Stuck inside, I dive deep into the ocean avoiding the oncoming wave. Hoping to not be sucked into the wave and thrown over the falls. Swimming down a bit late, I am lucky this wave’s energy doesn’t descend deep, but it does show up early and stay late.
Surf photography from the water is something that I have come to love. I haven’t been able to nail down the exact reason why, but maybe it is a subtle reminder of who I was as a kid, swimming in a pool for hours every day. Maybe it is a reminder that my life on this planet is ephemeral, as the waves hold me under. Maybe it is something else.
As I begin returning to the surface, the tail-end of the wave swipes my feet out from underneath me. My body twirls and I have lost control. Then, out of nowhere, a push from below shoots me out of the water like a whale breaching. Immediately, I turn my gaze to the oncoming wave and realize my time is limited, so I take a long breath and begin to dive.
When you are under a wave, at first all is calm. You can feel the power of the wave building, coming directly at you. You’ve accepted it is inevitable, you are going to be hit by the wave. Then, for a split second, when the wave is directly overhead, the lights go out. You are in complete darkness. Time seems to slow down at this point, you have held your breath for about 5-7 seconds. Just as you are about to move into the light, the power of the wave hits you. When you submit and relax your body, the wave typically spits you to the surface.
Popping back to the clear skies, everything is white. The foam from the churning wave resides. Another wave is coming. Trying to time my breath, I exhale, hoping to lower my spiking heart-rate. Another huge gasp, my fins are overhead, and I am diving deep.
A… B… C… D… E… Saying the alphabet helps me maintain composure. Counting numbers builds anxiety, especially when I would get into the 20s and 30s. My ABC’s move slower as well, so I don’t freak out when 26 letters have past and I have to start again.
The wave hits me hard, I’m trying to make it to the surface. Tumbling me head over heals and in random 360s, I change from a ball into a pencil. I can see the light. I’m on letter H. The undercurrent straightens me out and shoots me to the surface.
When I return from submission for any wave, I continue holding my breath until I know that I will not be breathing in water.
Stuck inside for three waves, I’ve watched surfers riding these double-overhead bombs, hooting and hollering for each other as they take the drop. Staring at the inbound surfer pumping towards me, he ducks under the hood. Lifting my camera for the shot, but I’m too deep and too late.
The surfer zooms above me and the wave closes out, taking the wave straight to the head!
Tossing and turning, I didn’t get to dive deep, nor did I get to take a solid breath. The alphabet starts out of habit. I pull the camera close to my belly, so I do not bonk myself in the head. The underwater routine is habitual; darkness, chaos, light, then air.
Shooting out of the water waist-high, just like the first wave. Looking for the next wave, I am glad to see I have time to move further outside. I lay on my back for two breaths, then begin kicking towards calm water. I need it.
To my surprise, there is a surfer staring at me. “Hey man! You O-KAY?” He shouts to me patting the top of his head with a closed fist, the universal sign for “I’m okay.” I shoot him a smile, tap my head, and continue kicking out from the inside.
At that moment, I don’t have to question why I am out there.