The Rules of Winter Waves

by Steve Snow
(South Beach, Oregon USA)

I didn't really surf; I fought with the ocean today. When I tried to get to my feet I got hit hard. When I moved, I got punched in the face. Once, and only once, did I stagger to my feet after repeated jabs with my right, then my left, then my right again, over and over, until I couldn't jab anymore. Luckily, it was enough for the board to hook the wave, I popped up, my legs wobbled, but they held. For a few seconds I was on top, everything was smooth, fast and glassy, then a salty roundhouse hit me square in the back. Under now, I received the mandatory ten count. Curled up, with my arms around my head, I counted off the seconds, keeping panic back against the ropes as I took one hit after another.

From the number of bruises, small cuts and this constant sound of a bell ringing in my ears, perhaps it would have been better if I had stayed in my corner, but this is the beginning of March and on this cobalt blue day, a yellow sun was shinning, reflecting silver then white on this surging mat of foam. The crowds came out to see the overhead high, blue green waves peal away, again and again; spindrift flew backwards from a six-knot off shore breeze.

Tomorrow, no one will be here, it will rain and snow will fall on these coastal mountains, all color will fade into deep grays and the sun will just be a light blur between streaking storm clouds. Wave heights will double and close out in thunderous, impossible black curtains. Even now the storm front approaches. Summer and color, seem years away.