Pilgrimages can come in many forms. When one reads or hears the word “pilgrimage”, typically the idea is along the lines of visiting holy sites to the world’s religions, such as Jerusalem, Rome, Mecca, Santiago de Compostela, Virgin de Guadalupe, La Juquila, Mt. Kailash, or Mt. Fuji. But the true nature of a pilgrimage is not the distance traveled from one’s home to the holy landmark, but rather the distance of the inner devotion of the soul along the spirit path.
In this particular case, my pilgrimage played itself out in the watery world of Bodysurf.
Apparently at an early age I took to the aquatic environment with ease. At the age of one and a half years, my mother had me in diaper dip classes. In a week’s time, I was swimming relatively long distances underwater, with apparent confidence.
That confidence in the water was later bolstered by having enjoyed modest success during my five years of youth competitive swimming.
Down-tha-Shore. Wave riding has been a great love of mine since my early childhood. During the mid-1970’s to mid-1980’s my family would invariably spend at least a week or two every summer at my grandparents’ beach house in Stone Harbor, NJ. For hours on end I would be out in the surf, catching whatever waves I could, on an inflatable raft or early boogie-board, until my chest could take no more pounding and chafing. It was the Jersey Shore, so rarely would the swells be too large for me. Eventually I ditched the vehicles in favor of pure bodysurf.
Easily the most memorable bodysurfing session from those Stone Harbor years, would happen to be the very last one I would experience there. The bulk of what comprised the first Carlisle Ocean Swim Team stayed with us at my grandparents’ house, before an event in Ocean City, NJ. With the backdrop of a rising full moon on the horizon, that late-afternoon-into-early-evening swell graced us with hours of delightful waves.
My summer of ’94 was spent living on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. This was, and still remains, the longest period of time in which I lived along a coast with ample swell for adequate wave riding. The OBX is a series of sandbars which attract the best waves along the East Coast of the USA. On the occasions when the tropical storms or hurricanes skirt the coast, the place to be is on Hatteras Island. That summer I honed as much my skills as my courage in heavier surf.
Captures the essence of OBX surf.
From there, I had several notable bodysurf experiences, including a small to middling day at the famed break, The Wedge, in Newport Beach CA; and a surprisingly surf-able day near Montpelier on the south of France.
The Wedge on a bigger day:
Sometime around year 2000, I found a Listserve style e-group dedicated to bodysurfing. There were members from all over the world, though the dominant majority were from California and Hawaii. The participants were on a constant campaign for respect in the surf, especially so at the established bodysurf-only breaks, which I was excited to learn of their existence. My discovery gave me a sense of pride that I was a member of a waver-riding subculture within a wave-riding subculture.
Many of the places discussed by the group were completely foreign to me, yet before long I felt as if I knew them well thanks to the detailed descriptions from the members. One of the spots which caught my imagination Point Panic, or Panics, as the Hawaii contingent would typically call it. This break stands as one of the two in the United States which have been specifically designated as bodysurf exclusive. So when in 2004 the opportunity arose for me to visit Hawaii, it seemed as if my dreams had come true. For most of my life there had been an open invitation from my Godfather to stay at his condo at the foot of Diamond Head, and I was to finally take him up on it.
Before arrival in Hawaii I alerted the members of bodysurf.net to my visit, and had a response that was greater than I expected. The member, a Meteorologist with the Navy, offered to act as guide to several good spots on the island, though it would be later in the week. But my first order of business was to get my feet wet at Point Panic. When I arrived there in the late morning, only a select bunch of locals were around. It was a different type of spot than I was expecting, a reef break at the side of an inlet in front of a breakwater wall with large rocks at its base. In other words, no beach. In a way, it had its advantage, in that sitting on the break wall, one could observe more closely the wave riding action. It was quickly clear that the bodysurf-only rule was not strictly enforced, as there were almost as many board riders in the line-up as bodysurfers. When I asked a local about the boarders, his response was a resigned, “They’re not supposed to, but watcha gonna do?” In fact I did witness an incident where a boarder dropped in on a bodysurfer, resulting in a very vocal polarizing of the factions. Obviously the boarder was at fault, but his provocative reaction arose my righteous indignation, giving me the impetus to enter the line-up. The waves were nothing exceptional, by Hawaiian standards, but that was no matter, as they felt like wispy dream cakes to my east coast conditioned body. My last bodysurf session had been in the murky hurricane swell, with treacherous rip currents, in Rodanthe, North Carolina. The clear blue transparent water was a Kurosawa Dream scene in comparison. My wave catching technique was clearly not at the level of the locals, but I didn’t embarrass myself either. After a couple of hours in the water I had my fill. By then I’d made enough conversation to feel comfortable with several locals, even enough to invite a couple to a twelve pack. This tourist knew how to win friends and influence people.
As it is known to do, afternoon turned to night. As I was about to head home, a local guy who had set up a tailgate with hotdogs, burgers, and a cooler full of beer, invited me to join him for a spell. He was a cheerful Menehune, speaking in a thick Hawaiian Pidgin English. He was the one local who most embodied the Aloha spirit for which the islands are so renowned that I had met that day. When the full moon began to be obscured by clouds, it became clear that rain was imminent. The rain that fell was so light that it barely registered on the skin. It took only a few moments to make the connection: it was Heaven’s Divine Tears of Joy. Looking up at the reappeared moon, we witnessed something I had never imagined possible, a nocturnal rainbow. Not quite sure if it was my imagination, I needed the confirmation from my new friend. Between the rain and a moonbow, there was no doubt in my mind that my pilgrimage had received a heavenly blessing.
The rest of the week followed suit. One day was spent at Makapuu Beach. The waves weren’t ideal for bodysurfing, but there was much Aloha spirit among the many folks in the water. The coupe de grace came a couple days later, when the meteorologist with the Navy took me to the world famous Ehukai Beach, home of the surfing mecca of the Pipeline, on the North Shore. The two of us joined several others, also from bodysurf.net, to form a joyful “pod” of bodysurfers for several hours of blissful wave riding. The surreal beauty of the scene was punctuated by the sea turtles swimming beneath us in the crystal blue water. Once again, the Aloha was genuine, which sealed the sense of community for me.
In the years since then I’ve not had much opportunity to pursue this love, as I’ve not lived near waves of sufficient size and period. But even if I never bodysurf again, I know that I will love reliving the experience in my post-life review.