Surf Lessons from Captain Aloha
by Amy Waeschle
for the Seattle Times travel section, December 21, 2003
“Paddle hard, Amy!”
The hissing wave rises up behind me “Paddle!” demands the deep voice
as I strain my wave-battered, aching muscles for strength.
From the surf guru who’s adopted me as his project du jour I hear, “Not so hard, now, Amy!” as the wave begins to
break with me in it. From his thick
rasta-Hawaiian accent my name sounds like “Emmie” and its “eeee” is the
last thing I hear before I’m pitched into a disorienting twirl that rearranges
my bikini and leaves me gasping for air. Surfacing
from Maytag-land I wipe the stinging salt from my eyes in time to gather my surf
tutor’s latest tidbit, “As soon as you stand up you must turn”, his smile
brighter than anything I could expect from a wrinkled face with no front teeth.
Nodding, I mentally file away his wisdom under, “Surfing- How
To”. His
help couldn’t come at a more critical moment.
After surfing various breaks with little trouble, yesterday came
as a shock: nose-diving, hitting the
reef, dropping in too early, standing up too late.
Hopefully a little Aloha from
From
the shallows I turn my board around, flop onto its grippy surface and paddle
out, making my way over incoming waves with determined strokes, my eyes glued to
the horizon. Once outside, I see my
long-haired mentor grin and nod vigorously as he sees me get into position to
take the second wave of an approaching set.
This time I paddle a little towards my right to meet its peak and stand
up as soon as I feel the wave’s upward pull.
The wave’s steepening curl rattles my balance and I fall into its
swirling turbulence, fighting through stinging bubbles to the surface.
Breathless, I gather my board and paddle back out, confused.
Rasta man, still smiling, catches my eye and shouts over the wave tops,
“When you stand up you cannot stand so straight – you fall over, eh?” I
nod my head vigorously. “Bend the
knees, OK?” adds my coach, patting his own for emphasis.
In
one smooth motion Rasta spins, lowers onto his board and with exactly 3
easy-looking strokes he stands, turns toe-side and rides the peeling wave all
the way to the beach. I can’t help
but feel a twinge of despair when he steps up onto the pale sand with his board
tucked under his arm. I’ve almost
given up on myself when I spy the perfect wave.
Anxious about what could go wrong, I decide to give it one
last try and while paddling frantically, I hear Rasta man’s “Patt-ull, Emmie!”
encouragement from the beach. Sneaking
one last peek at the rise over my shoulder, I bob upwards with the wave and
hear, “Not so hard, now, Emmie!” from the excited voice, followed by,
“Stend Up!....Stend up, Emmie!” Jumping
to my feet, knees bent this time I land a little late, but recover quickly
enough to squeak in my turn and soon I’m sailing in an effortless glide, the
glassy blue of a tropical wave peeling at my heels.
My eyes are shining with joy by the time the wave loses its bite and I
splash down off of my board and look towards my surf guru, whose toothless smile
I return with bubbling laughter.
I
undo my leash and wrap it around my board, savoring the heat from the sun baked
sand under my wet feet. Wishing I
could stay longer won’t make it happen, so I try to shake my blues by
squinting at the backlit bay to find my coach.
With wisdom that passed into me like smoke from a genie’s bottle, I
wouldn’t be surprised if he’d vanished; a figment of my imagination or
possibly some kind of spirit. But I
spot him back in the lineup alongside a new protégée, laughing, gesturing
wildly with his hands. Satisfied, I
give the beach one more flash of my smile before starting my upward trudge, surf
board snug at my side and the genuine meaning of Aloha truly understood.
By
Amy Waeschle (360) 708-0075 amywaeschle@comcast.net, www.amywaeschle.com