Live To Surf, Surf To Live

[NOTE: I haven't had time to proof this, so bear with me. Standard memoir rules apply - quotes are mostly approximate.]

Friday night, we dined at Thai Bistro II - a restaurant I can only assume Pacific Grove locals call "The Deuce". Julie had panang curry with vegetables, Nathan had laab gai, and I enjoyed fresh red curry with pineapple. After enjoying our dishes and regaling Julie with stories from high school, the check arrived. I was able to grab it before Nathan could.

"Nathan, I believe I owe you for lunch, and for saving my life."

* * * * *

The first stop after lunch (a big, "super" burrito with rice, beef, and cabbage) was On The Beach surf shop. A young gentlemen assisted us in renting a surfboard and wetsuit.

"What size board, bro?"

"It's his first time surfing, so--"

"Yeah, let's go with a nine. It's the same board I learned on, bro! Do you want to rent them for the afternoon or for 24 hours?"

"Do you want to go surfing tomorrow morning, too?"

"Uh, I don't know. I guess it depends on how today goes."

"Oh, you'll love it, bro! I couldn't get enough my first time out! We'll mark you down for 24 hours, and if you decide to bring it back early, I'll refund the difference."

"Can you throw in some wax?"

"Here you go, bro. It's on the house."

Nathan was handed a disc of wax, labelled for use in frigid water.

I said "gnarly" about 10 times on the ride back to his place.

* * * * *

I got to know Frog, the dog, while Nathan applied wax to the rented board and to his own fiberglass model. He indicated how to lie on the board, where to place your hands, how to stand up, where to place your feet, and so on. We donned our wetsuits.

"Anything else I should know?"

"I think that’s it."

"..."

"Oh - there's the riptide and the undertow. I forget which is which - but to get out of it, you have to swim parallel to the shore. Otherwise, you'll struggle against the current and wear yourself out. You'll get carried out to sea."

"So there's a chance this will be the last time I'll see you."

"Yeah."

* * * * *

We walked into the water at Asilomar.

"How do you know when you've got frostbite?" I asked.

"I don't know."

Nathan spent 30 minutes or so showing me more basic surfing tips before leaving to grab his own board. A new group of surfers - presumably just dismissed from high school - had just come into the water. I decided to stay out of their way, rest my paddling arms, and see what the kids could teach me.

Ingested seawater was less disgusting than I remembered.

* * * * *

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"There's a seal over there."

I turned away from the surfers and looked in the opposite direction, toward the rocks, where Nathan was pointing. Sure enough, a seal popped his head above the water.

"Come back this way."

"Okay."

We paddled toward the surfing area. When my arms were tired, I stopped. I had to rest again.

* * * * *

"This is kind of serious," I thought, lying on my board, drifting further away from the shore and from my fellow surfers. My latest attempt to swim parallel to the shore was unsuccessful, owing to my childlike strength and stamina. I recalled a Reader's Digest "Drama in Real Life" story about two individuals lost at sea, and their struggle to swim to land. (They used the breaststroke, a stroke I was not familiar with. Perhaps had I spent more time in the pool and less time reading old Reader's Digests at my grandma's house, I wouldn't have been in such a predicament.)

"Help me, Mr. Seal," I actually said out loud.

Nathan was now on the distant shore, a tiny man staring out to sea, planning. I sat on the surfboard, faced him, put both arms in the air and shrugged. He motioned toward the rocks. I decided to use the only muscles I'd exercised in the past year; on my back, I kicked with my legs, held the floating board under my left arm, and pushed water with my right.

* * * * *

I had lost track of my friend during the backstroke - I was somewhat startled to see him swimming toward me. I was still fifty yards from the rocky edge of the cove.

"I'm going to push you toward the rocks. If you get a chance to ride a wave in to the shore, do that."

After many pushes, we were on rocky ground.

* * * * *

Bare feet and sharp, slippery rocks are not a happy combination; however, if you have been in frigid Pacific water for an hour and a half, you've lost most of the feeling in your feet. Sharp doesn't bother you. Slippery, on the other hand, is a problem - your legs are weak, and without an even, dry surface, you stumble around like a newborn deer, even after your friend has relieved you of your surfboard-carrying duty. Using each other for balance, we made our way toward the sand, his surfboard, the sandals we'd left above the tide, and the truck.

* * * * *

You haven't been fully emasculated until you fall, exhausted, off-balance, into the warm bath your friend drew for you, while you spend five minutes struggling to peel the wetsuit from your right foot - its last hold on your otherwise naked body. At least, not until you exit the bathroom and are handed the hot, black, spiced tea he prepared.

* * * * *

"How'd it go, bro?"

"It went great!"

"Let me refund the difference..."

* * * * *

"I thought about calling the coast guard," Nathan informed Julie and I at dinner.

"How would you have done that?"

"There were two people walking on the beach - I was going to ask if they had a cell phone."

"Then dialed 911?"

"I guess. But after watching you for a while, it looked like you weren't getting any farther away from shore, so I decided to try to get you myself, and started walking up the rocks. You looked kind of blue when I got to you. I didn't tell you, though, because I didn't want you to freak out."

We laughed, our bellies full of jasmine rice.