By: Tom Bamonte
I closed out the Thanksgiving holiday weekend with two hours playing in the surf at Montrose. It was drizzly, with a 20 mph wind from the north northwest. Air and water temperatures were in the mid-40s. Waves were 2-4 feet building to 3-5 feet. Perhaps because the wind had just risen a couple of hours before, the gap between waves was as short as I've ever seen at Montrose.
Everything seemed damped down grey. As I unloaded my boat and scanned the dark, desserted beach I found myself yearning for the winter solstice and its turn to daylight.
Damped down grey
The day before I had paddled from Montrose down to Olive Park, hugging the breakwall each way. It had been sunny and warm enough then for a few knuckleheads to strip down to their skivvies and go for short swims. That day I had paddled south into the surprisingly strong sun. The reflection off the water made it difficult to peer below the surface. I learned the hard way that the Corps of Engineers in its wisdom has placed rocks just a few inches below the water line along some of the breakwall, such as from Belmont to Irving Park. Other areas appear to be relatively clear of such rock.
But back to surfing on this dark day. I launched about 2:15 p.m. and vowed to stay closer to shore than usual because of the conditions and the fact that I was alone on the water and the beach was all but deserted. I figured that with onshore wind and waves if I had to swim to shore I could. I had several layers of fleece under my drysuit and was actually too warm most of the time. My head was encased in a Kokatat Surfskin Balaclava, which was a luxurious alternative to my usual jerry-rigged neoprene hood with with a bicyclist fleece hood underneath. Received wisdom is that it is essential to cover neck and head to minimize the possibility of the gasp reflex when your head gets immersed in cold water.
My glasses quickly fogged up and got covered with both rain and spray. It actually is a useful learning tool to have to feel your way through a surf zone rather than be able to see the waves coming from afar.
I did 4-5 runs to shore and several times was able to run a nice straight line. On the last one I flipped, as if some cold, wet hands had grasped my stern and twisted. My first thought underwater as I was being pushed around was "remember pool session." So, in quick succession--relax, don't bail, be patient and wait for your body to signal which would be the best side up, set up paddle, begin to exhale, execute and up, bracing quickly into the next wave smacking the boat. It was a good feeling to be upright again, none the worse for wear except for a wet, cold slap across my face.
I then criss-crossed the surf zone a few times, in the area between the soup near shore and the outer line of breakers. This is my favorite part of surf zone play. I like to trace a route that minimizes--but never seems to eliminate--getting hit by breaking waves. By scanning the wave patterns ahead and making often small adjustments in course and speed I made my way through the waves without too much trouble. The best was when I caught a wave just as it peaked before breaking. My boat would be perched on the sharp edge of the wave and then I would slide down the back face of the wave as it passed, aiming into the face of the following wave.
At one point I stopped and around me there were no breaking waves. I had reached the quiet heart of the surf zone. For a few moments there were no breaking waves and I relaxed a bit. Inevitably, the breaking waves returned, but I felt like I had stumbled on the secret of many surf zones--there are a lot of quiet spots even in the midst of the tumult. You just have to find them. Sometimes they find you.
Not surprisingly, in our training and play we emphasize punching out through the surf and then zipping back to shore with a hopefully dashing ride that will thrill an audience. But as I learned this summer on North Manitou Island with Russ Johnson and near several islands in Georgian Bay with Tom Heineman, often it is necessary to paddle for an extended period in a surf zone. Getting comfortable with paddling in a surf zone seems to me to be equally as important as learning how to paddle out of the surf zone, whether to open water or to shore.
After two hours it was getting dark. I raced to unload the boat, get the car and strap down the boat before my fingers lost their ability to work in the cold. It was 5 p.m. and as dark as night when I was done. For the next day or so I felt particularly good and realized that at some level I was still carrying around the quiet heart of the surf zone.