Episode Six: The euphoria of facing fears
It’s only when you face your fears that you remember you are indeed alive. As you cross the threshold of what you once thought possible, to tackle the impossible, so you open yourself up a whole new realm of possibility and tomorrow seems infinitely better. At least this is what I tell myself as I stand on the threshold, tentatively clutching at my new 7,0, checking and re-checking every last bit of my equipment as we wait on a window between the house-sized sets to attempt the paddle out.
The swell has been called well in advance and a solid gallery stands on the decking by the car park, watching in awe as some of the largest waves (for this coastline) since internet forecasting began career headlong past Cape St. Francis and into Jeffrey’s Bay. Up and down the coast there are tales of destruction: Sea walls have been breached, houses flooded and roads washed away, but right here, right now, we are three solitary figures waiting by the painfully narrow paddle out channel, dwarfed by the monstrous swells exploding on the rock shelf out in front of us.
Standing a little back from the other two - local board shaper Mike Meyer and Dale, a former Aussi Lifeguard - I await my fate in silence and ponder the paddle. The keyhole in the reef that allows you to slip unmolested through the mussel and barnacle clad rocks is invisible beneath a raging current of heavily clouded, silt clogged water. Six-foot walls of white water crash through, gauging out what little sand remains, further exposing every hungry crag and creek in the uneven rock surface just millimetres below the surface. The consequences of a mistimed jump play out in my mind and every passing set drains me of confidence as we stare at the indicator reef a mile to the north, waiting for the ocean to relent and allow us to take to the water.
From the houses above we hear hooting. For a brief moment the horizon becomes visible and Mike and Dale rush headlong into the water, paddling frantically for the deep water off the point and relative safety. Fighting my urge to remain on land, I hesitate and miss the initial surge, following no less than 20 short, but ultimately costly seconds, later. I hit the water and paddle in a frenzy of fear and adrenalin, eyes focused on the tip of my board and stroking for all I can in an attempt to regain lost ground. I throw a quick glance towards the top of the point. The horizon vanishes and the small pack of surfers moves as one, headed for the deeper water off the point as a large set approaches. Dale and Mike are just ahead and I watch as they both climb the first set wave, rising up the wave face and towering over me as I too start to climb. I know I will make this wave, I know the following wave will be bigger, I know that it will break wider and that my luck won’t last a second time. I climb blindly, paddling for all my worth, heart in mouth in grim anticipation of what is to follow.
I free fall off the back of the wave, engulfed and blinded by spray as a shadow looms in the distance; a huge cresting peak made obvious by plumes of spray rolling high into the air as the wave starts to spill. The wave is vast, consuming everything before me. Dale and Mike scratch over the top leaving me alone as the lip falls in slow motion. I dive, putting my faith in my leash and praying that I surface soon. I hear the dull impact of the lip overhead before I am picked up and plunged into darkness, limp and lifeless in a bid to maintain some sort of calm as I roll and spin in the black, reaching out for a lifeline but finding nothing, helpless and left only to wait until the wave releases me.
Re-surfacing I gasp for air and gather my board, struggling under the final set wave before paddling wide to sit and take stock of my position, breathing deeply to control the rush of adrenalin and compose myself. Mike and Dale have vanished, now two indiscernible black dots amongst the small crowd 200 metres up the point from where I last saw them: I have been washed a long way. But my board is fine, my leash has held and most importantly, I have survived. The unknown quantity that almost left me waiting on the beach has been faced and I smile and laugh as I begin the long paddle back, ready to begin my surf.
So often, when faced with an unknown quantity, we hesitate. In a moment of self-doubt we opt for the safer and more familiar option and ultimately deny ourselves the thrill and excitement of something new, something different. It is this fear of the unknown that can entrench us in our day to day lives, that keeps us from crossing the boundaries we make for ourselves and discovering we are indeed capable of tackling that which we always thought was beyond us, that we are stronger than we realise and that there is a whole lot more to life if you are willing to take a chance once in a short while and face up to your fears.
Obviously this is all relative to the individual, but at some point, somewhere in your day, standing up against your own rational thought can be a very rewarding experience, in whatever capacity that may be.
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