Roaming Reflections: Surfing Cascadia

It is 5:33 AM when the first raindrop soaks through the canvas of my tent and splashes onto my forehead. This feels normal now, in part because of the constant, all-encompassing dampness, in part because of my cheap Walmart tent running close to year ten of use.

I am completely alone. This feels normal now, too. It is also why I fell into 30 seconds of existential dread when a seal got caught in my leash yesterday—sea life feels less benign (and more grey and tooth-filled) when you’re devoid of other human presence.

Surfing in the Pacific Northwest has a skewed risk-to-reward ratio. You’re often chilled to the bone from the 48-degree water, the endless rain, or the consistent wind. You’re almost always alone and far from civilization. And, at least once a session, you battle thoughts and fears surrounding what large predators are lurking around, as this region of the world has been known
to play host to great white sharks, cougars, grizzly bears, and orcas, among other teethy, top-of-the-food-chain beings. Oh, and the waves usually aren’t great, either.

These factors are quickly forgotten, however, when you find yourself enjoying one of the fleeting moments of pristine surf in this region—hallmarked by emerald green water, crisp offshores, and backdrops reminiscent of a Lord of the Rings set. Here, your thoughts drift instead to the smaller details: swell wedging and refracting off the base of a cliff, as it likely has since this mountain range formed over 60 million years ago; backlit tubes streaked with dark stripes as waves carry bull kelp on their path toward shore, and cliffside hemlock trees, towering in stature, swaying in the crisp offshore wind.

Here, the rain, solitude, and countless days of “almost good” fade into the background as you hop into the rip at the base of the cliff, remembering again why you put up with it all.

Today is one of those days. The raindrops beading on the top of my tent slowly evaporate as the late fall’s low-angle light fights off the last of the morning rain. In the background, A-frames line the beach, jade hilltops feathering out the back as they resist the light offshores that follow the storm front. Eventually, the crest of each wave folds over itself, every left and right a mirror image of each other.

An elderly couple walks the shoreline with their border collie, oblivious to the supernatural scene behind them. Both owner and dog keep their gaze fixated on a neon orange tennis ball as it soars along the shoreline, only to be brought back a few seconds later, the cycle continuing endlessly. Aside from them, I am alone.

Without thinking, my wetsuit quickly comes on, still clammy from the night before.

I can only think of stepping into the ocean before this moment ends.