Surf, life, and getting spit out naked on a packed beach, part I

Going over the falls...it happens when you miscalculate, or just chicken out dropping into a wave (look careful at pic for example). The sheer force of the movement of the wave closing out takes you up and over from the wave’s backside; hence the term, “going over the falls.” But that’s the best part of the wipeout. What scares a rational man senseless is what happens next. The wave shoves you down into the jaws of whitewater frenzy where you spin uncontrollably under the surface, not knowing which way to go for a gulp of life giving breath.

The first time I went “over the falls” and got a nasty taste of the washing machine effect was near the wedge at Newport Beach. I was body surfing with my cousin and his best buddy, who were visiting from Phoenix. They made the mistake of asking me about sharks, and I had no other choice but to do my best to freak them out with a good story. As I told them of a nearby tiger shark sighting, I felt something brush my foot. In a nanosecond, I was the one freaking, and started swimming for shore. I tried to catch a nasty wall of a wave, but realized I was too late, and the beast would spit me out on the shore. I pulled back, but the force of the wave threw my like a rag doll into whitewater mania. I twisted and turned under water, literally not knowing which way was up. I fought like a mad man, but it was like peeing into a tornado. The more I fought, the faster my heart pumped, the quicker the oxygen was sapped from my lungs. My chest began to convulse, the whitewater cleared, and I saw blue sky. I was psyched to have survived, but my celebration tapered as I realized my shorts and undies were ripped off in battle. They washed ashore in front of a Saturday afternoon crowd. As I conteplated my options, another shore breaking monster hit me from behind, and I was spinning again; this time with my bare white butt leading the way. I survived another washing machine cycle, but I was presented with a rough decision. Stay in the surf and die, or walk up butt naked on the beach and retrieve my shorts. Well, needless to say, I chose the later, and here I am writing the memoirs.

I learned an amazing life lesson that day, and it wasn’t “make sure your shorts are tied on snuggly before entering the surf.” Stay tuned for part II.