Sidetracked

The panic started when I swallowed water – not once but twice. Then, as I considered that I might actually be drowning, my first thought was: Don’t tell Candi.

Because while my wife was nearby, I figured if she knew I was drowning, she’d want to save me, and then both of us would drown.

Just by keeping my mouth shut, I figured, I could cut the day’s drownings by 50 percent.

At least I would die somewhere pretty. Just off a reef in Aruba, the water was remarkably clear, and the fish below looked like the ones you see at the pet store. When I first started snorkeling, it was an amazing sight. Now? Not so much.

In my struggle, I threw off my mask, which sank to the fish. Then I tried to grab this rope, but I realized the rope was actually under water — which, frankly, didn’t help me too much. That’s actually when I began swallowing water, when I went for that rope.

I didn’t know then that you weren’t supposed to swim against a current. So I did just that. Barely moving forward, I paddled as hard as I could. And somehow, I managed to make it to shore, though I nearly puked when I did.

When it was over — after saying the obligatory thank-you’s to whomever was out there — I decided that maybe the ocean wasn’t so great, after all. Which is probably why it took me a little longer to start surfing once we moved to California.

After moving here from the Midwest, one of my co-workers here, Jayson Mellom, would repeatedly dog me about it.   

“Dude — you’ve got to try surfing,” he’d say.

“Yeah, yeah. What’s the big deal — it’s just standing on a board.”

“No, dude. You’ve got to try it. It’s way better than basketball. Besides, you can play basketball in Indiana.”

Of course, a big part of my reluctance was that incident in Aruba. The one where I lost my diving mask. 

But Jayson kept goading me into it, and for some reason, I actually let him talking me into going to Pismo Beach on a foggy Saturday morning in 2001. I don’t think I stood on the board more than a second or two all day, but I was stoked.

So the next week, we went again. And the week after that, I went by myself. Soon, I was buying a wetsuit, looking at surf boards and listening to Jack Johnson. As I got braver, I found myself in a couple of scary situations, but at least I knew not to swim against a rip.

I relate this story to you because of two reasons:

1.) I’m off this week and next, and I needed things to fill the blog.

2.) I’ll be surfing a lot.

Hopefully, I won’t drown because then one of the reporters here will note the irony of it all and write something like, “Just this week, Pemberton wrote about drowning in his blog . . .” By acknowledging the irony, I think I’ve hexed it. Then again, hexing the irony might also make for another irony.

Crud. Maybe I won’t surf at all.

  

Photo: Brian Milne

Posted on October 26th, 2009 by Pat
Filed under: Surf stuff