Wednesday, December 17, 2003. Pre-dawn darkness on the north coast of Santa Cruz County. Clear, calm, brisk air, high tide, buoy reports indicating substantial swell. After cruising fruitlessly through town for the right surf conditions, I found myself converging on a big wave spot hoping to get some juice before heading to work.

The first hint at the actual conditions was the sound. The surfmobile rounded a sweeping curve on the highway and descended to the level of the sandy beach along a straight section of asphalt. The noise of the ocean crescendoed through the open windows, drowning all driving noise. Even in the darkness a huge stain of white foamy water was evident along the shore and extending unexpectedly into deep water. Huge arcing beach closers reared one after another and crashed ashore, thundering with anger and power. I held my breath wondering whether wave riding was in my future that day.

At the end of the beach the highway climbed to a new plateau; halfway to the top was the cliff that overlooked the reef. I pulled to the shoulder and hiked a short distance through the brush to the edge, planning to peer through the gloom into the lineup and suss my opportunities. It was there I encountered the title of this column; OH MY GAWD!

Set waves were easily triple overhead; many peeled nicely along the edge of the reef. But whole sections were breaking top to bottom, knifing the air like a guillotine made from countless gallons of cold heavy water. While my heart raced I saw it; the wave that determined I was not going to paddle out. At least 20 feet on the face, this wall of water resembled the Great Wall of China. It stretched continuous and unbroken from horizon to horizon, left to right. As I watched it approach, the entire length of it reared tall and concave. It closed in the deep water from one end to the other, as far as the eye could see. The sound was like a sonic boom; it scoured all possible lineup spots with a wall of turbulence as tall as a two-story house.

OK, no surf for the DogMan. Other surfers were parking along the shoulder of the highway by this time. Most were awestruck, but incredibly a hardy few were pulling on their wetsuits and waxing their boards. This I had to see! Dawn's light was illuminating the sky from the east, so I returned to the car and pulled the camera from it's pouch.

Low lights made photography difficult, so many shots were blurry or underexposed. Nonetheless I stayed on the cliff for the next 45 minutes or so, snapping away in hopes of a few redeeming pix. During this time three leashes were broken by the extreme conditions, and at least two surfers failed to paddle through the shore pound to the channel that leads to the tip of the reef.

Many waves went unridden, but I couldn't fault the hellmen in the water; they were there and I wasn't. The waves that were ridden were difficult to capture in the camera lens, but there's a few for this column. They fail to communicate the extreme danger of the waves, and the bravery and skill of the surfers. Think about 15 to 20 feet of free fall when dropping into a wave. Think about 12 feet of wave face falling on top of you while you're ridding down the line. Think about riding one of these beasts successfully, then kicking out to see a much larger wave come crashing toward you with no chance for you to get to its shoulder.

Think about swimming in turbulence amidst the break zone while watching your board careen toward the rocky shore carrying its broken leash with it. Think about hold-downs more ferocious than any you've experienced in over a year. Then think about popping to the surface for a quick breath of air before the next wave holds you down all over again. Sound like fun? Feel the stoke? Would Eddie go?

Pictures are about as close to the action as most of us are likely to come, so enjoy. Truly they don't tell the full tale of the OH MY GAWD! session of Wednesday December 17, 2003.

CU Out There,

DogMan