I stood on the black sand beach, surfboard tucked under my arm, watching the local surfers slash and attack the curling beach break. Most of the surfers were kids, who charged the waves with a fearlessness I never had. Each ride lasted only a few seconds before the pounding waves swallowed the riders, leaving behind a trail of spray and bubbling froth that rippled towards the expansive beach. Although the waves violently crashed in the shallow water, I felt at home. This picturesque Costa Rican bay, lively jungle stopping abruptly at the first crab holes on the beach, reminded me of a simpler time in my home state of Hawaii. The only thing I cared about was surfing because it instilled a sense of ownership and freedom in my life. I yearned to feel that way again.
As I baked in the dense humidity under the midday sun, a surfer walked in front of me, waved, and said, “Pura vida.” Literally meaning “pure life,” this common Costa Rican phrase exemplifies the lush beauty of the country and, more so, its residents. I likened pura vida to the word aloha, something that I had heard a great deal of growing up in Hawaii. This passing Tico, local Costa Rican, surfer whistled at me and pointed a hundred yards off shore to a large rock, rich with umbrella trees, protruding roughly forty feet out of the water. Waves collided with the tip of the rock and peeled towards the beach. I strapped the leash around my ankle and jogged into the lukewarm Caribbean Sea.
There is always a high level of risk when surfing a break for the first time. The current, water depth, and waves themselves remain mysterious until you’re out in the surf. It can be frightening, but even a familiar break can be unpredictable. Part of the beauty of surfing is the gratifying sense of accomplishment I get after conquering a new wave. While the rides allow me a glimpse at true bliss, the ability to read the waves and be in tune with the ocean’s movement is what brings me joy. Every wave differs, and it took time for me to analyze how those waves at Playa Cocles in Costa Rica broke before I caught one. I had to romance every rolling wall of water I caught. Some of the eight foot waves tossed me over the falls and punished me below the surface in the washing machine of swirling currents. The beauty of those waves on the surface did not equate to the dark thundering underneath the water. The ability to relax and let the crashing water toss you at its will is incredibly humbling. After years of countless wipeouts I discovered the sheer force of the ocean under the waves. Waves are frightening creatures and there’s a freedom I get from confronting my fear of them.
About seven rides into my session, I saw the wave of the day creeping towards me. I paddled ferociously until the wave lifted me up and pushed me down its face. Water splashed in my eyes as I planted my feet on the board to take the drop. Adrenaline rushed through me as I carved into the bottom turn, rode up the face, and snapped my board back down. Looking down the line, I saw the wave about to barrel. I pumped my board as quick as I could, crouched down, and the lip of the wave curled over my head, enclosing me in a serene tunnel of rushing water. The world became distant and I like a bird gliding on a gust of wind. Sadly, that tube engulfed me and spit me out the backside of the wave after pummeling over me.
I paddled to shore and sat on the beach, admiring the spot I had just surfed. I am not the best surfer, but I held my own out there. With surfing, I am free from the typical competitiveness associated with sports. I surf for the insurmountable happiness it has brought me ever since I was introduced to the sport. Surfing is my escape.
About the Author: Vincent Stevens enjoys juxtaposing ideas and approaching interesting subjects or topics from off-the-beaten-path standpoints in his writing. His travels and life experiences end up in unique memoirs and essays. Vincent was born and raised in Hawaii, but moved to California to attend the University of Redlands, where he graduated with a BA in creative writing.
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