I live on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington state in a rural location that affords beautiful views of both snow-capped mountains and wilderness beaches, so when I have time off there is always a choice between the two.  If it weren’t for my surfing buddy Nick Parry, I would probably divide my free time equally, but every Saturday, religiously, rain or shine (or this time of year snow), we turn on the surfer tunes and make the drive along highway 112 that traces the coast of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.


It keeps me sane, hanging out with a true friend like Nick who has heard it all and accepts me no matter what I might say.  Our topics range from problems with aging, trails to hike, things women say and what they might mean. Great laughter, good tunes, and a cold soak in the sea (water temp currently 47°F) is like doing spiritual laundry; you got to do it at least once each week . 


Bodysurfing teaches me, over and over again, to adapt to forces that I cannot change and use that energy in a positive way.  First off, when I am swimming out to catch a wave and see what appears like a mountain range approaching there is nowhere to run—all I can do is hold my breath and take evasive action.  I bow, dive to the bottom and remain there until I feel the passing water pressure recede, always accompanied with a roar and sometimes the clatter of stones near shore.  Once out in position, beyond the breaking waves, I have time to jockey for a shoulder, that place where the wave just begins to spill. This is the preferred place to join the energy flow. Sometimes while I wait I will glance over and see Nick make another of his death defying glory rides, arms raised, giving a shout (He will ask later, “Did you see that!”).


With a quick kick of my fins and an arm stroke I launch myself to the rising mountain slope.  I can feel the energy of the wave interact with the ocean bottom causing it to push and ease against my body, my body respond to adjust my shape while my angle directs my glide to the steepest upper slope just ahead of the break.  At times I am rocketed across the face, skipping like a stone, or if outpaced, buried inside a long aqueous tube. If my body errs or I begin to think about what I am doing, I might get dragged “over the falls” and twisted like a human Gumby.  Either way, I’ve never suffered a serious injury and its all fun and heart-pumping exercise.  At the end of these Saturday surf sessions, big waves or small, I’m always invigorated, and I can always count on a smile from my good buddy Nick.



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