An Ode to the Summer Storm
It was cool — we watched the swell approach us from a week or two out. Sagi (the chill-est boss this side of the equator) and I have enjoyed streaming world cup games and surf heats during downtimes at the shop. He says it’s typical for us to get slow in the summertime. The world cup and many games of Shesh Besh filled our time in June and July.
An unknown surfer bangs a turn off the top. It’s always the guy I get the best shots of that I don’t connect with online. All I can do is keep hope that I’ll see him again.
Waves in town had been fun, but not all-time, nothing to write home about. Without a CT event in over a month and the World Cup long over our anticipation for the Tahiti Pro grew. As we anticipate the contest, we track the forecast and notice a hurricane aimed to hit Tahiti right in time for the contest. Wow, knowing that whatever wheather they get in Tahiti will eventually make its way north to Hawai’i, our anticipation multiplies.
Between frying falafel and packing pitas, we watch as the pros score hollow rides at the End of the Road. Sagi says, “Isn’t it crazy we’re watching these waves move around the world.” It is. We bite our nails with eyes glued to the screen as Anat Lelior becomes the first Israel surfer to make a CT final! I leave work excited for what’s coming our way.
I meet Tzur and Dor in the water. If I’ve learned anything about the pair it’s that while Dor may be behind schedule, Tzur is on an entirely different one. I swim out to little bowls. It’s big enough that we get both, I’m stoked!
As I near the lineup, I watch Uncle Larry on a red boogie board pull deep into a fun one and get spit out! I find the channel in between the breaks and turn back to the land for sights. The waves are constant. Set waves offering a clean and punchy face for big turns with big spray. Smaller ones pass by under the lineup. The tide is low, and I notice how the smaller waves breaking on this inside are standing up nicely. I mind surf the empty tubes.
I’m happy when Tzur paddles out and asks if it’s barreling; I tell him about all the waves I’ve seen go unridden. I point and say, “They’re hollow right here on the inside!” He picks up the pace of his paddle and makes his way to the lineup. The next 90 minutes consists of turns, tubes, an air, and plenty of cheers.
The friends paddle in for work. I’m not ready to call it a session, quite yet; I swim over to Big Bowls. The energy is magnetic; I have the chills.
