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Upon leaving the parking lot he remembered the first time he had made the drive out there. It had been early, almost too early, and the sun had struggled with the night as he stepped out of the mist and onto the slippery rocks. The loud sea had drawn him in, and though he could only barely make out the wash of the white-water as it licked the rocks, he became infatuated with the ocean. The strong winds made it hard for him to stand up straight and he was close to losing his board to the wind a couple of times. There was no way he could make out the sea from the sky on the horizon, but still the only thing he wanted to do, was go out there.
He remembered the initial shock of the cold water rushing around him and the humiliating power of the sea that forced him to cry out for pause. It had kept him coming for more. Once beyond the shore break he would turn his back to the colorless beach and the wind fighting trees, and he would whisper softly into the black depths while slowly stirring his hands in the sea.
It was never an easy thing for him, to paddle out with the ease and posture that most of the other surfers that graced the beach were able to do. The head high balls of foaming icy white water rolled relentlessly towards him, and effortlessly pulled him back out from his late duck dive, legs first and then toppling him over backwards, board clutched tight to his chest. A second later he was back to where he started from, patiently wiping his blue face sticking out of the black neoprene hood, hyperventilating. The cold water that seeped down from his neck didn’t warm up sufficiently until it reached his thick boots, and he had to wait for it to settle before attempting to paddle out again.
It was never an easy thing, but somehow that seemed to be the point. And on this bleak November morning, it was harder than ever. The sun was sure to be there, somewhere beyond the low clouds, but he hadn’t seen it for a little over a month. The lack of colors and the damp cold seeped straight through his heavy coat and rugged sweater had him shiver uncontrollably as he stumbled down to watch the waves break. The sea was in rage, tossing and turning violently before rising angrily, easily reaching eight feet before suddenly unleashing all of its energy on the rocks below. He stood motionless for a long time, licking the salt off his lips, thinking. He had tried to master the powers of the sea more times than he could remember, and a feeling of grief and hopelessness filled his cold body as he realized he was about to do it for the last time. He stepped over the slippery rocks, letting the white water soak him up to the waist. It was colder than he had thought it would be.
Patiently he waited and watched the sea, before finally throwing himself on the board and furiously paddling his short arms towards the thundering white water. Moments later he found himself back on the beach, face just above water, cold rocks against his back and the fins of his board tapping against his thigh. And he got up again. It was almost like a ritual and he spent a good hour trying to penetrate the shore break. As always, his determination got him through. Or maybe the sea grew tired of the game, and simply wanted a change, a new challenge.
But it wasn’t a game, not to him. He sat out there, moving like a plastic duck in the violent sea, taking deep, sad breaths, thinking only of the dark grey and green that surrounded him. It was all very simple. It was something he had to do, and it made perfect sense to him. He didn’t have anything else. And he would have spent the better part of the short day like that, had it not been for the temperature of the water that first sucked the energy out of his paddling arms, and then slowly turned his body into a big piece of ice. At least that is what it felt like.
He looked over his shoulder, and glanced at the tip of his board, as it emerged swiftly from the water just before the next wave drowned it again. He let his eye follow the empty waterline, past the heap of rocks where cold birdwatchers would seek shelter from the wind, past the dock that braved the waves in silent white explosions, and past the summer houses that lied empty, safely among the trees. The point at the far end of his field of vision was covered in white foam. A seagull swooped by his head, fighting against the strong gusts. Although intimidated by the size of the waves that passed him by, he made a dash for the next set that came his way. After a second of frantic paddling he felt a surge pass through his stomach and as he glanced over his shoulder he already knew what was happening. He hung in the lip, still hugging his board, and stared down the face of the wave. Time almost stopped for a while, and then, literally, the world exploded.
On impact, the air that was saved up in his lungs for just such a moment left his body in a violent rush and he spun around himself in the old underwater dance, with the panic coming closer every second. When the water calmed he searched for the bottom, and when he found it he kicked off with his legs to reach the surface. He broke it just in time for the next explosion. Even more powerful than the first one; this wave seemed to contain the whole ocean, as it unloaded its cold fury on top of him. It had him flying through the water, towards the shore, and he put his arms round his legs, under the water, to protect his knees from the rocks that he was getting too close to.
Suddenly above the surface again, he looked for his board and pulled desperately on the leash to bring it over to him. He wasn’t scared anymore. He sat up as a wave approached him, swung around and started his clumsy paddling; the wave rose and elevated the tail of his board below him. But instead of pitching, it drew back, leaving him silently gliding along a wall of calm green water. Clumsily he brought up his left foot to the deck of his board, and then the other; stared in disbelief as the water split in front of his board. He could only stand and watch in surprise as the wave swiftly guided him towards the beach, and he leaned into a wide, accidental bottom turn that smoothly brought him eye to eye to the wall of water that, at this moment, was not his worst enemy, but his best friend. He flew down the face with new speed and grace until finally one of his fins connected with the rocky bottom and sent him flying into the arms of the shore break.
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