It didn’t take a professional surfer to know that the waves at our personal beach in Parrita were not beginner friendly. Giant clouds of water thrashed around from either direction sandwiching whatever happened to be stuck in their meeting place. There were very few moments of calm ocean to adequately prepare yourself to catch anything other than your breath. So Mike waited for Dominical to begin his surfing adventures.
Yesterday was Christmas all over again as he proudly walked up the driveway with his first surfboard in tow. It’s a used, not too beaten up, black and off-white “Wave Magnet” with a silhouette of North Carolina’s famous Cape Hatteras Lighthouse on it. It’s not as wide as he had hoped but it could work with some extra practice. And fortunately, he has the time and resources for that.
Instead of being a normal October rainy season day, today was a perfect beach day. I accompanied Mike to the ocean since it had been over a week and my tan was a few shades lighter than it could be. I also became his personal photographer, capturing shots of him heading to the waves, waiting for the waves, crashing into the waves, squatting on his board, falling off his board and one time, standing on his board. He did actually stand more than once, but I was either too slow, couldn’t see him in the camera screen or scooping sunscreen and sweat out of my stinging eyes. He was determined though and surfed the front lines while monster waves were crashing behind him. Costa Rica’s waves may not be the best for someone who’s a novice at any kind of water sports, or water in general. Hence the reason I’m content laying on the beach tanning and reading rather than be tossed around in a giant spin cycle.
My sixth book of our trip is The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger and glad to say I’m enjoying it after tolerating Holy Cow by Sarah MacDonald and I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by Tucker Max. In my personal opinion (which is contrary to many seeing as both are bestsellers), while they both have their moments, Max’s is equivalent to sitting with a cocky frat boy trying to one up you with his college reminiscence and MacDonald’s is loaded with lengthy descriptions and overindulgent thesaurus use. Both of which annoyed me. And while the two books are on opposite ends of the literary spectrum, at least they taught me the same thing - how I don’t want to write. (I may want to take into consideration the bestseller thing though…)
After a couple of hours of playing tag with the waves, Mike was tired. Surfing, from what I’ve heard and imagine, is a workout. I refuse to try again after a failed attempt in Hawaii years ago. The only thing I was good at was bear hugging the board even while it was upside down and underwater. I was under the impression that I was way out in areas of the ocean I had never been and envisioned sea creatures lurking near, so I refused to let go of the board and clung for dear life. I didn’t realize that Hawaii’s waters are an illusion and you can walk out for a mile before stretching your neck to avoid gulps of saltwater. I didn’t realize that the board and I were wrestling around in water that only came up to my armpits and that it would take more work to drown than to just walk back to shore. When I realized the board wasn’t going to flip me back right side up, I gave a big kick to get me to the surface quick and ended up punting a jagged coral reef. I also didn’t realize that one of its daggers sliced my big toe open until the Lifeguard whistled and waved me in. I guess bleeding in the ocean is against the rules. And that was the injury that ended my highly anticipated surfing career.
Glad to say Mike had a much happier ending and while his board has yet to live up to it's Wave Magnet nickname, he was able to catch quite a few waves and get enough moments of success to keep him paddling back for more. This ocean is steep competition but he held his own. And I’m sure the more they meet, the nicer they’ll be to each other…
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