When The Wave Passed, I Climbed Upon The Board And Paddled
On.
Many men have been terribly injured, I learn, by being struck
by their boards.
The whole method of surf-riding and surf-fighting, learned, is one
of non-resistance. Dodge the blow that is struck at you. Dive
through the wave that is trying to slap you in the face. Sink down,
feet first, deep under the surface, and let the big smoker that is
trying to smash you go by far overhead. Never be rigid. Relax.
Yield yourself to the waters that are ripping and tearing at you.
When the undertow catches you and drags you seaward along the
bottom, don't struggle against it. If you do, you are liable to be
drowned, for it is stronger than you. Yield yourself to that
undertow. Swim with it, not against it, and you will find the
pressure removed. And, swimming with it, fooling it so that it does
not hold you, swim upward at the same time. It will be no trouble
at all to reach the surface.
The man who wants to learn surf-riding must be a strong swimmer, and
he must be used to going under the water. After that, fair strength
and common-sense are all that is required. The force of the big
comber is rather unexpected. There are mix-ups in which board and
rider are torn apart and separated by several hundred feet. The
surf-rider must take care of himself. No matter how many riders
swim out with him, he cannot depend upon any of them for aid. The
fancied security I had in the presence of Ford and Freeth made me
forget that it was my first swim out in deep water among the big
ones. I recollected, however, and rather suddenly, for a big wave
came in, and away went the two men on its back all the way to shore.
I could have been drowned a dozen different ways before they got
back to me.
One slides down the face of a breaker on his surf-board, but he has
to get started to sliding. Board and rider must be moving shoreward
at a good rate before the wave overtakes them. When you see the
wave coming that you want to ride in, you turn tail to it and paddle
shoreward with all your strength, using what is called the windmill
stroke. This is a sort of spurt performed immediately in front of
the wave. If the board is going fast enough, the wave accelerates
it, and the board begins its quarter-of-a-mile slide.
I shall never forget the first big wave I caught out there in the
deep water. I saw it coming, turned my back on it and paddled for
dear life. Faster and faster my board went, till it seemed my arms
would drop off. What was happening behind me I could not tell. One
cannot look behind and paddle the windmill stroke. I heard the
crest of the wave hissing and churning, and then my board was lifted
and flung forward. I scarcely knew what happened the first half-
minute. Though I kept my eyes open, I could not see anything, for I
was buried in the rushing white of the crest. But I did not mind.
I was chiefly conscious of ecstatic bliss at having caught the wave.
At the end, of the half-minute, however, I began to see things, and
to breathe. I saw that three feet of the nose of my board was clear
out of water and riding on the air. I shifted my weight forward,
and made the nose come down. Then I lay, quite at rest in the midst
of the wild movement, and watched the shore and the bathers on the
beach grow distinct. I didn't cover quite a quarter of a mile on
that wave, because, to prevent the board from diving, I shifted my
weight back, but shifted it too far and fell down the rear slope of
the wave.
It was my second day at surf-riding, and I was quite proud of
myself. I stayed out there four hours, and when it was over, I was
resolved that on the morrow I'd come in standing up. But that
resolution paved a distant place. On the morrow I was in bed. I
was not sick, but I was very unhappy, and I was in bed. When
describing the wonderful water of Hawaii I forgot to describe the
wonderful sun of Hawaii. It is a tropic sun, and, furthermore, in
the first part of June, it is an overhead sun. It is also an
insidious, deceitful sun. For the first time in my life I was
sunburned unawares. My arms, shoulders, and back had been burned
many times in the past and were tough; but not so my legs. And for
four hours I had exposed the tender backs of my legs, at right-
angles, to that perpendicular Hawaiian sun. It was not until after
I got ashore that I discovered the sun had touched me. Sunburn at
first is merely warm; after that it grows intense and the blisters
come out. Also, the joints, where the skin wrinkles, refuse to
bend. That is why I spent the next day in bed. I couldn't walk.
And that is why, to-day, I am writing this in bed. It is easier to
than not to. But to-morrow, ah, to-morrow, I shall be out in that
wonderful water, and I shall come in standing up, even as Ford and
Freeth. And if I fail to-morrow, I shall do it the next day, or the
next. Upon one thing I am resolved: the Snark shall not sail from
Honolulu until I, too, wing my heels with the swiftness of the sea,
and become a sun-burned, skin-peeling Mercury.
CHAPTER VII - THE LEPERS OF MOLOKAI
When the Snark sailed along the windward coast of Molokai, on her
way to Honolulu, I looked at the chart, then pointed to a low-lying
peninsula backed by a tremendous cliff varying from two to four
thousand feet in height, and said:
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