Perfect Waves, Dry Eyes
To Surf Alone - Chapter 8
Arief decides that he doesn’t want to stay at home alone. He’s scared of swimming and scared that the electricity might go out again, leaving him in a room with no air conditioning. So today he’s coming with me.
I drive straight to Unjung Bocur. Today, I want to surf the point. Because Arief is with me, I park the car at one of the surf camps. I choose one that has a restaurant and a pool. That way, he can eat something and have a swim, so he won’t be hungry or bored.
I order some pancakes for Arief and walk towards the beach. The sight that greets me is straight out of a magazine; it’s the most perfect scene imaginable. The swell has dropped quite substantially since the last time I was here. There are no more closeout sets; it’s just one perfect 4ft peeler after another. The waves are hugging the reef and running along beautifully for hundreds of metres. Perfect, flawless. The first part of the wave makes a quick barrel section right at the take-off and then it forms a steep wall that goes on forever. There are only five people in the water, and a few more on shore looking like they’re getting ready to go out too. I can’t believe my luck, it’s a perfect wave, and there’s only a handful of people out. It doesn’t get much better than this.
I run back to the car and rush through my ritual: change shorts, put in contact lenses, slap on sunscreen, and rub wax on my board. Then I run back to the restaurant where Arief is having his breakfast. I hand him the keys. “Hey, look at me,” I say.
He looks me in the eye.
“Don’t go sit in the car and run the AC again like last time, okay?”
“Okay dad,” he says, looking back down at his phone.
“Look at me.”
He raises his head, but his eyes are still on the phone.
“It’s a beautiful day, you can walk on the beach and catch crabs or whatever. There’s a pool over there if you want to swim. You’ve got your charger, and if you’re still hungry, you can order whatever you want from the restaurant. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you.”
“Okay, good. Well, have fun, and then I’ll see you in a little while.”
I give him a pat on the head and then sprint to the beach. I run towards the top of the point shouting and hooting as I go; “Whoo Hoo! Yeah!”
A few minutes later, I step into the water, and as I do so, I have a vision of that Stonefish from yesterday. I remember what I told Arief and sort of shuffle my feet while walking towards deeper water. But it’s slow going, and I’m anxious to get out there. Once the water is deep enough, I jump on my board and start paddling. The smaller waves make it much easier to paddle out, and I notice with relief that there’s no current today. I reach the backline with my hair still dry; I didn’t even need to duck dive. I sit up on my board, splash water over my face and laugh. What a beautiful day, what beautiful conditions.
I look around, and I’m all by myself. The other guys are a little lower down the point, taking off after the barrel section and then riding the long wall. I can’t believe it, I’m out here alone. I’ve got perfect waves to myself. Nevertheless, I don’t want to be a jerk, so I allow the first couple of sets to pass by for the others to catch further down.
I see the next set approach and paddle into position. The wall of water swings towards the reef and stretches out for a hundred metres in front of me. I give a few quick strokes and take off. I’m immediately surprised at the speed of the wave. There’s no time to bottom turn, as I need to pump and race down the line. I give two or three pumps, and then I see the lip starting to curl in front of me. I hold my line and then suddenly I’m inside the tube, enveloped behind the curtain of the wave. I watch the top of the curl, keeping my eyes on the exit. The wave seems to slow down, and just as I think I’m coming out, it throws again, and I cruise through a second section.
A moment later, I come out of the barrel into the open face of the wave. I swerve towards the bottom and see the wall stretch out in front of me. I come back up to do a top turn, but my feet are too far forward, and I slip off and fall.
The wave sucks me over and slams me into the shallow reef. I feel the sharp rocks jam into my lower back as the weight of the water keeps me pressed down, and then a second later, I pop back up. That was crazy, what an awesome wave. What an awful wipeout. I need to be careful; it’s really shallow out here. Now I know why the other guys aren’t surfing here. I thought they were dodging the barrel, a bunch of kooks, but now I see they were just watching out for that reef. Luckily, the wave just pushed me into the reef and didn’t drag me across it. That would have hurt a lot more.
