Two weeks ago, I got to go on a much needed surf trip.
My wife can be really cool, and during one of these (very common) times, she urged me to go to the beach for some wave action. We had got word from a good friend of mine (who resides in OCMD) that there were to be waves, which made my decision: to leave my son at my parents and send Alana to work for the weekend; an easy one.
I packed up the Jeep with my skateboard, surfboard, beer and half a box of Cheezits. Ok, I'm ready.
Operation Ivy has recently found it's way back into my music selections, and it was on high volume as I left Millersville last Friday afternoon.
"All I know is that I don't know nothing!"
I was on my way south bound jamming gears after cutting out of work early. Damn! This felt good and irresponsible! Thirty six is the new eighteen!
I had to stop once to re-strap the surfboard...the straps were rubbing on the roof and creating an annoying hum/buzz that the blaring speakers were unable to drown out...
"SOUND...SYSTEM! SOUND! SYSTEM!!!"
The coolness of my self-image-'cool'-surfer-dude, started to wear off after about five minutes. A guilt worm meandered through my cavities of conscience and left me hurting. You little fucker. These emotions had me dangling on the decision to go in the first place. Grrrr...BUT luckily these feelings could easily be drown out with alcohol once at my destination ( and they were).
Friday's drive to Maryland was shorter than expected and hotter than I had hoped for. Once in town, I parked in the 60's and ran from my slamming car door to the ocean. While running over the dune, the off-shore breeze nearly pushed me to the water. I ran faster, and when my feet hit the water, I immediately urinated in my shorts and fell into the waves in one swift motion. Blessed.
My need to rage a town's bar scene has simmered since my last dance. Really, all I really wanted to be able to do was sit bay-side with a cold one and a good conversation with my old friend. So far, so good.
Saturday, 6:30 AM
The surf is here for the taking, but few waves have my name on them.
We met early and were in the water by 6:30. Nothing...repeat, Nothing starts your day like a paddling out beyond the breaking waves. The salt water sneaks up my nose while I pierced the crests of a few waves on the way out, and I admit that this is my favorite smell in the world.
Eric (the old friend whom I had come to see and stay with) is not shy to try and drop in on the same waves and 5 other people at the same time. This being said, he got way more rides than me...I am a timid and respectful surfer who really comes for the smell of the salt water and the view. I was getting what I came for.
The morning got late quickly, and by 9:15, the waves were less than desirable for those who desired, and my host was quick to change my plans of sitting in the water all day.
"Dude...let's go snorkeling. There's a spot over at the bay, near the inlet. I have extra gear. You can use it. We can try to spear fish. Or, we can spear crabs. I found this crab hole that has a shitload of clean crabs. There's a bunch of rocks there too..."
Everything about his idea seemed a bit absurd to me; due to the fact that I'm less of a crusader these days and more of an observing bore. When he took a wave in, I asked a friend in the water about this snorkeling and spearing....and rounding up crabs to shallow water over rocks.
"Hey, Aarron...what do you think of the snorkeling and spearing and crab herding? You into that? Done it much? Is it cool?" Before he took a wave in, Eric actually talked about 'herding' the crabs into shallow water...yup, just like a couple of cowboys herding some steer...but we would herd blue crabs? Yee ha.
I asked a quick few questions to my fellow friend who would more than likely give me an extremely honest answer due to the fact that he was no where nearly as passionate about things as Eric...few are.
"It's very dangerous"
Fuck. That was his only real answer...and he didn't laugh or crack a smile. Fuck...'Dangerous' hasn't been part of my quest for 'fun' in years. Shit. Eric was paddling back out toward us, and when he arrived, he did a good job of convincing me that this was to be a good time. Shit.
We walked a few blocks to his van. Eric is a Heating and Air conditioning technician. He was on call for the weekend and did a good job of answering important calls and ignoring others. He drove the van with reckless abandonment wherever we went for the weekend, rounding every corner with two wheels of the van off the ground and tools and tanks and hose gauges clanging around the back in a loud commotion between our relaxing conversation.
I swear, man.
Every time I do something with someone that requires 'gear' of some sort and they have extra 'gear' that I can use...dude...it's just bound for failure.
