The Hemfish Files: Vol. 5 – TurbulenceMonday, October 6th, 2008 by Hemfish |
A former girlfriend of mine used to join me in watching people surf. Whenever someone fell, she would cringe and comment, “That must have really hurt.” I repeatedly tried to explain to her that, water being a liquid and all, wiping out rarely hurts. Granted, there is the occasional contact with the board, and hitting the water at high speeds can make it feel like something rather more solid. Otherwise, I tend to enjoy a good fall. Of course, we rarely fall on purpose, but when it happens, barring a bounce off the reef, there’s something about tumbling around in the thick of things that gets the blood pumping. Sure, riding a wave, (especially while standing up), fuels us with adrenaline, but it is the total experience that we love, and that includes getting one’s ass kicked underwater. I’ve actually spent time considering this while pinned to the bottom, and the conclusion to which I’ve come is no surprise when you consider the true essence of surfing.
If we pick apart the primary objective of wave riding, we may ascertain how it is unique among athletic endeavors. The essence of going into the ocean to ride waves is to completely involve ourselves in an elemental force of nature, to be right where it happens. Ocean swells encompass “waves” of potential energy traveling along the sea’s surface. Only when these swells approach and reach the shore does the full conversion to kinetic energy take place. The heart of a breaking wave is the nucleus of this physical process. To exist, even briefly, where friction and gravity act upon lateral swell energy to create a violent convergence of water and air is a magical experience offered only where waves are breaking. By riding a wave, we not only place ourselves between the air and water in the exact space/time immediately ahead of their convergence, but we use the energy of that convergence to propel us! I assure anyone who has not had this experience that it is unrivaled.
Losing the delicate balance that allows us to remain at this conceptual precipice, where the plateau of potential energy gives way to the kinetic abyss, we plunge (literally and figuratively) into the maelstrom, that ultimate interplay of liquid and gas. While this submergence is rarely voluntary, it actually thrusts us deep into the heart of the natural process that we sought to approach, and being engulfed by it is the ultimate climax to the ride. Where else is this intimacy with such a powerful and complex force of nature possible? Our accidental fall has placed us at the heart of the matter, and we love it. This is the truth I’ve come to embrace while tumbling around under there.
But I’ve learned that this attraction goes beyond our call to the inner workings of the wave. On a recent flight home from L.A., I was jolted, after several hours of calm flying, by some air turbulence. I smiled. I enjoy flying, and taking off in a plane always makes me feel especially alive, but a long period of gentle flight will allow my senses to dull as if I were still on the ground. Sudden turbulence at such a time heightens my senses, and I truly crave a certain amount of it on any flight. This particular bout of the bump brought me to a conclusion. I recognized that this craving exists in many aspects of life and for all of us. We possess senses specifically for handling the turbulent times, and when things go smoothly for too long, those senses dull. We are wired to keep them honed, so we will seek the turbulence required to do so if too much time has passed without it. I like some bumps on a plane, while others pick fights with lovers. As surfers, we gain something in the same way by wiping out.
One more aspect of my love for the involuntary underwater somersault occurs to me as I am writing: surrender. Anyone who has been tossed around under there at least twice knows that to fight it will not only be in vain, but tends to have a detrimental effect on your enjoyment, your physical health, and your ability to hold your breath. (That ability becomes rather crucial at such times.) When we surf, and we fall, we know the best thing to do is relax and let the wave do its work. Is that not a lesson to be applied in life?
As a coastal engineer, my ex-girlfriend had come to view the ocean’s energy as a potential threat against which one should defend one’s self, so the idea of enjoying a wipeout was alien to her. As a surfer, the Hemfish relishes that same ocean’s ability, through its energy, to excite us, re-awaken our true nature, and teach us the value of surrender. I can’t wait for my next fall…
