, but I will not surf. I’ll walk with my wife, push our daughter through the boroughs, dip into dimly lit bars a couple times if I’m lucky and order a drink, take some photos, visit with family, eat well, drink coffee, check out a museum. And I’m not going to say getting that last wave is the reason everything will eventually be OK, but it usually has something to do with it.—Travis Ferré
Loved reading this ......