The Sanctity of Solitude

On my way to and from the FreeSurf office I pass by one of the best reefbreaks on the windward side of O‘ahu. It picks up everything from north to east swells and receives healthy doses of trade swell on a regular basis. The barrier reef is way out there so it always looks small and shitty from the shore, which is an added bonus as most salivating surfers keep the pedal to the metal and fly right on by and up to the North Shore.

I had a non-believing friend who had never surfed it before give it a check, only to call and say, “it looks tired out there, small and messy.”
“No way,” I said, “You just don’t know where to look.” I drove down and we paddled out to 5-foot draining peaks. Bombs. He was blown away.
One particular autumn day, a small north-northeast swell was showing up on the buoys and the winds were light, so I cut work short and headed back to the spot for an early afternoon surf. I pulled into the three-car dirt parking area and saw clean, head-high rights rifling down the reef, with an occasional quick, steep left. No one was out.

That’s when it hit me. How often do surfers surf alone? And I don’t mean paddling out by yourself to a crowded lineup, or uncrowded for that matter, where you might or might not run into someone you know. I mean really surfing alone, by yourself, the only human being in the water with a board under their feet at a particular break.

My guess is, for most of the surfing population, it doesn’t happen very often. It’s unfortunate really. Not just because surfing alone means getting any wave you want, over and over, but because when you strip away all the hierarchies in the lineups, the photographers on the beach, your friends in the water, the egos and competition, you become aware of what type of surfer you actually are, bringing forth your true inner-drive for the sport, what you’re actually capable of. With no one to impress, no one judging you or jockeying for position, you become able to free yourself from many of the mental hindrances of lineup politics and are able to harness the stoke and freedom of simply surfing. It’s a very rewarding and liberating sensation.

Thing is, this particular outer reef isn’t the best place to surf alone. It’s about a ten-minute paddle across the shallow lagoon out into the lineup. The reef is sharp and has several stretches that are mired with sharp spires that rise vertically off the reef. And of course, sharks are always lurking in the dark recesses of the back of your mind, no matter how much you try to suppress it.

I’ve surfed out there alone before, but always being the last person in the lineup after others have paddled in. And then, it was just a few more waves for me, until the fears and unknowns just couldn’t be drowned by a song any longer, and every out of place ripple of whitewater was potentially a shark fin. Then it was one more and back to the car.

But this time was different. Standing there on the shore, I was amped. Amped, stoked, fearless and nothing else; my brain was quiet and my soul was at ease. The sun was out, the waves looked good and I was out there without a second thought, just me, myself and I.

I skirted the edge of the reef, along the deep water channel and rounded the sharp, broccoli-shaped coral heads on the outer corner of the reef, the destroyers of many a fin and shredders of soft fingertips. I paddled up the reef, past the wicked reef spires, to the first right that jacks up and spins down the line. Without even stopping to sit up, one of those beautiful rights popped up and I paddled into a nice and lined up head high wave. I got four good turns in and gave myself a hoot as I kicked out over the extremely shallow inside reef. Had that wave been at V-land or Rocky Rights, with the lineup full of guys who absolutely kill it, I definitely would not have blurted out my hoot claim for all to hear. But that’s the difference of surfing alone. That wave felt good. The turns felt good, each one snappy and crisp. The whole ride just flowed, a fluid line from beginning to end. I was stoked. And why not get audibly verbal about it? Why should it ever be any different? Isn’t that what it’s all about, what it’s always been about, the feeling?

About half and hour later four guys paddled out. Of course, for safety sake, I was stoked to see a few faces in the lineup, but on the other hand, I was really enjoying the solitude of my session, feeling comfortable and loose, really able to focus on the waves and my surfing. I surfed for another hour, thinking about the alone time, thinking about this story, practicing exercising patience by waiting for the second or third wave in a set.

The next morning, as I pulled into the muddy parking area to check the surf, the report came invisibly across the airwaves and through the speakers in my car: surfer attacked by shark yesterday, left leg, critical condition, same stretch of reef, water was cleared. I guess I wasn’t alone after all.