Surf Hangover

                                                                                          picture: @vilmos.misota

I’m sitting here on a Sunday with what I can only describe as a surf hangover. It may be coupled slightly with the more conventional form of a hangover, but that’s not the point. 

After four days of good surf on the coast, my mind and body feel pretty fried. I surfed different types of waves, on different crafts, with different people at different locations. Heavy waves, windy waves, longboards, cliff jumps, shortboards, closeouts, 2 foot runners.  Work was squeezed in. Kind of. 

The search for waves can be as frustrating as it is beautiful at times. Especially at home. Your mind races through its encyclopaedia of which spots which are good at low tide with this swell and wind, where won’t be busy, where you saw a good sandbank last week but only as the tide was going out, where you heard whispers of a good wave but have never seen. Your mind is working on overdrive. Being able to check a spot while driving at 70 with one eye on the road becomes a valuable and stupid skill to have. Sometimes you just have to stop driving, get that wet wetsuit on and jump in. It could be better somewhere else, but you could also luck into some magic where you are. 

This happened to me the other night while surfing under the sunset at a beach where the waves were mainly closing out. Being the only three people out, Malcolm, Oisin and I were having a blast sending it over the falls and pulling into the sets that had no exit. 

Paddling back out, I saw the glimpse of a set in the distance which looked promising. My mind rattled through all my surf knowledge accumulated over the years, and on instinct, I started to paddle faster. Paddling over the first two closeouts I was praying the next one would be good. 

Coming over the top of the wave, I was met with a perfect over-head left hand runner. I paddled as hard as I could to get in position, turned and went. It was the best wave I have surfed for a while. As I popped up, I heard the hoots from Malcolm and Osh. No surfer is so devoid of ego and narcissism that they don’t love knowing their friends have seen them on a good one. 

I kicked out from the wave filled with that feeling we are all looking for. You know the one. My surfing of the wave was extremely average but I couldn’t care less. A nod and fist bump from the boys back in the lineup. Day made. 

I never want to take this surfing life for granted. People can go their whole lives not finding something they truly love. That makes them feel content. Whole. Happy. We are the lucky ones.

Not all days in life are good ones. This was one was.