Arts and Lifestyle Wednesday Presented by Healing Frequency Massage-Surfing my Way Back Home

My wife Jayne, on our final night of a wonderful excursion to Puerto Vallarta, was lightly lamenting that the week was not enough, that she was just getting into the rhythm of things here in this wonderful Mexican vacation spot. I responded first that it had been eight days, and it had been wonderful, and reminded her that she was returning only next month with her sister for another week, so it shouldn’t even be a rumination.

The sentiment, however, indicated just how enjoyable this place is. We really didn’t do anything special here tis time around. No snorkeling trip, a sunset cruise fell victim to some minor health concerns, so it was really just leisurely strolling, relaxing time on the beach, morning workouts and plenty of reading. My man Memo at the beach took care of us on lazy days of lounging. I did go parasailing one afternoon, but that was the only structured entertainment of the first seven days. But the final day did produce an actual planned event, a trip up the coast to Sayulita, a highly recommended spot to indulge my passion for body surfing.

One level of the joys of this was the knowledge that my wife was happy to encourage it. It was to be a seventy five minute Uber ride each way for what for her was going to just be a nice lunch and some more time in a lounge chair under an umbrella taking in the sights, fending off the peddlers (except for the lady who caught her fancy with a beautifully crafted bowl), and reading. We were at the beach after lunch three and half hours, and for about 2:45 of that I was in the water. There was a bit of trepidation while eating lunch that the excursion might be a bit wasted since the water was teeming with actual surfers, many novices, and their boards flying around might not be conducive to ones health.

But in the end, I figured it all out, found the proper spots, and had a blast, both in the moment and as a blast from the past. I have been body surfing since I was about ten. Our family would vacation in Maine for a few years starting then, and my Dad introduced us to the ocean game. It grew to be a family addiction of sorts. There were times that the Clinkscale Clan would be cavorting in the Maine surf of 52 degrees as literally the only people of hundreds and hundreds who were doing any more than dipping their feet in the water. Yes, we were willing to literally have our lips turn blue, and shiver for a half an hour upon leaving the water to recover in the hot sun, to indulge our passion.

It’s difficult to explain the joy of it to someone who if they actually have a feel for it at all, think of it as just leaping ahead of the wave and taking a little ride. Their truly is an art to the timing and strategies that result in the very best of rides. I probable attempted well over a hundred of them in two sessions this time around. It was more but let’s call it a hundred for reference. About 10-12 of those were aborted before they they really started, the wave breaking slightly too soon. Another similar amount were called off after the dive ahead because I was a bit late, resulting in my clapping my hands in frustration, about 50 were good solid rides, 15 were very good, turbulent and lengthy.

And then there were the six. The ones that really make you want to do it whenever you have the chance. The ones that make you ruee the rise of ocean levels that result in many lovely beaches, like the one here in Puerto Vallarta, where perfectly fine waves crash uselessly right on the shore, unrideable since you need some amount of water depth to avoid breaking your neck. The ones where you size up the wave, realize gleefully that you have timed it perfectly, and you dive just as the wave crests and starts to break. You hit the pocket first, virtually airborne, then you drop down into mixer, a bit dangerous if the waves are really big, which these weren’t. Then you smoothly ride out the remainder of the little journey, at times almost running out of breath because it had been that long.

My wife looked on from her beach chair. Wandering down a couple of times to take a photo or two, but mostly watching my reactions. She knew I had enjoyed a few great rides, because she saw me rise from the water with arms overhead in jubilation. When I came back to the chairs, I knew she was truly happy for me. That was just as good a feeling as the great rides themselves. Well, let’s be honest here, almost as good.

It has been a few years since my last body surfing experience, and who knows when the next one will come. All I know is that even at my age, it was just reaffirmed once again how much I will look forward to it. It’s back to the real world after flying back today. But I will be able to close my eyes and feel that feeling of being in the pocket.

Pretty damn sweet!