Photo: c3pics
While I have no plans to make this my magnum opus, a recent three-day sojourn across the country to sample the hurricane-fueled waves of the Sunshine State just renewed my stoke. But more importantly, it reminded me how important “getting away” from the day-to-day existence we all sometimes want a break from. The pull of responsibility constantly battles with the adventurer inside me. I try to find the balance between being there for my family, my business, paying the bills, fixing stuff around the house, and the excitement of going someplace new, surfing different spots (or old favorites), meeting local surfers and bodyboarders, chasing warm water on a whim, and spending all day riding waves with no particular place to be. This trip was a throwback to my pro bodyboarding days. Or, maybe it was my version of a midlife crisis.
I blame it all on social media. For weeks on end, my feeds have been choked with a plethora of heaving barrels back on the East Coast. New York nuggets, Outer Banks barrels, Florida juice, and my Facebook friends from back east reveling in the glory of the best hurricane season in recent memory. And while I live in typically surf-soaked San Clemente, a two-week flat spell in mid-September and a light work schedule were all it took to fuel a Sunday morning of checking airfares and forecasts. Alas, Hurricane Jose was about finished working his magic in the northeast and his successor Maria was chugging northwestward in the Atlantic, perched to funnel swell westward. My former hometown, Ocean City, Maryland was forecast to be onshore through most of the week, but Florida looked to reap the trifecta of plenty of swell, perfect weather, and favorable winds. Tickets from Los Angeles to Orlando were only $335, so I got permission from the boss (my wife, Vicki) and booked a dive motel on the beach.
Photo: c3pics
On Tuesday morning, the rumble of long-period swell filled the air and the hair on the back of my neck bristled with the offshore breeze. It was on! I met my local contact, Jason, his fiancee’, and his son Jaden at a beach up the road a bit and we headed into the gloriously balmy 84-degree water and pumping head-high-plus waves. After a solid two and a half hours, we took a break for breakfast and mulled over where to go next.
One great thing about this crew is they aren’t afraid of driving. They thought nothing of driving 30 minutes south just to check Sebastian Inlet and the Vero Beach area before rebounding back north to finally pick a spot along the highway.
After another couple of hours, everyone parted ways and I hauled it back to my motel where I paddled out front for session number three before sunset, not wanting to waste a single minute.
On Wednesday, a disappointing east wind plagued the surf out front but the boys were already checking the conditions elsewhere. The call was to hit Volusia County where offshores prevailed. I asked how long the drive was and was undersold with “an hour and change.” That “hour and change” was actually an hour and forty-five minutes, and I found myself thinking the entire drive, “This is nuts!” I would never go through this much effort in California. When I finally stepped out of the car, I immediately ran past the dunes to check the surf. Holy smokes! Glassy conditions and wedging overhead peaks coming off a jetty with nearly 100 guys out. The shifting peaks were calling though, so I grabbed my gear and charged it. A bit of initial frustration with the crowd turned to smiles all around for Al and myself when we found a peak to ourselves with wedges and barrels. Three hours later we came in crusty and sunburnt but stoked with a plan to eat and hit up another spot a bit further south.
Volusia magic. Photo: Jason Doyle
Day three was set to be my final day. I was in a bit of a quandary. Jason was going to stick around the Indialantic area. Al was headed back to our wedge spot. I wanted to head up there too, but that nearly two-hour haul was weighing on me so I opted to stick around. Dawn revealed a beautiful offshore wind and another face-melting sunrise. Only two guys were out and a few decent lefthanders still pulsed in around the 3-5 foot range. I paddled out with Jason and his fiancee’s son Cully and we shared waves for an hour before deciding to head south to Sebastian.
Again with the driving.
30 minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot and decided to go for it without even looking. I have to say, Sebastian was a ghost of its formerly glorious self. Granted, the swell direction was wrong, but gone was the legendary A-frame peak that I recalled from my visits here in the 80s and 90s. I had won my first US Championship at this very beach in 1986 but today was mostly closed out and the wedge barely detectable.
Following my eighth and final session in three days, I felt like a young man again. My shoulders were a bit tired, I had the beginnings of fin ulcers, and my face had a deep tan amongst the lines that 53 years will bring a man. 14 hours in the water over three days left me with the kind of content you feel when you take a risk and get the payoff.
Since hitting my 50s a few years ago I can’t escape the fear that I need to do as much “fun stuff” as possible because I could drop dead, get a disease, or be incapacitated at any time. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed for any of us, but if you have the means or even a small slice of time, find enough balance in your life for a mini-adventure now and again. It somehow shakes off the stress of daily living and reminds you that the young man (or woman) in you still exists.
