Drift

When a storm hits the coast most local surfers will watch from the beach, or even their car if it’s really heavy, while a handful of people are still willing to paddle out. A lot of injuries happen on those rough days on familiar breaks. Sometimes you underestimate the paddle and lose all your strength before making it through the sets.

When my buddy, Dillon, and I were at work one day we heard that a storm brought 10ft. waves to Tybee Island. In Georgia, it’s rare to see a wave bigger than 7ft. After work, we grabbed our boards and wetsuits then drove straight to the beach.

The drive itself was a challenge, to say the least. We had to weave from one side to the other to avoid the water creeping up from the marsh on both sides of the road. On top of that, squalls kept sporadically covering the windshield with heavy rain, making everything gray. It was impossible to see the lines on the road.

We stopped at the gas station about 2 miles before the beach to grab some drinks. After we parked, Dillon and I got out of the car and realized how cold it was as two of us tried squeezing into our wetsuits as quickly as possible. The plastic bag made it a little easier but, we were already out breathe.

We saw our old neighbor, Hutch, getting out of the water right as we ran out onto the beach.

“The current just picked up. It’s crazy out there right now!”

“You done?”

“Yeah, it’s getting really rough out there. The wind has been picking up so much since I got here. I’ll stay and watch you guys catch one, though,” Hutch said to us.

“You sure?” I asked him.

“Be careful not to drift around the point. The current is pulling north fast.

“Alright, we’ll keep an eye on the shore and hop out.”

“We’ll make sure not to drift out to sea. Later, Hutch!” Dillon yelled as we started to run south down the beach anticipating the direction the water was going to pull us.

About 75 yards down the beach Dillon and I strapped our leashes around the ankle and started to paddle out. The water was higher than I’ve ever seen it. Right away, the water was up to your shoulders.

Hutch was right. It was rough out there. It felt like being in a giant washing machine. You’d duck-dive under one wave and come up only to get sideswiped by a different wave. It was coming in at all different directions.

I grabbed my rails forcing the board to cut through the wave breaking over me. The water pulled hair out of my face as I came up and I saw Dillon taking his last few strokes up the face of a wave past the breaking point. There was no way to make over the wave where I was on my board. I could only try going through it. It didn’t work.

The wave pulled me into its curl while I tried digging my nose though it, I was denied. Now, the board was on top of me with a thick wall of water behind it. My back hit the water first. The water threw me around for a while then, when I could finally come up for air another wave came crashing down on me. I was stuck in the break zone.

I had to grab my leash and try dragging it while I backstroked through the waves. Each incoming set pushed my board back toward the shore. Eventually the water graced me with an opportunity to get back on my board and start paddling again. My arms were dead and the rest of my body had finally forgotten how cold it was. Finally, I made it past the break and could breath for a minute.

“Shit, dude! We have to go back in. Look how far we drifted,” Dillon said pointing south.

So much for catching my breath.

There wasn’t time for that. We were already being pulled out to sea. By the time Dillon and I made it back to shore we had reached the end of the beach. The two of us sat in the sand watching the water till we regained our composer.

“That was intense,” Dillon said still trying to catch his breath.

We started to walk back to the car. Once Dillon and I reached the road we found ourselves in front of the gas station once again. The current pulled us all the way back to that gas station we’d already stopped at earlier, on the drive out to the beach.