Catching a wave at winter's peak

My pocket vibrates, and I can sense that it is the text message that I have been anxiously awaiting: the wind and waves are cooperating and it is go-time. I always get nervous and excited for winter sessions. The waves are the best of the year, but the last day I went out, the air and water temperatures were a balmy 38 degrees.

Winter surfing presents a challenge, as hypothermia is a constant threat. Water is 20 times more conductive than air, so body heat can drop rapidly if you are not careful. Awareness, good equipment and a friend to surf with are your best protection for making it back to your car after your session.

Should I surf in these conditions? Am I foolish? Crazy? Well, perhaps a bit of both.

As I gather my gear, I can feel my adrenaline begin to surge. A 6/4 wetsuit with hood, 7mm booties and 5mm mittens – all present and accounted for. The neoprene is a little thicker than what many of my friends wear, but I would rather be too warm than too cold. A cursory check shows the gear to be in good shape, and my nose tells me that I rinsed and dried the equipment properly after the last use. Thank goodness – otherwise it would smell like the wetlands at low tide.

The task of donning a wetsuit is not easy. I believe that even contortionists would struggle with the process. Fortunately, a scuba diver showed me a trick that makes a world of difference: If you still get plastic bags at the grocery store, here is an opportunity to reuse before you recycle. Place the bag over your foot or hand before pushing through your suit. It will slide right through. No more struggling. Simple.

The boots go on next, and then it is time to load the car. One more gut-check. Focus: board, wax, leash and towels – lots of towels. The more towels, the drier the car will stay. I prefer to wrap myself in towels and drive home to a nice hot shower, as opposed to changing in the elements.

Which break will be the best? There are so many choices between the naval jetty to the North and Assateague to the South. The swell is out of the northeast, with winds out of the northwest on an incoming tide – the choice is 51st Street in Ocean City. The sand bar, combined with the slight southeast face of the beach, has created optimal conditions.

I park the car, open the door and take a bone-chilling blast of wind to the face. Whoa – if that did not make me turn around and drive home, then I am golden. I recognize some of the cars, and this confirms I picked a good location. I move to the leeward side of the car. It’s not much warmer but offers some protection from the wind. I zip up the back of the wetsuit, pull the hood over my head and Velcro the neck of the suit closed in final preparation. As if Velcro is really going to keep water out of the suit!

This is the point of no return. The mittens go on, the board gets wax and the leash gets secured around the ankle. It’s go-time. I pick up the surfboard and, second to last, the wind grabs a hold of my stick, turns me sideways and blows me like a sailboat, running wing and wing with the wind. I am airlifted to the dune and deposited on the beach.

My reservations diminish as I see numerous black shapes bobbing up and down in the ocean. It is now the moment of truth as I inch my way into the frigid murkiness. The pressure of the ocean allows the water to seep into the wetsuit. Twisted? Yes! For the wetsuit to function properly, it needs a thin layer of water in the suit. Your body then heats this water and you stay warm. The good news: it is a quick process.

I hop on the board and paddle out as I realize that it is much warmer on the board than in the water. I look up and see a head-high wave rolling in. A lone surfer drops in and gets shacked in a tube.

This is my turning point. A simple magician’s misdirection and, just like that, the stoke of a wave trumps all thoughts of chilliness. I reach further and pull harder with each stroke, willing myself into the lineup. I make it without having to duck-dive under a single wave. This is important, because when that frigid water hits your face, you get a brain-freeze that makes Slurpee headaches seem enjoyable.

When I sit in the lineup, I am normally a patient person. At this time of the year, I will ride whatever wave comes my way, so I can keep the blood flowing and my body warm. Discrimination is not an option with the wave selection, because once you start to shiver, you are finished. If I can ride it, I catch it – always with an eye on the horizon for that set wave with my name on it.

I spot a nice bump on the horizon. My eyes dart side to side, scoping the scene to see if anyone else has noticed this too. I slowly paddle and glide toward what I perceive will be the peak. My heart starts to beat quicker. I am slotted, and the others around me know that this wave is mine.

I paddle faster as the crest of the wave lifts me up. I check my position and adjust my speed. I push down on the front of the board, pop up and drop down the face of the wave. The momentum carries me through a deep, carving bottom turn that gives a speed boost to get the best line on the wave. Once there, a little adjustment is all that is needed to let the lip of the wave begin to throw out and over me.

I am in the tube.

Time seems to slow down as the barrel envelopes me, and daylight stretches out ahead of me. This is the sweet spot, and it does not get any better than this.

The ride ends, and as I paddle back out, a fire consumes me. I am warm for the moment, and all of the doubts of sanity are erased – well, at least the ones about surfing in the winter.