We borrowed some dude's shit for me...we raced the van to his place and he let me use his flippers...flippers that were designed for a little extra push while 'boogie boarding', not to navigate a first time spear fishing crabber like myself around a dangerous area of the bay and inlet area. Strike one.
We get to the area and Eric is giving me specific instructions. I asked if he had the 'diver safety buoy', so that we may be seen by boat traffic. Gave me a mean look, and then went back inside to get it. With his instructions, he says:
"Do you have a pocket?"
Me: "Yeah"
Eric: "Here...take this"
He hands me the shittiest knife I've ever seen. It's like a generic swiss army knife that is falling apart and it's all rusted together.
Eric: "Put it in your pocket...Can you get to it?"
Me: "Yes."
Eric: "you may need it to cut yourself free from fishing line, in case there is line and you get caught, you can cut yourself free."
Me: "Ok."
He was so, so serious when he gave me the knife and vivid instructions. He was very serious, but something about it gave me uncontrollable giggles and I continuously had to wipe snot from my nose and tears from my eyes.
We get to the spot on the bay near the inlet, and it's nestled between a large dock and the coast guard station. Eric was quick to strap his knife to his leg. His knife was razor sharp and about ten inches long. I studied his blade, and felt the generic swiss army ruster in my thigh pocket. He then quickly got his goggles, snorkel and flippers on and in a flash was out in the bay, thrashing around with a homemade spear in hand.
The spear had a large rubber band on one end that you could wrap around your elbow, pull the blade end (a crudely configured spike made from an old bolt, probably from an air-conditioning mount) into the same hand as the elbow...then simply release your grip, and the spike end rockets through the water toward your kill. When we were borrowing the 'gear' from his heavily tattooed neighbor, Eric showed them how the spear worked, and accidentally speared the side of their garage, leaving tattooed buddies bummed. If you can't picture what I'm talking about, let me know and I'll show you some time. He described his home made spear as 'something' he 'saw on Jackass one time'. Aarrons words echoed in my head..."It's Dangerous".
I anchored the diver safety buoy. No matter where I anchored the buoy, it seemed to drift within five feet of the shore. Fuck it. Ok...now I'm trying to swim around with the shittiest of shitty gear...I can't see shit. Breathe and GULP! Ugh. I just kept on breathing in water. Eventually, my stomach had enough (eventually, like very quickly) and started rejecting the matter. My eyes watered and snot shot from my nose inside of the mask often. The dock beside us started filling up with pedestrians anxious to ride the "OC Rocket", obviously the town's pride and joy of a speed boat, that was now parked at the dock, with it's heavy engines at idle and letting the fumes work their way into my already struggling breathing procedure. Fuck.
A woman shouted from the dock as I struggled with my mask and snorkel...
"What are you doing?!!!"
Me: "We are spear fishing and gathering crabs!"
Obviously we (I?) looked idiotic, and questioning was highly reasonable.
Eric gave me the signal to come around the rocks and help 'chase' crabs from the deeper waters to the shallow and then I could net them with the...'net'. Ok...you guessed it that the net I have is a total TOTAL piece of shit. It was like, made of a coat hanger and an old mesh jersey. I'm not kidding. It kept cutting my hand as I tried to wrangle fish or crabs from extremely murky water.
I followed Eric around the rocks and sure enough, felt myself drifting with the current toward the inlet. Fuck! Now I'm struggling trying to swim toward the crab den with this fucking net above my head and fuckin boogie board flippers on. I grabbed onto the rock for dear life and my hand got sliced by aging muscle shells. Great. Now I'm bleeding and the sharks are gonna come.
"It's Dangerous"
With a lot of struggle, I was able to make it into the 'crab den' and join Eric. He was asking what my problem was, and I complained about my 'gear'. He was quick to trade mask and snorkel with me, and I was able to see and breathe, and hence; get what was so fun about this. I stopped choking on bay water and was able to dive to the shallow depths to study some marine life at a close proximity. Yes, the water was very cloudy, but if you got within 12 inches of the sea floor, you could see great and it was...quite entertaining.
The rest of my weekend included some cold beers by the bay and more lay back surfing on Sunday morning. It wasn't until my ride home that I realized that I had not brought a shirt.
Again, Big thanks to those in my life who enable me to occasionally have the life of a younger me.
