Big Monday at Pleasure Point

This is getting out of hand. My feet are frozen, my arms feel like noodles, both the wind and the tide are rapidly increasing, the sun is going down, and I am in way over my head. As if to add insult to injury, a thick fog begins to bleed into the air over Pleasure Point, adding another spooky layer to an already spine-chilling scene. Just one more, I say to myself as another giant set wave colors the horizon pitch black. As I frantically paddle towards the building-sized liquid avalanche headed my way, I wonder if I even have enough gas in the tank to successfully wrangle another one of these savage behemoths into shore. Good thing I’m stubborn, and a little stupid at that.

In the weeks leading up to December 23rd, the air had been thick with talk of a once-in-a-lifetime swell event in the Pacific Ocean. The swell projections were off the chart! It would hit Hawaii first, then make its way here to California within days. Local big wave upstarts like Alo Slebir and Wilem Banks punched their tickets to meet the swell head-on at Maui’s premiere big wave, Jaws, while bonafide Santa Cruz big-wave legends Peter Mel and Nic Lamb double-checked their equipment in anticipation of the illustrious, invite-only Eddie Aikau big wave event at Waimea Bay, set for Sunday, the 22nd.

While true local big-wave chargers worth their salt would be positioning themselves at Mavericks for the day of days, other less ambitious adrenaline junkies such as myself, Shawn Dollar, and Zealand Hunter opted to let the waves come to us. That weekend, Hawaii, as predicted, went XXL. Alo got piped, Wilem bagged one of the biggest paddle waves ever at Jaws, Pete put in an admirable performance at the Eddie, and Lamb put in an impressive 5th place overall finish.

When I got done teaching my yoga class at 10:00 AM, I rolled up to Rockview, eager to see if this massively hyped swell was the real deal. It just took one glance at the water to get my answer. Although always hard to tell from the bluff, the waves I saw funneling into the apex of Pleasure Point had to have been well over twenty feet tall. 

The direction of the swell was so west that the sizable lines seemed to stretch all the way down to Capitola. Plus, there were only two guys giving it a go. The wild scene before me acted as a shot of pure adrenaline that sent me scrambling home to suit up quicker than an Eddie Van Halen solo.

Once home, I turned Alice in Chains’ Facelift album up to full volume, nuked some coffee, and lathered up some sunscreen. I slid into my O’Neill wetsuit in record time, waxed my 7’6” M10, and met my neighbor Connor and his coach, Andre Giorenelli, who I’d recruited to join me, in my driveway. Both were riding boards well over a foot longer than me, making me question the wisdom in my board selection. Fuck it, I thought. It’s the longest one I’ve got.

As we strapped on our leashes on the concrete slab at Rockview, I realized just how fortunate we’d be if we even made it out to the lineup at all. Usually, there’s a relatively deep channel between the reefs at Rockview and Sewers that allows for a mellow paddle out, but once the surf gets to a certain size, that cruisey paddle becomes a liquid gauntlet, a mad-sprint through tumultuous swells eager to swat you into submission.

Miraculously, all three of us managed to make it through the worst of that initial mad dash, but our job was far from over. For over thirty-five minutes, we inched our way out, pausing periodically to ditch our boards to pass under the rogue waves that continued to assail the channel. When you’re riding boards that big, there’s no duck-diving, it’s hold-your-breath-and-swim. Halfway through our paddle-out, we were pleased to see none other than Guinness Book of World Records big-wave record crusher Shawn Dollar join our ranks.

Once we made it outside, it became a waiting game. What you have to realize about swells this big is that spots you may know like the back of your hand suddenly become brand new acquaintances. These waves are breaking so much farther out than usual that all the usual distinct characteristics of the wave itself are thrown out the window, as they are breaking on places on the reef hundreds of feet from where they do on every other day of the year. 

I’d never seen it quite this big, so getting a direct read on where the ideal takeoff zone happened to be that day took a lot of patience, positioning, and observation. With the playing field so much bigger than usual, finding myself in the right place at the right time became much more strategic and difficult.

