christine brooks

The Perfect Wave....One Surfer's Meaning



Posted: Thursday, July 05, 2007

by
hang ten nutrition

Like so many of my previous escapes, this long weekend found me in search of sand, sun and a wave I could get up on. It seemed that most of my surfing trips lately had been spent more on watching weather patterns, and getting my wetsuit off and on than actually in the water, or on a wave. This time I was determined. This weekend would be the weekend I did it. I did not care about making new friends, or my accommodations. I didn’t care if the food was good or the beer cold. This weekend all I wanted to do was surf.

As my Wrangler and I rolled in to town, top down, doors off, surfboard strapped safely in, something seemed different. This beach town should be buzzing with the excitement of its first long weekend of the summer, but instead it sat, very quietly and almost unnoticeable. Very few people were out walking, and if it weren’t for the constant buzzing of the Harley’s frequenting the nearby biker bar, the town would look almost deserted. This quaint beach town, it seemed, had not rubbed the sleep out of its eyes since Labor Day, but I didn’t care. The quieter the better, as long as the waves were good.

Unfortunately Mother Nature is a funny lady. Although I was all set with my new wetsuit, board waxed, sunscreen applied, and muscles at the ready, She was not so eager for visitors. I had learned long ago that She is fickle and only She decided who plays and when. As I sat on the water’s edge, admiring the glass, I smiled. Some things, it seems, are always out of our control, and the ocean was no exception.

After several hours of paddling and trying to stand on one foot waves, I gave up. I returned to my room to shower and head out for a quiet meal. Some good food and an early night would make me feel better. The “real" world was exhausting and I loved these getaway weekends if for nothing else but to catch up on some sleep.

I wandered down the street and had my choice of one of two bars to eat at. I flipped a coin and strolled into the Family Pub. I was greeted by Melanie, (who I later found out did not work there), and soon found a quiet booth with a view of the TV. After a couple Corona ’s I decided to belly up to the bar to enjoy my clam strip dinner, catch the Sox on TV and get a good seat for the Irish band that was scheduled to play. Things were definitely starting to look up.

My new friend Melanie welcomed me into her family and allowed me to share in a 50 th birthday celebration for her Mom. As the Corona ’s kept coming thanks to Tommy, the bartender, the band sang Irish folk songs, and in the distance the Sox were winning the game, I wondered if life got any better.

I had not dressed for the party, in fact the red bandana on my head only intensified my sunburned face, and my blue hoodie was spotted with beer from leaning against the bar. These people did not care though. They were like family, and being at this Pub was like hanging out with cousins and friends. We laughed away the night talking about only those things that strangers talk about at bars and made friends with anyone and everyone who entered.

The perfect wave for me did not exist in the ocean that weekend, but it was definitely here. It existed in the hands of my new friends as they wished me well and in the constant flow of cheer, smiles and sincerity.

As I walked the short walk back to the B & B with the moon directly overhead, and the ocean crashing to my left I smiled. I had not done much surfing this weekend, but I had indeed found the perfect wave.

As I pulled my Jeep out of the gravel parking lot of the B & B the next morning, slightly hung over, and more than slightly sunburned I wondered if Norman Rockwell was Irish, or a surfer. If he was, a painting of this perfect town would exist in some museum somewhere.

Thank you Joyce family, and thank you Ballard family…..for welcoming a tired stranger into your family and for giving her a new place to call home away from home
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