The Wave That Had Me

...lessons from a rogue wave on the Santa Cruz coast

Rogue waves, also called sneaker waves, are sets that arrive after a lull to push farther up onto the land than the ones before them. Let’s start with the last time I turned my back on the ocean.

A Pillar Rogue Wave Moment

Laurence Bedford started it. The Pillars’ mission is to walk as close to the ocean as possible, and Laurence starts timing the waves crashing against the igneous outcrops. When the waves pull back you’ve got a few seconds to run over the bare, wet sand, around the volcanic rock outcroppings to make it to the next inlet before the next wave lands. Major fun. The tide is coming in fast; our windows of exposed sand are getting shorter by the minute.

Sleepy John Sandidge looks at the appearing and disappearing paths around the outcroppings, nods at the waves crashing against the rock and says, “No way.” He scales the rock on all fours, up to a flatter rock shelf over the volcanic ridges and strolls north towards the dry beach. Ben Rice says, “Goin’ with ya,” and joins him. But Laurence. Damn. Sometimes the Frenchman scares the holy-crimmoly-crap out of me, and I follow him anyway.

I’m running around the rock when the rogue wave hits me from behind. The wave turns me, both hands press against the wall of dark, jagged stone. The wall of water presses me flat against the ancient basalt like I’m a flower being pressed in a book, dumb as a daisy. The Pacific Ocean flows over me and crashes high up on the volcanic rock as it has for ten million years, only this time the violent meeting of land and sea has caught a fool.

The 10-foot wave finally stops it’s climb up the outcrop and looks down on me. Still water does not covey it’s denseness of mass, the unimaginable weight, heavier than a bad decision, until it starts to move like a backyard swimming pool dropping out of the sky sideways, a moving cliff that weighs more than a house. There’s a particular clarity that comes when you realize that moment when the ocean stops supporting you and starts relocating you. I hear that sucking roar begin, a sound that says I’m going with it to pinball against the igneous shards behind me. With a flash of light my sunglasses vanish. Somewhere deep in the wiring of an older animal, instinct takes over. Faster than thought, I hook my right hand over a knob of rock above me. Fear turns my grip to iron. Tons of water rush past and pull on my body, but my hand holds. The wave spends itself; my body lowers with it until I release the rock and pull my face out of the wet sand. The wave withdraws as if none of it had been personal at all. It’s like the wave was Sal Tessio at the end of The Godfather, “Tell Mike it was only business.”

I gulp air. I hear ocean behind me gather for its next assault on the rocks,wobble to my feet, stagger around the volcanic outcrop and fall to my knees in the dry sand. I wonder if this is what it felt like for that first creature to climb out of the sea a million years ago onto a beach. Home.

I hear Laurence’s soft, melodic chuckle. His eyes twinkle. “What took you so long?”

“Had to look for my hat.”

Laurence lets out a laugh that could have inflated a life raft.

I normally relish being the comedic foil of the group, it’s like I get to live inside my self-deprecating comedy act. But this one got me breathing hard; if I had been sucked out into the ocean by the swell, I would have pin-balled off other outcrops of jagged volcanic rock that singularly stand above the waterline like pinball bumpers. In this scenario I would have been the ball. But there’s joy dancing in the Frenchman’s eyes and it’s hard not to love sound of Laurence laughing. Laurence can laugh nesting seagulls off Pelican Rock.

He says, “I’ll keep an eye out for a dolphin wearing your hat and shades.”

Ben walks up with that poker face he wears when he’s trying to determine what the hell is happening. Face muscles slack, dark eyes gigantic like two black holes in space, absorbing everything.

“Reverend? No shades.”

“Gift to the Pacific Ocean; more plastic for the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.”

“Thoughtful.”

Sleepy John says, “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet.”

“Mother Nature had her way with me.”

“Well, I hope it was good for both of you. Let’s break for some knee medicine.”