But that day, Jan  1985, I believe,  it was a big, glassy northeast swell.  It looked to be about 8-9 ft. high, from the beach that is, and a beautiful smooth, predictable break.  I was standing there with my 12 foot homemade glass longboat, homemade wooden paddle, homemade spray skirt, and piss-poor rolling ability (homemade).  I figured it was once in a lifetime, so here I go. 

The shore break was ungodly.  I finally got through that (barely!) without being pulverized, and contemplated the situation again.  From the soup between the shore break and the main break, the waves looked to be about as high as the boat was long.  Hey, once in a lifetime.


In the "kill zone" where the main break was, the water was deep, but I figured if I got caught in there, I would get thrown out of the boat and the rip current might suck me offshore.  I was seriously, seriously scared.

I waited, waited, waited, for the right set to roll in, and then paddled that long skinny boat faster than a Lamborghini.  As the killer 1st wave in the next set approached, I knew i had a chance to make it cleanly if I could crash through the lip of the break; I paddled harder. 

My boat and I began to climb the swell as she felt more and more bottom.  We broke through and got MAJOR air on the back side!  Man!!  what a feeling!

Then I paddled out another 50yards just to be sure.  Then I sat there, for a long time,  thinking oh shit.  I felt like I was about a mile offshore.   Finally a noticed a set of waves that seemed small.  Had to go for it. 


Once in a lifetime.  I caught a "small" one - still bigger than any thing I had ever ridden - and cleaned it into the soup.  Kept on paddling, popped my skirt, and jumped out of the boat as I surfed the shore break in to the sand. 


Best, and luckiest, day ever.  Exactly one wave.