I get on my board and paddle back out. After all that – double barrel and wipeout – I’m still not even near the other surfers. I decide to paddle back up the point.
Share perfect walls with only five other surfers or charge super shallow barrels all by myself – I think I’ll go for the latter. At least for now.
The next three waves all close out in front of me, breaking too fast and forcing me to straighten out across that shallow reef. It seems like the first wave was a lucky fluke. After each wave, I drift down closer towards the other guys, until I’m sitting right among them. By now, there are about ten people in the water, but because it is such a long wave, there’s never more than five guys at the take-off spot. As soon as somebody catches a wave, they surf so far away that it takes them at least five minutes to paddle back, leaving plenty of time for the next few guys to catch waves.
After about two hours of surfing, I’m so tired I can hardly paddle anymore. That’s the problem with long, perfect waves – the long, painful paddle back.
This is my last wave, I tell myself for the 10th time, only to reach the end of the wave, look back up and see lines of perfect waves with only a couple of surfers out. I can’t go now; it would be a sin to leave such perfect conditions. This type of thing only happens every... well, never. This type of thing never happens. It’s unheard of. I must continue surfing; it’s a moral obligation. I might not ever have this chance again.
And so, I turn and start the slow paddle back up the point.
As much as I want to, as much as I need to continue surfing, my body is telling me otherwise. My arms and legs cramp up with each slow stroke. My face and arms are pulsing from sunburn, and my stomach and underarms are raw with chafing. I sit up on my board and sigh, a mixture of satisfaction and defeat. It’s been one of the best surf sessions of my life, and yet, now, sadly, it has come to an end. It’s time to go in.
I turn and catch the next wave back to shore. I walk along the beach while watching the waves. It’s still perfect out there, and there’s still hardly anybody out. I reach the surf camp, walk up the steps to the property and see a bunch of surfers, about ten of them, getting ready to paddle out. They’re all getting changed, waxing their boards and applying sunscreen. Oh well, it seems I came out at the right time then. I wouldn’t have liked to be out there with this lot paddling out; it would have ruined the whole mood.
I lay my board down on some grass in the shade of a tree and walk towards the pool to rinse off. I dive in, and the water is refreshingly cool. I stay in the pool for a few minutes watching the waves. It’s so perfect, I still can’t believe it. And then I think, wait a minute, where’s Arief? I didn’t see him at the restaurant, and he’s not here in the pool. Could he have gone walking on the beach, gone off to catch some hermit crabs or something? Well, I hope he left me the key.
I walk towards the restaurant and find my towel draped over the railing, but no key. Hmm, I bet I know exactly where he is. I feel my anger rise. I walk around to the parking lot and see the car motor is running. I knew it. The windows are up, the doors are shut, and the engine is running. The little shit, I told him not to do that. I knock on the door. Nothing. I knock again, harder this time.
The door opens, and a rush of cool air comes streaming out. Arief looks up at me, a sheepish grin on his face, “How were the waves?” he says. “You get some good ones?”
“Are you kidding me?” I say. “Seriously, you’ve got to be kidding me. What did I tell you about sitting in the car with the engine running?”
“I was just eating.”
“You were eating? Don’t talk shit to me,” I say, feeling my anger rise even more. “There’s a restaurant right here. If you’re hungry, you can order some food. Don’t lie to me.”
“I got the biscuits…” he says, holding up half a pack of Oroes. “I was hungry.”
“Shut up! Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think I’m some dumb idiot?” The anger finally boils over.
“No.”
“Then why are you behaving as if I am?”
“I’m not…”
“Didn’t I tell you not to sit in the car with the engine running? And yet here you are. And now you want to tell me some bullshit story. Do you know what your actions are telling me? What your behaviour is saying? Because I’ll tell you. Your behaviour says, I think you’re an idiot, I don’t care what you say. If you tell me to do something, I’m going to nod my head and pretend to listen, but later, when you look away, I’m going to do whatever the hell I want. That’s what you’re saying, screw you. Screw me? No, screw you!”
