Suddenly I saw it coming: The biggest most enormous wave I'd ever seen so close from the water. From the moment I saw it coming over the horizon, I knew I'd never make it through the busting closeout. I scratched the water, frantically paddling out to sea with 2 others behind me. The wave walled up all along the reef, darkened the sky as it reached its peak: Not the entire length of bowls, but aimed right at me. It was 'in betweens'. The crest heaved skyward and fell straight down on us, closing out the entire section.
Time stood still for a moment. I thought of how I actually learned to surf at that spot with Kimo. The winter mont
hs with calm seas, absent of swells and rogue waves. The nice and inviting 1-2 foot waves, the occasional spotting of a honu. Once I saw a humpback breaching, several times, while launching upon languid waves with occasional comical wipe-outs. Aaron saw me once and we chuckled at my obvious lack of sure-footedness.And yet, now, there was this wave, this undeniable mass of water. I saw these huge waves heaving from the shore line, before paddling out. Occasionally, there were, what I thought, challenging, but ride-able bowls...Fo
ols rush in where wise men tread lightly.As I dove off my board, I did not know if I could swim under a wave that big. I swam down as far as I could, my ears hurt as I felt the crest of the wave impact above me. The under ocean grew gray suddenly. The crash was a depth charge sending shock waves through the ocean floor. I thought, how much time before the next beast unleashed itself? I swam to the surface through the white wash of the aftermath. I paddled to shore, my vain endeavor.
Moral of the story: On certain days, one should stay at work.
