Late in the summer of 1995 my wife and children and I decided to go camping in Big Sur.  We loaded up with all of the camping paraphernalia, bikes on top and of course my surfboard and wetsuit. We stayed at Pfeiffer campground out in a sunny open spot with millions of trees all around. Fall was just touching the air and it was beautiful.

One afternoon, we made our way to Andrew Molera, a park at the beginning of Big Sur, only about three miles from the point that is the northernmost boundary of the Sur. It lies at the foot of the Santa Lucia range, where the mountains flow down into a meadow and then jut out into the sea.

To get to the beach you have to hike about a mile through a winding path that takes you past flowing eucalyptus trees, then across a flat open meadow that has become a campground, finally past some willows, and then suddenly you are there at the beach. All this sounds fun and wonderful, except when you are carrying assorted items, pushing a bike and keeping small children encouraged that the beach is “just around the next corner.” Naturally it was a relief to get to the spot.

We deposited all of our stuff, and of course I had a look at the waves. I had been to this point a few weeks earlier and had looked at this perfect wave as it peeled off the reef and rolled into shore. I marveled at its perfection, though the wave was perhaps only a foot high. I knew that on the right day, with the right swell, it would set up here and give an awesome ride.

I looked outside and saw what appeared to be small surf breaking off the rocks that hung right at the corner of the point. It didn’t seem to be much, but a guy and a girl were there getting their wet suits on, preparing to go out. I asked them about the waves and they said that it was big enough to surf; this instantly peaked my interest, so I high-tailed it back to the van on my bike to retrieve my board and wet suit.

I got my stuff and headed back to the beach, carrying my board awkwardly in one arm while trying to hold on and peddle through the sand and dirt. This proved to be quite a challenge. My determinism won out and I was quickly back at the beach in spite of the tiring and awkward transport problem.

I got my wetsuit on, grabbed my board and paddled out next to the two that I had spoken with on the beach. The girl was a “sponger,” that is she was on a boogie board. The guy was riding a short board. He was getting right in close to the rocks and catching 3-5 foot waves, getting short but fun rides.

From my perspective, out in the waves, I had quite a view: Above me were the mountains sharply jutting up to the sky like a steep staircase going from this sparkling sea to some other hidden preserve. 180 degrees the other direction, there was a rock jutting out of the sea about 100 feet high and 300 feet around. The waves came around the rock and were then propelled towards shore, but really only broke right next to the small rock next to the point.  It was quite exhilarating out there with the waves crashing, spraying mist up which was caught in the sunlight. It sparkled and flashed as it drifted back to the sea.

Getting right up next to the rock was intimidating. The ocean is unpredictable, and in its fickleness I didn’t want to end up like a toothpick pummeled against the rocks.  So in my caution I tried catching waves in a few spots away from the rock, but had no success. The waves would come in, I would paddle like mad but they teased me and would not set up, they rolled by and laughed at me, this fool out in the water.

The sponger girl told me that the only place to catch them was right up next to the rocks. “You have to get right in there.”  I wasn’t happy to hear this and continued to try to beat the ocean at its own game, but I was like a tennis player being served aces by a pro. By now the sea had racked up an impressive 10 serves to my zero waves caught.  Sitting on my board I looked back to shore. A group had come in on horseback and were moving along the beach, looking out at us in the water. My family was back there playing on the sand, my wife reading, wondering if dad was going to catch anything.

The girl and guy paddled in, so now I had no excuse not to get in the right spot. I paddled right over next to where it was breaking up against the rocks. The force of the waves was awesome— whoosh—this huge force would come in and smash against the rocks. I got as close as I dared, which was very close to the smash-point.

Then it happened. A good-sized wave moved in toward me. This is the moment of truth when a wave walls up outside and begins to roll in, picking up in height. This is the ocean rolling its ball to the pins, only I’m the pins, and it’s my desire to get a strike. The wave rolled in, I in turn did my part of the dance, turning to meet it and then paddled. This is the real moment of truth, if all of my efforts match the energy flow of the sea, and if I have chosen the right spot to grab my partner, then we will dance.

The wave moved in towards me, the toothpick next to the rocks. I paddled, looking over my left shoulder. “Will it pick me up, will it?” Faster, faster, turn a bit, “yes, I’ve got it!” This is a connection straight to the multi-thousand horsepower engine of a wave. By comparison, man-made engines are toys. Now I was at the start of this power curl that picked me up, hoping to smash me against the rocks so it could score its final victory. But I outsmarted it by being in the right spot, paddling fast enough and at the right angle to catch this wild beast. I popped up and turned to angle on the wave. The wave picked me up fully and now I was Tarzan riding on the back of this wild tiger. I stood up and knew that I had it, knowing I was riding the beast that would sooner thrash me and teach me a lesson about who was boss.

Now I was king and in control. “Wave time” changes, now the seconds that go by are in a different time zone. By my watch only a few seconds had ticked by since I started this dance, but each second was in its own unit, shining and twisting, stretching like salt water taffy at the boardwalk. The seconds stretched, the wave picked up bigger and then it transformed: It became a rocket, a jet engine. It started to fold over me and began to roar and blast out spray. The beast had gone from just a tiger loping along, to one in a full-death-sprint after its prey. I knew something was happening, but being in the experience instead of looking at it, I didn’t really know what it was.  I could feel my wave transforming and the ride changing, the sound, the raw energy getting closer to me.

I heard something else. From the shore I heard cheering, could that be?  I shot a quick glance to my left and saw people lined up on the beach waving and cheering in my direction. They had noticed this magic that I was riding too. Now I knew something was happening.

The wave was over my shoulder trying to catch me and win, trying to swat me off, like a wild bronco with a rider strapped to its back. But this was the magic: It couldn’t get me. I was defying its intentions and defying gravity too. I was tricking time in the bargain turning its ever-clicking wheels into a twisted stretched out moment. I, not the sea, not gravity, and not time owned this moment. It was like the force and power of the whole universe had a door on it that can be opened at the right moment and you can step through. I had done this and I was on the other side of this force.

I thought this was the longest ride I had ever been on and saw that the wave was just going right down the line towards the beach to the south. For a moment I thought of exiting, but then why? Ride this beast all the way in, stay with this magical moment. The force was diminishing, but the effect on me was not: I was out of my head. This was amazing, something had happened that I didn’t know if I could ever describe to another.

I finished the wave off, turned and quickly paddled back out. I was stoked beyond belief. My body was vibrating with exhilaration. The grin on my face was bigger than the board. The crowd was still cheering for me. All I could think was that I wanted more. I didn’t want the taffy to snap back, the force to die away and the ride to be over. I wanted this feeling to go on forever, to stay on the other side of the door forever.

I paddled back to the spot, this time happy to be right next to the rocks, cocky that the waves couldn’t get me. I had been knighted by the sea, I had the magical ride.

I danced around with some other waves, but nothing even approaching my magic wave came by and I decided to take my act to the shore and have my victory with the sea, bronzed forever in my memory.

I paddled in as far as I could, found the bottom, and got off and walked in with the board under my arm. I got to shore and undid my leash, winding the cord around my board.

My kids found me and screamed, “Dad you should have seen the wave you were on, you got tubed!” When I heard this I was in disbelief. I had a great ride but tubed? Nah. Just a great ride.

I walked up the beach and saw the sponger girl and the guy, who said, “Man you were in the barrel!” Then I really was tubed, I really had made it.

My wife told me the back-half of my board was covered by the wave, only the front poking out.  My family was thrilled to see dad get the ultimate ride and come back smiling. We had all shared this dance that would live on forever as the moment I stepped through the door in Big Sur.