June 18, 2002 - Sucker Punched by the Surf

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We have been on a roll with great "guy stories" lately! I love Jon's writing because he always writes about completely new (to me) subjects and always sees the lesson in every situation.



"Sucker-punched by the Surf"
by Jonathan Tun

"I am the ultimate in 'Coolness'.... I am a surfer!" I thought to myself as I pulled my newly acquired surfboard out of the car and gazed out across the ocean horizon. As I inhaled a refreshing gust of salty air, I trotted across the sand and started paddling out to where the surfing was "choice". The tidal conditions were perfect, the waves were huge, and I felt an excited adrenaline brewing inside of me; I couldn't wait to carve my first wave of the day.

I was trying to "live the dream" of the ultimate beach bum; I was attending the University of Hawaii in Hilo, doing a mediocre job in my major of engineering, but totally embracing my newly found freedom away from home. During the week and part of the weekend, I had my various responsibilities as a student and part-time caregiver for my grandfather, who was recovering from pneumonia at the time. But once in a while they would give me the "day off" on a weekend, and I would have the opportunity to hit the beach and hang out with friends.

One of those friends sold me his old "entry-level" surfboard, and he briefly gave me a list of do's and don'ts of surfing. One of those "do's" was "take care of your board, and your board will take care of you" - and he showed me some basic techniques of waxing and maintaining a board. Another thing I had to buy was a decent "leash". I hadn't realized this before, but most surfers have a long approximate six-foot elastic leash Velcroed to their ankle, anchored to the board. This was to keep the board from totally washing away after "wiping out"; it could serve both as a safety device or, if one was not careful, as something potentially lethal. For example, a board could go flying one-way and the surfer another, and after the board pulls taunt on the rubber leash, it could come hurling back like a rocket. My buddy warned me about this, but I kind of disregarded it as something that happens to those who weren't as suave as I.

After a few test run trips to areas with smaller waves, I decided to head to a place called "South Point" where the waves were more challenging. I had heard about this place from my cousin Ray who was a very good surfer. What made this place the choicest spot for surfing was the fact that the incoming tide had to wash over a shallow corral reef. When the sheer volume of inbound water encountered the reef, it had to shift upwards to wash ashore, creating very large waves. Navigating through the sharp reef, the tide, and dealing with a strong undertow was dangerous, but also quite rewarding in exhilaration. I didn't care; I had the invincibility (stupidity?) of youth.

Hauling my board under my arm, I thought in my mind that I "looked the part"- I had a dark tan, was wearing a "typical" pair of surfer shorts, surfer shirt, surfer flip-flops, surfer shades, surfboard, and leash. I was psyched. My first couple runs were a bit disappointing, however; I had to bail out because other more advanced surfers were able to catch the wave before I could. This was also part of the "game"; sometimes it was a dog-eat-dog environment where surfers competed for the best waves. The "pecking order" usually goes: body surfers, boogie boarders, then surfers at the top of the "food chain", but even then there was usually certain etiquette when claiming a wave as your own.

Unfortunately, my friend didn't instruct me about this part of the sport, so I had to figure this out by hit or miss - literally. If I unknowingly tried to "take" someone else's wave, they sometimes would plow directly at me before I had a chance to catch it. My only hope was to ride it out until there was a series of good waves, so the best surfers could take the initial ones and leave me the "leftovers". I bided my time as I waited, paddled out, washed in, paddled out. This was getting monotonously boring, when it finally came - the KILLER WAVE. The other surfers had taken previous waves and this one was mine - All mine. Eagerly, I jumped up as I pivoted the board down into the wave and dug in. I was on top of the world! But then I realized the wave was more than I could handle. Not being good at maneuvering the board, I got "consumed" by the breaking surf.

The board went flying out from under me as I somersaulted head over heels in the tumult of foam, wave, and sand. I was disoriented, and I was a weak swimmer. I couldn't figure out which way was up, but my face found out which way was down as it smashed into the corral reef below. Then my board yanked my leashed ankle over my head so that I was doing a backbend with my face planted into the sand. The force was so strong that I felt like my back was going to snap. My lungs screamed for air as I scraped across the bottom. After what seemed like an eternity, the wave relented, and I was able to push myself off the reef, and rushed to the surface to gasp for air. I used my surfboard as a floatation device to kick myself back to shore. Choking and physically spent, I was a mess; my face was gashed from the reef, and the salt water swelled it up so I looked like I was sucker-punched in the face with a two-by-four plank. My back would take weeks to heal.

I've never surfed since that day. I "parked" my surfboard in the basement, and years later my grandmother would give it away to some other interested "newbie". My pride and quest for surfing glory was wiped out in my wipeout. I definitely felt the singe of my mortality smacking me in the face. Looking back, I don't regret being "beaten up by Mother Nature", because I have a healthier respect for creation - it's sometimes a force created by God that is raw and powerful, untamable by mere man, as supreme a being as he might think he is.

"O Lord, what is man that you care for him, the son of man that you think of him? Man is like a breath; his days are like a fleeting shadow." - Psalm 144:3.



Jonathan Tun  copyright 2002
jwtun@tva.gov

Jonathan Tun is a third generation Asian American born in Chicago, Illinois (1963). His mother is from Hilo, Hawaii where he went to college for a couple years before returning to the mainland. Besides enjoying writing, he is an avid exercise enthusiast and philanthropist, currently serving on the board of directors for "Hope for Chattanooga" (a religious-based community outreach organization; http://www.hope4.org). Please read Jon's many other writing
contributions in the 2theheart archives.



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The Letter Box:



Dear Alan,
You got me crying again, I cried because you cried and when I got to the bottom of the story, I found myself really laughing. I cannot wait to read the rest of the book.  You have such a lovely way of putting words together.
Love,
Rita Mowete-Atuonah
ratuonah@wonderfoods.com



2theheart,
Thank you for printing Alan Coleman's story today.  I had to go back and read all of his other work.  Now my nose and my mascara is running.  So beautiful, so very beautiful.
Best-
Karen Driscoll



Susan,
What a delightful surprise to have a "bonus" story this week and what an awesome one it is! I wish I would have known Alan's Dink, but feel that I do a little bit through his stories about her and she was a lady to be admired. Thank you Alan!
Barbara


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