Wilderness

My first real surf trip out of Daytona was Puerto Rico, a break called Wilderness. We got there the night before and camped: nothing fancy, just tents set up close enough to hear the ocean.

My tent had a mesh. I remember lying there looking up at the stars, clear and still. The sound of the waves crashed in the background. It was loud, constant, but not it bad way. It was as though mother nature was reminding you of the power and vastness of the ocean that lay just ahead.

I didn’t sleep much, not because I couldn’t, but because it didn’t feel like I wanted to miss a single moment.

When I woke up, the morning didn’t feel real. The water was blue in a way I hadn’t seen before, so clear I could see straight through to the ocean floor. The break was clean, lines coming in steady. It was almost too perfect.

I've surfed most of my life. I'm very comfortable on a board, but I'm just an average surfer. I'm the kind of surfer that catches a few good ones, but misses just as many.

When I paddled out, I remember the smell. It caught me off guard. It wasn't like home. Central Florida has a heavy ocean smell. That probably won't make sense until you experience it. Anyways, this smell was lighter, it was cleaner. It smelled like coral mixed with salt. It stuck with me and I can still picture it in my mind to this day.

The lineup had a mix of people: locals, tourists, first-timers, experienced vets. You could feel a little edge from some of them, like you had to earn your place. But it wasn’t bad. If you waited your turn, you’d get your shot.

Still, I was extremely nervous. Not so much about the wave, or the people, but about messing it up. Like if I blew this opportunity, that was it. This was my chance.

A set came in. I started paddling. Everything slowed down. I could feel the wave lifting me. I pushed up on the board, my feet landed square. I turned. There was a wobble, small, but enough to notice. Then it settled. I was steady. Moving. I was in it.

I remember hearing someone yell a “wooo” somewhere behind me.

And then it was over. Just like that.

I kicked out and sat there for a second. Didn’t say anything. Just took it all in.

We had these gallon jugs of water we’d use to rinse off. We called them “gowers.” Not really showers, but close enough. You’d stand there, pour it over your head, salt and sand running off, and that was it.

Later that night, we were back at the tents. Chicken, rice, and beans. The day wore us down. We were famished. This meal tasted like a Michelin-star restaurant.

Sitting there laughing with my buddy about the day, replaying it without really needing to say much. The waves in the background again, same sound as the night before, but it felt different.

Like I had earned it a little. The waves no longer sounded like they were crashing. They were celebrating the experience.

~Shaun S.