The DogMan Chronicles seek to minimize espression in the first person, but for this feature I'll break that practice. This is a tale from March 19, 2001 about a low point and a rebound in my surfing. Seems appropriate for this column, since most everyone will have such an experience. It's also about getting older.....

Lately my surfing has been lousy. I could blame it on the conditions, but that would be whining. There's been swell in Santa Cruz for several weeks, and good surfers adapt to varied and challenging conditions.

I've been feeling out of my element in the lineups. My wave anticipation isn't as good as in the past. My paddling and duck diving don't seem up to my standards. When I catch a wave, I struggle to get to my feet. I shoulder hop a lot of mush burgers, and my turns down the line aren't crisp. I'm punished by the ocean with closeout sets that hold me down and tangle me in the kelp.

Others in the lineups get their fair share of abuse by the ocean, since this is after all the North coast of Santa Cruz County in winter. But they also get good waves and fun rides while I thrash. They look more aggressive and stronger than I feel.

I've started to doubt my abilities and feel my advancing age. My self-confidence and my courage are ebbing. Maybe I should sell my hybrid thruster, buy a foamy tanker board, and join the crowds in the knee high rollers at Cowells during low tides.

But then sometimes it only takes one wave to turn it around....

Yesterday I jumped in at Gazebos in the predawn darkness. I struggled in the break zone, only rode four mediocre waves, and watched three other surfers rip overhead smokers. Finally I washed up onto the beach and went home with my tail between my legs.

This morning I parked on the side of Highway 1, hiked into Tres Amigos, and paddled out before dawn. My dogs waited on the beach as I pushed out of the cove, and stroked by the Death Rock and into the lineup. Set waves had 8 to 10 foot faces as they jacked on the reef, with shoulder to head high sections down the line. I was alone with my thoughts in the break zone, and I studied the horizon by the light of the full moon for the incoming waves. Just the way I like to surf.

As the Eastern sky began to glow pink, a perfect eight footer loomed out of the darkness. For once I was in perfect position, so I wheeled about and paddled for it. The lip picked me up and held me out in front of the concave wave face, with nothing but air below me. I snapped to my feet, pointed my board diagonally to the right, and leaned forward. At that moment the wave unjacked slightly, and I zoomed down the face toward a digging bottom turn.

Next I climbed back to the lip just in time to catch a cascading section for a violent snapping turn and another drop. All the way down the line I surfed the hell out of that wave, at least for the middle-aged man that I am. I kicked out just in front of the Death Rock, and paddled back to the lineup.

Damn that felt good! My confidence began to return, and my pride started to build. I rode six more waves in the next hour, all by myself in the cold kelpy water. With each wave I felt braver, and more capable. I paddled strong, I anticipated waves correctly, and I jumped to my feet with agility while dropping.

By the time the sun had brightened the sky, the next surfer climbed down the cliff to join me. For once I didn't feel ashamed to be in the same lineup. In fact I paddled way outside on a hunch, just in time for a 10 foot set wave to roll through. Instead of scrambling to get over it, I paddled laterally, caught the wave just next to the peak, and rode it all the way into the cove. It was a fast and exhilarating ride. My dogs ran down the beach to greet me as I stepped from the water.

So for now I'll continue to ride the gnarly, sharky, cold and lonely breaks of the North Santa Cruz County coast. I'll have good sessions and bad sessions, but I don't have to wonder whether I belong out there. Sometimes it only takes one wave to turn it all around.

CU Out There,

DogMan