White Water

I grew up in Hawaii. I love the ocean. I spent years playing in the big blue Pacific... splashing around in shallow calm waters, building sandcastles and looking for shells and stuff, walking in tidal pools and checking out all the creatures that live there, snorkeling in reefs filled with colorful fish and every other kind of creature you can imagine, diving and holding my breath as long as I could to see as much as I could see, watching waves crashing on the shore, body surfing, riding long boards, sailing, canoeing, boogie boarding, sand boarding, etc. The thing I miss the most about Hawaii is the ocean.

My sister and I used to take the Beach Bus from our house to some of the nicer beaches with bigger waves. It was free and the bus was always filled with all kinds of interesting (and sometimes rough looking) people. We would take our lunch and a couple of towels and spend the whole day at the beach. I loved to body surf and usually when we went, the waves were about 3-6 feet. I was learning a lot and getting pretty good at it. I didn't have any fins or any other gear, but I would paddle like crazy and manage to catch a lot of waves. Some of the locals (big Hawaiian/Samoan surfers) used to say 'right on' to me (scrawny haole – meaning white – girl) meaning good job or nice try.

One day when we were there, the surf was a lot bigger than usual. The radio on the beach bus said 6-10 feet. It looked very intimidating to me, but I couldn't stay out of it. I remember watching and waiting. I was trying to get the timing down. Surfing is a lot about timing. It's really important when you are trying to catch a wave, but it is even more so when you are trying to make it back out to the swells through the crashing surf. The swells that create the waves come in a timed rhythm. They are called sets. As I watched, I was learning the approximate timing of the sets and the slight lull between them when the waves weren't so big, so I could make it out past the roaring, foaming, churning breakers.

At the end of a set, I ran into the surf and swam like crazy. I saw a large swell coming at me and stood up in the shallow water that is left as the rest rushes out to join the swell. I ran toward the wave and dove straight at it just before it crashed over my head. I kept swimming and finally, I was out past the breakers. I floated out there for a long time watching the waves go by. I wondered how I was going to get back in to shore without getting killed. I was afraid, but I was also charged with adrenaline because I knew I had to do it. Finally, I chose a swell and swam for it with all I had. I caught the wave and rode it all the way to shore. When you catch a wave right and ride it well, it takes you gently in to the shore. I was stoked! I rode my first 'big' wave. I couldn't wait to get out there and catch the next one.

I don't know how many I rode before making my first mistake. I caught a big wave at the wrong time and place and I went over the falls. This is a bad place to be. It means that you have positioned yourself in the wrong place on the wave and you fall down the face of the wave to be thrown down head-first and slammed by the rest of the crashing wave. When this happens, there's no backing out. You have no choice but to ride in the churning, rolling white water until, hopefully, you make it to shore. I was pounded on the bottom over and over into the sand that felt like concrete. The water held me under and rolled me until I didn't even know which way was up. Just when I thought I was going to die like this, I was shoved up for a chance at a breath of air only to be pounded back under again. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I crawled out of the surf and back to the safety of the shore. I remember lying in the sun, so glad I made it out of there and swearing I would never go back in again.

After about 20 minutes I was ready to go back. I caught a bunch more waves before becoming completely exhausted and deciding that maybe I should quit. I sat on the beach for a long time, watching the surf. It can be mesmerizing. There are things like small pieces of driftwood or seaweed floating in the water and I would pick out a particular piece and watch it. I would actually even try to get it when it came close to shore, but it was always sucked back out, pounded around some more and rolled back toward shore. Every time I would wait, thinking maybe it would come close enough to shore for me to grab it, but it was always sucked back out before making it to the shore.

The other day I realized how much of my life I had spent like that piece of driftwood. I was just floating along on the ocean of life. I had no plan or purpose. I was carried along by whatever wave happened to come along, sent crashing through the turbulent white water, to be sucked back out and have it happen all over again. Sometimes I acted more like a living thing than a piece of driftwood… sometimes I actually tried to swim over here or over there thinking that's where I should go… but I was always caught by those waves and the whole process started over again. I didn't know that just out past the breakers, was a whole ocean that was deeper, calmer and clearer than the white-water I was floundering around in. I didn't know that I could reach out and take hold of an anchor that would hold me fast against any storm that came raging in. I didn't know how lost and adrift I was until I was safely moored in this ocean of life by the Anchor that will never break loose. Now I can explore and enjoy the ocean of life with the security of being solidly anchored and never have to fear what might be headed my way.