A Date With The Waves

8 Nov 2020 Manju and I are on the bike at 5:15 AM, and it cuts an all-day ride by half - we are 470 kilometers away in Gokarna by lunch. The heat drenches us in sweat, and Manju goes to wash it away in the Arabian sea. I follow later, and the waves appear great to bodysurf. I spend two hours fighting the current to ride two waves - they were awesome. I am standing in neck deep water and when the swell approaches I swim towards the shore to catch the wave as it breaks - the body is the board here, and I slide down the wave as it's breaking, and after that I'm a torpedo, zipping underwater. I'm thrilled, and can't wait to get back the next morning with the board. We walk 3 kilometers to town in the evening, and I bring a beer back. The next morning, Sandeep of Cocopelli surf school has no lessons and is out surfing on a short board. There is a longer board (8-9 feet) for beginners - it's easier to stand on, harder to manoeuver. Sandeep and another guy is out with short boards (6 feet long). The waves look big and the roar is inviting, almost mesemerising. They are out early and I see them work hard to get past the waves to the other side of the swell. I get a pink board which is strapped to my leg. Unlike last year, I choose to wear a bright red 'Rash Guard' - a swimming shirt that prevents the board from eating away skin from the chest and abdomen. I get into the water and I'm a little tired from the long ride, surf, walk and beer the previous day. I'd had breakfast an hour back - the food is floating around inside. I am out of my elements, but full of energy and excitement. I paddle past waves, remembering the technique from last year. The waves are relentless, there is no break, and each white-water wave (the foamy wave after crashing) pushes me back as I paddle in. Progress is slow and I expend a lot of energy. The strap tethering the board to my right ankle comes off, and I stop to strap it again in waist deep water, and keep going. I struggle for half an hour, and I'm exhausted, and nowhere near where I want to be. The current had pushed me a few hundred meters north from where I'd entered the water. I take a break and go back to the beach to rest. Sandeep and the other guy are walking back from further north on the shore - they'd been pushed by the current too. They haven't managed to catch any waves - it's too hard to paddle in these conditions. The other guy lost his board when the strap unfastened, and had to swim to the board and reach the shore. The other guy tries out my long board, and gives up shortly - it's too hard to paddle out with a long board - with the shorter one you can dip into the water as the waves roll past above. The longer board is too buoyant, and I press down with my hands in the front, with toes on the back, like a plank, and allow the white water from waves that have crashes to roll past between my body and the board - it pulls you back several meters. I go back into the water with the pink long board, and I work on my technique against the white water waves, and it works well. Still, every time I paddle a dozen meters, a waves sets me back by nearly the same length. It's slow and arduous but I'm excited and giving it my all. There is complete focus on paddling past these waves. After half an hour I'm close to where the waves break, and I just need to paddle another 20 meters and I'm on the other side of the swell. A huge swell appears, and I'm filled with dread as it's going to crash right where I'm floating, so I dive into the water abandoning the board. I'm under water listening to the roar of the wave crashing above, it pushes me down, and I'm expecting a yank on my right ankle - except it never comes. I rise up above the water and look back to see pink far away and feel nothing on my right ankle. I look at the shore and it's at least a hundred meters away. There is no one around me, and my feet can't feel the ground. The shock hits me, and there is panic. The exhaustion in getting there surfaces, and my limbs cry out in fatigue. I have nothing to hold onto and no one around me. There is no one in the water or in the shore watching. The next swell is approaching, and the roar sounds like a lion. The wave pushes me in, and I am forced to hold the breath for a few seconds while its pounding 2 or 3 times a second. I get up and I'm gasping in desperation and dread. I tell myself: "calm down your breath and you're going to survive". It's strange washing one's own brain, but adrenalin is everywhere. I don't remember the next minute, except that I was really fortunate that after a short distance I could feel the sand with my toes. It feels like I've been reborn many times; in this one I soaked in dread for several minutes. Another wave comes, adding half a foot of water and I'm floating again. I swim towards the board, and with it, back