Today, as I write this, is the Winter Solstice, shortest day of the year. Tomorrow the days start to become longer. It is the pivot point on our planet when rotations of Earth and Sun change directions, north and south. We also have a glorious full moon, all resulting in extreme, or, king tides.
I entered water yesterday, paddled out at Cowell's on a day that appeared as though it were 1996, 2016 or perhaps even 1886: low tide, no wind, waves breaking at various peaks maybe up to 6-ft at times, and major sets washing through at longer intervals, carrying riders all the way to the beach in front of the Dream Inn.
The references to 2016 and '96 are years when so much sand washed in from farther up the coast during winter swells that you could stand out in the middle of the water at low tide and see your knees above the drink.
The 1886 reference is the year following the introduction of surfing to the mainland by three Hawaiian princes, at the San Lorenzo River Mouth which is part of the same Santa Cruz main beach cove; the timelessness of recurring tides and spin of the planet.
The shallow sand bottom is key to making waves, and it's been a couple of years since the ocean gods have bequeathed to us this gift, the notion of a perfect wave.
It's not that good yet, but if the sea continues to churn with strong winter swells it might well be epic.
I saw friends in the water yesterday whom I hadn't seen in a while, riding along on waves that just kept coming. The mood is, be here now. Tonight you can relive the experience, talk and think about it, but the moment, that precise convergence of action and experience will be gone, in some ways as if it never happened.
The stoke lasts, echoes of those moments, for a while. If too much time is unfulfilled between sessions -- weeks seem like months and months like years -- you forget, you lose the sensation of being stoked. You wonder if you can still do it. Still catch it, then hold on to it.
I think this is the purpose of surf movies, to remind us, to feed us the feeling through vicarious observance. The speed or glide, the footwork, the immersion of "man" and ocean, oneness with the wave.
On the other side we remember the wipe-outs, the hold-downs, the cuts and bumps and broken bones, the collisions with other surfers that could have been avoided. The more experience the less chance of these encounters.
Surfing at its core is a respect for the ocean and waves, a savvy that you learn of how to stay out of trouble, maintain yourself in the midst of a roiling and ever-changing sea that is indifferent toward you, yet engaging with you.