It’s like an out-of-body experience. I can hear the words coming out of my mouth, but I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I can’t believe it’s me saying these things. I can feel myself shaking, and I’m warm all over. Just relax, I tell myself, it’s no big deal, so he was sitting in the car, he was probably just bored. This is what I’m thinking. But it’s not what I say.
“Get out. Get out!” I grab him by the arm and yank him out.
He stands looking at the ground.
“What am I supposed to do with you, hey? I can’t talk to you because you’ve already shown me that you don’t listen.” I have an overwhelming desire to hit him, not to give him a hiding, I mean, but to punch him, to punch him in the mouth. To inflict pain. To hear him cry. But by the grace of God, I don’t do it, as much as I want to. But I can’t stop shouting. I can’t stop swearing. The out-of-body-experience continues. I want to let it all go, to relax, to go back to that feeling I had when I came out of the surf. But the anger has taken hold of me, and it won’t let go.
“What should I do, hey? I can’t talk to you, you don’t listen.” I grab his phone. “Fine, if you don’t listen to my words, then I’ll speak with my actions. I’ll show you. I’m going to throw this phone in the ocean and show you that I’m serious.”
“No pah, please, please don’t,” he starts to cry.
“Look at you, crying over a phone. That’s ridiculous, that’s pathetic. Now I’m definitely going to throw it away.” I turn around and start walking towards the beach.
I feel myself walking, taking urgent steps, and yet I’m still divided in my mind. On the one hand, I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, me shouting and screaming over nothing, him crying over a phone. On the other hand, I feel the anger egging me on, saying it’s not over yet, making me walk even faster.
“Pah, please, please no,” I hear him panting and pleading after me.
I reach the beach, swing my arm and…
Maybe I should just do a fake throw, that will send the message. I’ve done enough already. He knows that I’m angry. He knows he was wrong. And besides, if I throw the phone away, I’ll have to buy a new one; I’m just throwing my own money away.
…I release my grip and watch the phone twisting and turning through the air and then, plop, it disappears into the water. It’s so anticlimactic; there wasn’t even a splash. And yet I feel relieved, like some great burden has been lifted. I smile, and almost laugh, as I see Arief run past me into the water and start searching for his phone in the shallows.
The moment passes, and suddenly I’m hit with an intense sense of guilt; I can’t believe what I’ve done. Never mind the phone, forget about that. I shouted at my son, I swore at him, I used the vilest language possible, I thought about hitting him, I wanted to hurt him. I watch him standing in the shallows, staring down at the water, sniffling, and crying. I turn away in disgust. I can’t bear to see him, not because I’m still angry, but because I’m ashamed.
I grab some coffee from the restaurant and go sit under a tree, far away from Arief, and watch the waves. The waves are still just as good as before, but it gives me no pleasure to see them. My mind keeps replaying the scene that just transpired, I’m trying to analyse what just happened. No, not analyse. Justify. I’m trying to justify it. He had it coming; he knew he wasn’t allowed to sit in the car. It’s such a beautiful day, he should be outside playing and swimming. And then he tried to lie to me, treating me like some sort of idiot. I’m his father, damn it, I won’t tolerate that crap. Over and over, around and around.
Eventually, I can’t take it anymore. I’m driving myself crazy. The incident was bad enough, but this incessant thinking is even worse. I go grab my board and then paddle back out.
The waves are perfect, some of the best waves I’ve seen in my life, and I just sit there, not even trying to catch any, not smiling, or talking to anyone. I just paddle off to one side and sit there, splashing water on my head, trying to wash away the shame.
I try to cry, to let it all out, to soften my heart. But out here, surrounded by water, my eyes stay dry.
Previous: Chapter 7: Father and Son
Next: Chapters 9 & 10: The Way Home
If you enjoyed this post, please❤️, comment, share, or restack it. Every little bit helps.
Thank you.
Peace, Love, Faith and Grace.