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“Yeah. You’re young and have got skills for someone who seems to have stumbled into this. There’s a competition here next month. We’re not going to surf in it, but plenty of people here will be looking. You’ll be picked up for sure. And that will be your ticket to surfing full time, my friend.” He smacks me on the back.
“What about you?”
“Oh, it’s my intention, too. Don’t you worry about me.” He slaps me on the back twice as hard this time. “But you got something special, kid.” He grins at me, and at that moment, it feels like I’ve known him my whole life.
For the next couple of weeks, we spend all our time in the water—so much, I feel like a fish. We leave the car in the parking lot and walk around to the beach, where we set up base to practice holding our breath underwater. Not just for a minute, not two, Finnan wants four, but I’m way off that so far. We walk on the bottom of the seabed, holding rocks to keep us there, which forces us to build our lung capacity. When the waves push us under, it won’t be calm and quiet. Our bodies will be thrown about like rag dolls as we fight to get to the surface again and again. And every time we take a glimpse at the waves at Mavericks, I can see it, and these aren’t even the big swell waves we’ve been promised for the competition.
Finnan’s been teaching me about that, too: watching the weather, looking at what’s coming, judging when the right waves will hit.
Every day, more and more people arrive, and the harbour starts filling up with boats taking riders out, ready for the competition, and they crowd the waves. Being a newbie, the pecking order is clear, and I’m at the bottom. I didn’t realise there was a hierarchy to surfing waves, but hey, as long as I’m still having fun, right.
Away from the beach and the surf, I send another couple of postcards, hoping they make it back to Zennor and keep Mum and Dad updated on my travels. There’s still nothing in my emails from the girl I still dream of, and it sucks. I think about looking up the telephone number for Molly’s café or asking Mum to get a message to her, but what would I say? I don’t know where I’ll be in the next month. I might be back home at the end of the year. Or, Finnan might be right, and this could be the start of surfing for real. I rub the bracelet on my wrist and look at the wave shape on the silver bead.
We never promised anything to each other.
It was a holiday fling.
But that’s not how my heart feels now I’ve left.
Two days before the competition, the waves seem to take a rest from being giants and look, at least to me, more surfable. It’s less crowded, so Finnan and I take the opportunity to practice some of the lessons he’s drilled into me. The swell’s still bigger than I’ve surfed before, but all I see is the biggest rush in the world.
We’re on a budget and haven’t hired boats, so we both paddle out. Finnan and I have identical crazy smiles on our faces, like we’re both out of our minds. We float in the pocket with a dozen other surfers, watching and waiting as the waves gather, and we ride over them as they build and surge in.
My heart pounds, but the adrenalin is hot in my veins—keeping me pumped—anxious but ready to go.
“Go!” Finnan shouts as we watch one build. “Paddle. Go!”
I race, digging my arms through the water, desperate to try and catch my first real big wave, and I do. All of a sudden, the flat, quiet wave has grown into a monster, and I’m racing down the face of it with a thunderous noise of white water chasing at my heels. The speed is phenomenal, and my knees shake as my toes grip my board like my life depends on it. If I wipe out, the force of the water will keep me down and under for God knows how long, and all that training at the bottom of the seabed won’t be enough. I can barely see from all the spray, but I hold it together and ride the wave, my speed taking me further away from the white and to safety, the adrenalin swamps my system, and the rush goes straight to my head.
“Woo-hoo!” I pump the air, and my body relaxes as I surf to safety, surviving my biggest wave to date. I cruise out and coast to the shallows and look back for Finnan with the biggest grin on my face.
The waves I see are just as big and look just as monstrous, and I’m in awe of what I just did. I make it back to the beach, sit on the wet sand and happily watch the waves and see if my friend follows suit. It’s too far out to know for sure, but I think it’s him on the next break. He rides with more confidence, I’m sure, than what I displayed and races down the face of the wave, cutting back with style, gathering more speed, like he’s taunting the wave to catch him and spit him out into the ocean. And for a moment, the white foam and spray swallow him up. I stand, eager to see if he makes it through.
He does.
He’s as triumphant as I am surfing into the calmer waters before dropping from his board.
“Man, that was epic.”
“Nah, man, just a day in the life of a surfer. But, hey, that was your biggest wave, Baby Surfer. And you made it.”
We high-five and greet each other, still riding high on adrenalin.
“Is it always like that? I could hear my heartbeat so loud, and I was so stiff on my board, but at the same time, I didn’t want to be anywhere else or imagine doing anything else?”
“Yep.”
“And the competition is going to be bigger?”
“Much.”
“And we’re going to surf it?”
“Ah, no. You might feel invincible now, but baby steps. You want a career. Don’t get killed showing off.” He shrugs.
“But you said get spotted.”
“Yes.” He turns me around and points to Archie and Bear. They’re talking to some dude with sunglasses further up the beach.
