First winter surf (and first blog post)

These weren’t waves; they were more like sighs, the contented exhalations of a somnolent ocean. Like me sitting stupefied in front of the TV, fhe ocean was watching the sun set.

Nevertheless, I was out, and I was going to have a wave-ride. Mainly, I wanted to try out some new surfing gloves. I’m hoping, finallly, to be able to play in the water during the winter, having wussed out for more winter seasons than I care to count.

I had meant to try these gloves out when I went surfing last week, a day or so after Christmas. I had the time of my life, except that after a couple of minutes on the water, I had sticks of dry ice at the end of my arms, shoots of frozen bamboo under my fingernails.

But there were healthy, well-formed waves that day, with all manner of seal-bodied surfers on them. As the lone paddleboarder, I was able to catch waves the others couldn’t - what a gas! What a disappointment it was to have to stop after only few minutes because ice nails were pounding through my knuckles.

Turns out I had worn Fay’s gloves, not my new ones. Duh! They look exactly llke mine but, being just a tad smaller, they squeezed my fingers enough to prevent enough blood from getting to my tortured pinkies.

So yesterday, with the ocean nearly as smooth as an ice rink, I vowed to see if the new gloves - my real gloves - would do the trick.

And they did! And woohoo, I rode a ripple or two! In my mind, I was the guy in the picture above, taken at the same beach. Of course, I fell, on a nothing-wave, in shin-deep water. But when I lay down and splashed around, my hands were pain free!

And now, writing at home, I feel a mixture of outdoor-joy (the Germans must have a good word for that) and a sense of accomplishment at overcoming my fear-of-cold, and happy anticipation of more winter waves to catch.

And gratitude, for the privelege of being water-born again under yesterday’s huge cold sky.

This is not me.

At least, it isn’t really me.