It seem to be the first right hit of the season after looking at a million screens; swell size, swell period, swell direction, tides, currents and wind reports. All gear checked, boards waxed, a full tank on the good old Honda and a permanent smirk on the face.
The alarm went off around four am. After depending on chicken soup for the past few days to get over a devilish cold, it finally felt right to get out of bed. I kissed her lips good bye and headed out to the trees. Long drawn out turns in these empty highways of this quiet island. Coffee is a necessity at this point. Large and dark, like the early morning thoughts that cruise by at five am. As the speed kept getting higher, the night started to wake up. Turn after turn after turn, the anticipation grew within. I’ve been here before, a nervous form, filled with expectations of days in the water that go unnoticed in the picture frames, but never doubting today must be the day.
Unsurprised but disappointed, the water was short, the crowd was abundant and this day seemed to be getting out of our hands like a rancid cookie with a glass of expired milk. Of course, even then the surf started, another day in the water, another time for the excuses to run through our heads; “Its better than not surfing at all. It could be worse. It’s better than staying home.”
Then the rolling fog blinded us all, and with it, our dreams of perfect rights in the cold water vanished. One by one slowly coming in, the sun burning out, but not strong enough to turn the fog around, not for the time being at least. It was time to wait it out.
Around the corner in between conversations of other times with new and old friends. Now dry and tired of this constant disappointment, now set to wait for the fog to disperse, now all of a sudden the day dreaming got going.
As always, the talks of the long lost green unicorn started to perpetuate our minds. Every city, every town and every surfer knows about the unicorn. The one that showed up that one time, that one day, at that one spot, with that long period swell and that mid to low tide when nobody was there. Nobody ever wants to talk about it but that’s usually where all conversations end these days. We could feel it through the taste of burned coffee and cigarette smoke, the green unicorn was out there and we wanted to go look for it.
After talking about it for so long, we set out to go hunting. Undeniably risky but with nothing to lose we went our way and didn’t think back. By the time we got there, still unable to see the water through the mist, we decided to search for comfort in a loud fire. At this point, fully stoked, we could hear the unicorn but still couldn’t see it. Then out of the amber smokey low lying cloud a man with rubber skin came out flying out. Riding something that could only be described as a green unicorn.
This particular time, perhaps only this time and never again, we got the unicorn. Running wild and at its best while the sun burned our skin and the trees stopped time. In slow motion we rode the unicorn, one by one, until the dark took him away.
The green unicorn is real and we all dream of seeing him again soon.