to the shore. Disoriented and humbled, I walk back. That afternoon Sandeep is giving surf lessons to Manju and a few others. He says the afternoon low tide is perfect, and there will be others around. I ask him for a different board, and he says that he'll tie the strap for me, and if it comes off again, then he'll change the board. I agree. So I'm back with the same pink board, and I'm eager to dispel any fear. So I paddle out slowly, and keeping watch on the heartbeat. I'm still tired, but I ignore it. The waves are less menacing, and I make good progress. The current pushes me out and I don't notice it. There is a sting from a jellyfish. I'd encountered jellyfish last year and I ran back to the shore in pain. This time I ignore it and keep going. The strap comes off again from the ankle - I re-strap and keep going. Soon I'm close to where the wave breaks, and it's a short distance away before I can turn around and paddle to catch a wave. Suddenly I notice foam floating around me, and I feel the sting from a jellyfish. Then one more. That's when I realise that I'm in the middle of a school of jellyfish. I can see them all around - hundreds of them. There is a wave crashing behind me and it washes me off the board, and I'm filled with dread again. I'm praying that the strap stays fastened, and luckily it did. I swim past stinging jellyfish and climb onto the board. There are waves behind me and jellyfish all around, and the sand bed can't be felt. The shore is again far away, although closer than the morning, and there is no one around. What can anyone do anyway? I get on the board and see dull brown jellyfish floating right beside, and I can't help avoid them as I paddle. As my hands enter the water to paddle, I can feel tentacles wrap around and sting away, but the pain feels immaterial, it barely even registers. Soon they are climbing on my arms and I shake some of them off. A wave crashes ten meters behind; the body is so focused and wound up - it will be painful to lose the board. I ride the wave and go towards the shore. Until I reached the beach there was near constant stinging - I stopped paying attention to it. Back in the shore I'm disoriented, and pulling out needles lodged in the bite sites. They've bitten all over, giving extra love to the right forearm. Manju comes out from his lessons with a few stings, and he's jumpy and irritated with pain. Everyone got stung. Still Sandeep wants to go back to complete the lessons so that he can earn his money. Crocodiles which are being fed are so focused on the meat that you can sit on it's back or tail and it wouldn't care to notice. The rashes heal within a day, except the right forearm - with maybe fifty stings it remained red and tender for a few days, even now as I type this.

Lessons learnt: 1. Need to be a capable swimmer, well rested and feeling strong. The sea looks beautiful, it can change into dread in a moment. 2. Nature must be respected. There is no argument or negotiation, it's ruthless. 3. There needs to be awareness and alertness. One needs to pay attention to detail and to the surroundings. 4. Without fitness, one cannot enjoy life on the edge. Out in the sea, there is nothing with you except your own body and mind. The next day I sat on the beach and observed the waves for many hours. I walks on the shore, stared at some jellyfish washed ashore. I didn't get into the water again, but I'll be back. That morning Manju took the bike to a beach with black sand, near Karwar. He was hopping with happiness as he left that morning, and narrowly missed a snake curled up. He shot a picture from a distance, and it looks like a Russel's viper. Seems like we are dodging a few things on this trip. The next day we went to a beach that is a 20 minute walk from the road. It's called Paradise beach. 15 years ago, on 31st December 2005, I was there with a memorable group of people, and we'd hiked there from Kudle beach, further north. The place had been taken on a 20 year lease by a commercial guy, and they have tents. I buy fish on the way, and they cook it for dinner. It really feels like Paradise. Manju takes the kayak out, and he looks so happy to be out there in the sea. After sunset we walk to the rocks and observe bioluminiscent algae as the darkness descends. It's the most magical sight in a long time. Stars above, and stars below. The fish curry and fish fry couldn't have tasted any better. Manju eats rice and dal, but even that was delicious he says. We went back to the rocks and float in our thoughts - there is so much to digest. The next morning we are clinical in our return to Gokarna town, and picking up the bike and riding back to Mysore. I left behind my surfing shorts at Paradise beach. I wouldn't usually feel so much for a pair of shorts, but this was the only thing I had for company when I was gasping for life.