Which is why it took me a good twenty-five minutes of cat-and-mouse before wrangling my first wave. We were positioned at the top of the Point, lined up  Sewers usually breaks, and the wave itself was a medium-sized set. Dropping into that first wave did wonders for the nerves. A good hit of adrenaline and the satisfaction of riding a wave to completion without falling had me paddling back out to the lineup, spitting and babbling to myself like the Tasmanian Devil.

Something comes over me while surfing big waves. Some primitive proclivity to peril that lies dormant until provoked by the appropriate catalyst. In situations such as this, the rational part of my brain gives control to an impulse-driven, single-minded, and admittedly reckless force that consumes my being. One that opens the door to careless mistakes, mistakes that can introduce you to a world of hurt.

After migrating down to First Peak, only to end up playing a relentless game of wait and hope for twenty minutes, I realized just how unequipped I was for this quest. My board was short at least a foot of foam, putting me at a severe handicap. These waves have so much energy, and are moving at such a high speed, that every extra inch of foam on your board gives you a better chance at reaching the paddling speed needed to get into the wave as early as possible.

Nevertheless, I was able to snag another few bombs before my luck ran out. I’d gotten a little too greedy. The wave in question was a solid right at Sewers that I decided to stick with well after I should have pulled out. That one bad decision left me attempting to paddle back out through the minefield of the impact zone.

With the inability to duck dive under the towering waves, making it through the breaking surf required me to repeatedly ditch my board and attempt to swim under the powerful soup. Passage through these roiling seas is an incredibly violent experience, with churning whitewater pummeling and twisting you in every direction as your lungs burn for oxygen. On one particularly abusive hold down, I had a moment of crippling terror that penetrated me to the bone.

I was picked up and brutally slammed deep underwater, three times in a row. Plunged so deep beneath the angry wave, I was forced to frantically swim upward in a desperate bid to reach the surface. After a few scary moments, I was able to reach the sweet air, but the experience left me deeply rattled. By this point, I’d drifted down to 38th avenue.

After about twenty more minutes of desperate effort, I was able to reach the takeoff zone once again, just in time to see Zealand Hunter fall from the sky on a triple-overhead mutant. There I was, completely thrashed from hours of exertion, cold, terrified, and more than a little bit delirious. I needed to get one last wave to come in, but it was proving to be increasingly difficult. With the sun going down, I was able to scrape into a steep and fast wave that brought me all the way to the stairs at 36th avenue.

As I trudged up the stairs to the road, a magical transformation occurred. As the high-fives, back slaps, and words of encouragement came from the throngs of spectators lining the cliff, I went from lonely, frustrated, terrified, and inadequate to victorious, proud, celebrated, and elated in an instant. As I walked home, I couldn’t wait to tell my parents all about my session. If my fan club on the cliffs were any indication, they’d be thrilled!

After showering, I picked up my phone to give them a shout. My inbox was full of increasingly worried texts from both parents- “Are you surfing today?”, “Where are you? Your mom is very concerned”, “Please respond when you receive this”, etc.

When I called my Dad to let him know that I was fine, I was shocked when he told me that I’d been out in those waves for nearly five hours. So absorbed was I during my session that I didn’t seem to register the fact that I’d been out three hours longer than usual. No wonder they were worried! Especially with the news being saturated with headlines about the huge swell, such as the shocking destruction of the Wharf. I felt horrible, but it wasn’t until three days later at a Christmas party my folks hosted that I learned the extent of the mental anguish I put them through.

“No kidding,” I overheard my old man say to my Aunt in the adjacent room. “But it wasn’t until we heard the fire trucks and ambulance that we got really worried. We actually called the Fire Department twice to see if they’d hauled out any lifeless surfers.”

That gave me an idea. I waltzed into the room and addressed my mom, who was sitting next to the Christmas Tree. “I’m truly sorry for worrying you guys, but I think I have a solution.” I saw my mom’s eyes light up – maybe I was going to vow to give up riding waves taller than three feet.

“Maybe you could buy me one of those inflation vests I’ve always wanted for Christmas next year!”