Big Wave Wednesday
"No way Bells is bigger than Waiamea, bro"
...Point Break
No way San Diego is big as Bells Beach, Austrailia (especially during the fictitious 50 year storm), but Wednesday and Thursday of this week, we did our Pacific best, with storm winds fueling 20-foot waves on some west-facing beaches and even rogue waves that littered our highways with seaweed. It was a sight to be seen, and lucky me! I got to see it. I saw quite a bit.
This storm that pounded the Pacific Northwest has created monumental waves in San Diego - a surf city for sure but as far as California beaches go, our waves are pretty placid.
That changed dramatically and quickly. Most beaches saw 10-14 foot waves, some beaches saw waves as high as 20 feet. I swear the swells I saw this morning were upwards of 30 feet but guesstimating is not my strongest suit...and I was admittedly so moved by the heighth and speed of the waves that I could be off a bit.
On Monday, a 20-foot Great White Shark was spotted off La Jolla Cove, but with all the surfers bobbing up and down in the water waiting for the perfect waves this week, you would never know it. At Swami's Beach in Encinitas, just to the north of San Diego, surfers were in the water before the sun came up. After watching Discovery Channel's Shark Week for as many years as I can remember, this is not a good idea, sort of a death wish, actually - but to a Southern California surfer used to ankle slappers, it's what he or she has wishes for. In fact, the first day of big waves caused by winter storms is referred to as "Opening Day" here. Why not? Surfing is a sport, too.
I just happened to be in La Jolla Wednesday morning, with two hours to kill between 8:00-10:00am. When I woke up that day I told my husband, "I don't know what I'm going to do for two hours while my father is at his appointment." Not one hour later the dj's on the radio were discussing Big Wednesday and I knew exactly where I was headed. I dropped off my father at the hospital, gave him a kiss and said Good Luck, then turned on my Jack Johnson cd and headed west.
The road I usually take to the Tidepools was closed by the Police. I asked myself if this closure was entirely necessary, but the Police know things I don't, so I took the alternate route. "Wanna see some big waves, baby?" I asked my two year old, Melia, packed into her car seat in my rearview. We were in Waiamea when someone told me Melia meant "calm ocean." I was anxious to show my daughter her antonym.
As I drove down a steep hill that connects rock to cliff on seemingly safe infrastructure, I saw them. Swells looking exactly like the ones you see at the end of Point Break, right before Johnny ******* Utah gets his man at the end. A cape of water vapor came off the rapidly moving swell that curled on top of itself towards a cove, cliffs on both sides, and I couldn't help but think to myself "Cliffs on both sides, I'm not gonna paddle to New Zealand", so I called my husband and left this movie quote on his voice mail. It's my favorite movie involving surf - okay?
I meandered down streets of Porsches, VW buses, dented BMWs, shiny Lexus's and work trucks. The people who own the houses on this hill got their property tax worth today, I thought. A variety of people had made a pilgrimage to the beach this day, and how it happened I don't know, but I found a spot right away. I got out of the car and as I popped the liftgate to get out the stroller, I saw a guy watching the waves wearing a work shirt for a company I won't mention, and as he was the only person near, I looked at him and said, "Duuuude." This is California speak for "Wow."
He nodded his head in agreement. I may be a suburban Mom of three, but I still know the language.
Without my camera or camcorder with me, I began deleteing pictures of soccer games and birthday parties stored on my cell phone. I waited for a wave to crash on a sea wall or cliff, and when it sprayed in the air, I would take a picture with my phone and send it to Mom who is in Florida, my Amy who grew up on these beaches with me but now lives in Iowa, and my girlfriend Krissy who, just, gets it.
I also called a friend who just the day before had told me about the illusion of safety nets in our lives when she said, "God is reminding you that he is in control. Nature will always triumph, and we're simply specs." I stood before my familiar tidepools submerged in several feet of water and I said to her, acknowldeging the Native American transcendent philosophy she draws from, "Okay, I get it." Nothing like watching a towering wave to remind you of your place in the Universe. These waves and storms have been recurring for countless years. I have been sharing a planet with them for only thirty-six. I can do bicep curls with 25 lb. dumbells in each hand, but one of those waves could have crushed me like a leaf under a big-rig tire, and I know it.
I saw surfers carrying boards with no top and no bottom, just middle, and I'm thinking they know it, too. In fact, it's safe to say all San Diegans have more respect for the ocean than we did last week, and we're ocean worshippers to the core.
Timeliness of lessons is what I got out of that day by the sea. Recently I have been subconsciously arguing with the forces in this world that won't let me control every aspect of my life. Things break, kids get sick, life requires flexibility, and I'll bitch about it when given a sympathetic ear. So I got a gift and a pleasant reminder - a reminder that sprayed water on my face and sent eruptions of breakwater high into the air like a volcano - that the powers of the Creator, the Universe, and what I can't control need the same humility and respect as the waves gracefully displaying that benevolent energy.
I've got to go with the flow, even if that means just standing and watching it pass me by.
Leaving the ocean that day was as disappointing as packing up and flying home from my honeymoon. Those two short hours were euphoric and beautiful, for me and my daughter who probably won't remember it. I don't remember my father taking me to witness the big waves thirty plus years ago, but I know he did. When I picked him up from his procedure, more than a little drugged and giddy, he told me so, over, and over, and over, and over. ("Forget it, he's rolling").
I knew I would be blogging about it, and I tried to post a picture at the top of a wave from Swami's, but even on my best imagery day, I couldn't describe what it was like to see a rainbow shoot up from every wave that broke. All waves eventually break, and rainbow endings are not typical. I can't give you the feeling of hearing two hundred people ditching work, skipping classes, or otherwise at the beach for one purpose, who cheered in unison when they saw a surfer catch an elusive 15-footer and ride it far as he could, the way the fans at Qualcomm scream when LT busts a tackle and runs it in for a touchdown. I can say there was a twinkle in the Lifeguard's eyes after I asked him "Will the waves be this high later? I've got to bring my kids!" because he understood the magic of what he was seeing and was probably a parent too, but I'm still only telling.
I'm afraid the ocean that day isn't giving me literary permission to "show" rather than "tell." As a writer, that kind of frustrates me, I want to harness the power of my solitary experience with those big waves but it's just kind of impossible.
And I have to respect that.
