By Daina Scarola
For the past decade I've been an avid couch surfer. Not the
couchsurfer.com type, but the lazy couch-potato type who loves to watch surf movies and documentaries, go to the beach and watch the local surfers floating and waiting and catching waves, all the while imagining what it must be like and wishing I could enjoy that pleasure and passion first-hand.
I don't really know what I was afraid of, why I was holding back. The cold? The dark water? Sharks? The right wetsuit keeps you warm, we have the best surf in Atlantic Canada, and while we do have sharks, there has never been a reported attack on a surfer in Nova Scotia.
So about a month ago I finally snapped out of it. I decided to commit to learning what my husband Stefan considers to be "the most difficult and fulfilling sport he's ever done". I ordered a wetsuit through a distributor friend, which arrived Monday, and I booked a 3-hour lesson with One Life Surf School for next weekend.
But the anticipation and desire to get out in the water was building to a point I could no longer ignore. Last Saturday when my friend Peta offered to lend me her wetsuit, and Stefan offered to lend me his 7'6" board while he borrowed Peta's short board, I jumped for the opportunity. A traveller I met on the beach encouraged me to go out, saying "Just imagine, your first time surfing will be on the eve of Hurricane Bill."
Minutes later, I found myself akwardly launching into the ocean, following my husband's lead, with not a thought in my mind. Just pure adrenaline and focus and fluid sensation. I paddled out to join the line-up, learned to balance on what would soon be my first board, and sat floating among a dozen other surfers looking out for swell on the horizon. What I had feared would be intimidating was actually welcoming, as if I were safe and in the company friends. The dark water on which I was floating was soothing, calming. The ocean air was thick with fog, and seemed to engulf us in a beautiful cozy cocoon.
Even though I was really just observing and becoming familiar with the sport, the feeling on that Saturday evening was more than I had ever hoped my first time surfing would be. I didn't catch my first wave. I struggled to find my balance and rhythm paddling. I got pummeled by whitewater and even got whacked by a rogue board. I had no concept of time nor of my spent muscles.
For the past decade I've been an avid couch surfer. Not the
couchsurfer.com type, but the lazy couch-potato type who loves to watch surf movies and documentaries, go to the beach and watch the local surfers floating and waiting and catching waves, all the while imagining what it must be like and wishing I could enjoy that pleasure and passion first-hand.I don't really know what I was afraid of, why I was holding back. The cold? The dark water? Sharks? The right wetsuit keeps you warm, we have the best surf in Atlantic Canada, and while we do have sharks, there has never been a reported attack on a surfer in Nova Scotia.
So about a month ago I finally snapped out of it. I decided to commit to learning what my husband Stefan considers to be "the most difficult and fulfilling sport he's ever done". I ordered a wetsuit through a distributor friend, which arrived Monday, and I booked a 3-hour lesson with One Life Surf School for next weekend.
But the anticipation and desire to get out in the water was building to a point I could no longer ignore. Last Saturday when my friend Peta offered to lend me her wetsuit, and Stefan offered to lend me his 7'6" board while he borrowed Peta's short board, I jumped for the opportunity. A traveller I met on the beach encouraged me to go out, saying "Just imagine, your first time surfing will be on the eve of Hurricane Bill."
Minutes later, I found myself akwardly launching into the ocean, following my husband's lead, with not a thought in my mind. Just pure adrenaline and focus and fluid sensation. I paddled out to join the line-up, learned to balance on what would soon be my first board, and sat floating among a dozen other surfers looking out for swell on the horizon. What I had feared would be intimidating was actually welcoming, as if I were safe and in the company friends. The dark water on which I was floating was soothing, calming. The ocean air was thick with fog, and seemed to engulf us in a beautiful cozy cocoon.Even though I was really just observing and becoming familiar with the sport, the feeling on that Saturday evening was more than I had ever hoped my first time surfing would be. I didn't catch my first wave. I struggled to find my balance and rhythm paddling. I got pummeled by whitewater and even got whacked by a rogue board. I had no concept of time nor of my spent muscles.
Later, when we were driving home, I finally became aware of how heavy I felt. I was experiencing the full-body buzz of pure exhaustion that comes after a surf session...and my face told the story with an ear-to-ear silly giddy grin of total happiness...of wellness within.
~~~
Photography by Daina Scarola
Top: Left Point, Lawrencetown Beach. Stefan followed by our dogs Cozmo and Daizy.
Bottom: The Cove, Seaforth. Sunday, August 23rd, hours after Hurricane Bill. This is where we surfed the evening before.
1 comments:
Bravo! I love stories of personal triumph.
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