I don’t think I really
grasped the fact that I had escaped our day-to-day until somewhere over
Belize—as I gazed down from the plane window at a strange rectangular reef
popping out from the ocean coast. The aerial
view making the geology seem out of this world, and thus effectively reminding
me that I was no longer in New Hampshire.
The first few days in Costa
Rica were a mix of driving and blinking in awe.
We visited the Arenal Volcano, and soaked in hot springs at it’s
feet. We ate mango ceviche from a
roadside stand, fried plantains, casada.
We saw huge flowers, hummingbirds, iguanas and crocodiles. It is an incredible country, with wonderful
people and so much to see. Still, I was
excited on the third day of our trip, to stay close to home.
We all woke lazy, lounged
with coffee well into the morning, and eventually made our way down to the
little town of Dominical. We were, after
all, on the pacific coast… it was time to learn a little about surfing. A few from our group went in search of an
instructor, but returned shortly after with two rented boards and news that
there was no one available to teach us that day.
The surf school did recommend
a particular beach, but when we arrived and found it to be littered with rocks,
we decided to head back to the little beach closest to our rental house. It was mostly sand, with only one large
boulder at the midway point. Either side
of the boulder offered an open span of
-maybe- 300 feet before abruptly turning from sand to tall sharp rock.
One of our group had come
with a new surf board, gifted to her for her 40th birthday, so three
at a time, folks headed out into the waves to try, mostly fail, to hang
ten. For a long time, people played and
splashed, laughed and fell. A few
‘almost’ stood up. The one (and only)
veteran surfer among us actually rode a wave or two. I spent most of that time on the other end of
the beach body surfing with a boogie board, and relishing the bath warm ocean
water. It was a blissful afternoon.
Eventually, one of the
surfboards found it’s way to the beach, and sat unclaimed. We were nearing the end of our day but I
thought I’d grab the opportunity to try out the board before we all left. My husband was ready for shade, and we went
in opposite directions, him toward the hill leading to our house, me toward the
water. In the two hours or so since we had arrived, the tide had been steadily
rising. What I did not know, was in
coming late to the game, I was paddling out into a very different ocean.
I immediately felt as though
I lacked some essential knowledge about how to surf. I did not know what to do with the board as I
headed into the first break line. I
tried to paddle through, but quickly found myself towing the board by the cord
on my left ankle as I dove beneath breaking waves.
Between waves, I would almost
recover, almost find a way to jump aloft, but again, I would get tossed. I thought my best bet would be to go out past
that break line, where I might try to get comfortable with the board. That was my plan as I let it go and dove
beneath a few sets of waves. The ocean had a different
plan.
Each dive, she pushed me
another 25 or 30 feet north, up the coast.
When I stopped diving and looked back toward the shore, I was startled.
I had made it a bit past the break line, but I had also been pulled almost out
of site of the beach behind the rocky coast.
I turned, put my head down
and swam with all my might against the rip tide, but when I looked up a minute
later, I had made no progress. I caught
a last glimpse of one of our travel companions- acknowledging the panic on his
face—as I disappeared behind the rocks.
And so I sat, in the bath
warm water, kicking myself for letting down my guard. For forgetting exactly how strong and willful
the ocean can be. Time slowed down and I
thought to myself, “Huh. This isn’t how
I thought I’d go down.”
I was strangely calm, though
looking back, I shouldn’t have been.
And then I was making a plan,
waiting for a break in the
waves,
swimming hard, straight for
the rocks,
hoping I might be fast
enough, strong enough, scared enough to scramble up the side and avoid the
force of the ocean behind me.
Just as I reach the
rocks, the next wave. I’m tossed into a trough between the front face of rocks
and a second crop behind. The water is
with me, over me, spinning me like a washing machine as I curl with my head
wrapped in arms, and wait for the thud that is sure to come... to precede
unconsciousness.
But it doesn’t come, and as
the water pulls away, I find the rock, I clutch it- shredding my fingers on the
sharp lava surface, I scramble high enough that as the next wave rushes around
me, I am steady. I am alive- stunned-
focused on letting my fellow travellers know I’m ok. Climbing higher to catch
sight of them over the edge of stone.
Waving, and then seeing them heading for me, looking past me…
When I turn around, and see
my friend ‘Skins’ in the water, the script in my mind instantly changes. “Oh, I think, I’m not going to die surfing
today. I’m going to watch HIM die,
trying to help me.” And on his face, the
same transition from concern for me, to concern for himself, and that moment of
quiet.
He followed my trail in to
the shore, and he also defied death.
There was no tragedy that day, only a spattering of cuts and scrapes,
blood trickling down our legs, but not gushing.
Bruises already starting to bloom across my shins. I was coursing with a massive dose of
adrenaline, and a strange clarity that continues to unfold.
