Large scale surf in the Pacific was in the news last week.  Specifically at Jaws on Maui, Hi., and at Mavericks in Half Moon Bay, Ca.   Anyone who surfs knows of Jaws and Mavericks.  More than likely, some people that DON’T surf have heard of these monstrous breaks as well. These famous breaks are frequented by big wave surfers like Laird Hamilton and SkinDog Collins.  The waves there can get gargantuan and people come from all around to watch mere mortals take on mother nature. This past week both breaks saw waves with 30-40 foot faces.  Both breaks drew tons of surfers and massive crowds.

Along with Jaws and Mavericks, another lesser known spot on the West Coast boasted huge waves and imposing surf.  This town is Seal Beach, California. The place I call home.

Seal Beach is a sleepy, beach town that is just a blip on the map.  In fact, if you are speeding down Pacific Coast Highway from Long Beach to Huntington and you blink, you’ll miss it.  And we like it that way.  Mayberry By The Sea is what it is referred to by locals and visitors alike.  Where you can be assured that when you walk (yes walk) downtown, you will run into at least 2 people you know.  Where you can ride your bike to the market, dry cleaner, bank and grab a yummy bite to eat in one trip.  Where we all know that when our kids are at the beach or on Main St., there are eyes everywhere to report back to mom and dad should anything go awry. This is our small town and we love it.

There isn’t much excitement or glamour in our quiet beach community.   Normally, the rest of the world doesn’t even know we exist.  But then, every so often, a perfect, healthy swell will hit our shores just right.  Then, it’s ON.  It’s like someone turned on the light in a pitch black room.  Our sleepy little town wakes up.

Our waves don’t reach the magnitude of Jaws or Mavericks but, when the swell hits just right, we have several breaks that all of a sudden come to life.  Where months and sometimes years will go by without a bump, there are now waves the size of buildings.

People come from all over to surf Seal when it’s firing.  Our normal monotonous surf report of “1-3 feet and poor conditions” turns into “5-8/fair and 10-25/fair” and the people come out to play.  Normally, we have two surf spots that break pretty consistently.  The River and The Pier.  But when these large, perfect swells hit, our silent spots come to life.  Southside becomes a body boarder’s paradise with 5-7 foot tubes.  Dolphin St. becomes a short boarder haven.  And Cloudbreak emerges as the most impressive of all with it’s faces potentially up to 25 feet.  When swells like this hit, it’s like an amusement park for surfers and spectators alike.

Our town starts buzzing.  Surfers fill the lots.  News teams often line the sand.  Morning coffee shop chatter becomes about “the big waves”.  Kid’s instagram accounts blow up with pictures.  People line the pier and shore to watch.

Normally, I’m not a fan of tourists clogging our streets.  It makes a simple errand to the bank a painstaking process.  But during big swells, it’s different.  I love the energy.  Cars with boards stacked on top lining the streets. Surfers  in wetsuits running toward the ocean with their boards tucked under their arms.  Onlookers with cameras waiting to capture an impressive wave or an epic wipeout. The hoots and hollers from the crowd when a wave is completed and the surfer is shot out of the end of a barrel.  The collective “awwwww” and “ohhhhhh” when the onlookers witness a heroic wipeout.  And the frantic way surfers attempt to explain their waves made and their waves missed as they return unscathed from the pounding surf.

Everywhere you go people are talking about the gigantic waves.

It’s funny, because I am a surfer, people will ask, “why aren’t you out there?”  I simply reply,  “I don’t enjoy being terrified.”  It would be like asking my son, a great basketball player who plays on his high school varsity team, to suit up and join the Lakers.  We are both skilled and experienced but would just be out of our league.  Plus, I’m no good to my family if I’m hurt or dead.  So, I am just as happy to stand on the side lines and be a spectator during conditions like these.

Last week, when this epic swell hit my small surf town, I stood on the sand to observe.  I stood there for 3 hours.  Like others, I could not leave.  I put aside chores and responsibilities to witness the spectacle.  I watched nervously as friends and friend’s sons went by, preparing to get in the water.  I carried a knot in my gut until I got word that everyone had emerged safe and sound.  Finally, I reluctantly left the beach, only because duties beckoned.

As I stood on the sand, I was in awe.  In awe of the power of mother nature.  In awe of the men (and a few women) who were up for the challenge of conquering the massive waves and neck snapping shore break.  And in awe of my sleepy beach town and the bond we all feel as the power and the wonder of the surf brings us together.

It’s hard to explain but the surf connects us.  Everyone comes out of the woodwork to be a part of it in some way.

So, I stood on the berm taking pictures. Photos that will never fully do the massive surf justice nor capture the electricity in the air.  But I took them anyway.  I took them so I have evidence of this one magical moment in time. This moment where nature choreographed a breathtaking show.  Where I was humbled by the courage and skill of my friends and fellow surfers.  And where everyone on the sand enjoyed a commonality.  Where we all understood how small we truly are.

We were content to feel small, in this small surf town, in this incredibly large moment.

Some cities are brought together by industry.  Some are farm towns or college towns.  Some cities rally around sports teams.

But the people in our little town are brought together by the sea.

Salty Kisses,

K