WOUNDED WARRIORS, TUE 10JAN2012 MOR

Loc: Camp Pendleton

Crew: Rick

Time: 0730-1300 (surfing and participating)

Conditions: Clear, sunny, cool offshore wind, mooshy, high tide, three feet, consistent.

     I’m slowed down by residue from last night, but it’s 0515, Rick’s on his way, so I have to start moving. Today would have been a day to surf HB with Francis and Khang, but last night Rick gave me an invite to do something different. He asked if I’d be interested in volunteering to assist with the Wounded Warriors program at Camp Pendleton. I’ve only seen articles about it in magazines and some footage on TV. I only think about his invite for a couple seconds, and the only answer I can come up with is “yes.” Normally I have a problem making commitments, always keeping my schedule open until the last minute, but this is different. Surfing is a selfish art/sport, I’v been pretty selfish myself lately, so why not take some off of my plate and give to those who need it? 

     With under five hours of sleep, it’s a brutal drive. Our Starbucks’ coffee starts to kick-in when we reach the OC. It’s about 0630, and the horizon is just giving off its first glow of orange. When we get to Camp Pendleton it’s forty-six degrees. Since the event doesn’t start until 0900, we have some time to surf. 

     The peaks and shoulders are long and racy, but rideable. The waves are a solid three feet-fun size. Rick and I make the whole crowd. Churches looked like a lake when we drove by, so this spot is definitely better. Rick draws first blood, catching a right all the way to shore. I catch a couple that are too fast, and then Rick goes again catching a left all the way to the sand. Today’s waves kind of break like HB. The lump on the surface looks small, but then it just jacks up a foot bigger producing a fast shoulder to pump down. I finally get a wave. The left is fast, but I pump with it the whole time doing a couple check-turns off the lip until it ends. Yes, it’s small, but it’s much better than yesterday’s session, and an empty lineup is priceless. A selfish thought arises: would be nice to just surf all morning and not volunteer. We each get a couple more waves after Rick sees a tent being set up.

Warriors:

     Sitting in a circle with Marines and volunteers, Daniel is the first one to speak. “I can either keep my leg and have no mobility, or chop it off and be able to move around better,” he says. Kevin, Rick, and I are the only noobs, and we’re as attentive to Daniel’s words as everyone else. “So I’m about to lose my leg. I just have to get ready for that. I just want to get through that this year.” After him, it’s the next person’s turn to introduce themselves and say his New Year’s resolution. 

     What did I say? “Get barreled longer than one-point-five seconds.” Sure, it got a laugh or two, but Daniel’s about to lose his fuckin’ leg, and he’s cool as a cucumber. I wonder about my bad attitude after a bad session or when the surf sucks, and meanwhile guys like Daniel are stoked just to attempt to stand up in the whitewater. 

     Rick and I are assigned to help one of the instructors—Anthony. Anthony is taking out Adam; it’s his first time surfing. I saw Adam earlier when he arrived. He was carrying a gigantic foam board. He approached one of the volunteers and said, “Can you help me with this? I only got one arm.” Since Rick and I are new, we don’t have a Marine to ourselves because we have to learn how they instruct. Anthony knows what he’s doing, doubling-up on the foamie with Adam, and then swinging them both around for a little one-foot peeler. Adam only gets to his knees and falls on the inside, but his eyes and smile light up his whole face. Anthony asks if I’m ready to get him a wave. I say yes, but I’m pretty nervous to mess up. It’s one thing to send your buddy purling into the shallows, but I’m really concerned about Adam’s safety. I push him into a wave that walls-up. The fact that I pushed him in at an angle doesn’t help either; I’m a shitty teacher. The wave is breaking on his side, but he somehow, miraculously holds on and gets to shore. He asks for a break after this wave. Anthony tells me all my mistakes.

     We have about fifteen minutes before the next pow-wow, so Rick and I are able to catch a couple waves with the more advanced guys. I get two long lefts that open up. They’re not as fast as earlier, and I’m able to practice my frontside carves, getting two on each wave. They’re fun, not fast enough to get good performance but good enough to make the day.

     The people hosting the event are from the Jimmy Miller Foundation (http://jimmymillerfoundation.org/#). Nancy Miller takes interest on how Rick and I found out about their ocean therapy. We explain how much we surf the military installations and that this is the least we can do to give back. Most of the volunteers here are from the South Bay. Mike is a Vietnam Vet that Klaude introduced me to at 26^th. I meet another local guy named Charlie. He’s usually on a stand-up paddle board, and I’ve seen him many times before. He’s this tall, cut-up dude with this huge tattoo on his back that looks like a tree with leaves spreading out. Carly is a lifeguard from Hermosa Beach, and for the remainder of the event she teaches us noobs how to properly instruct. There is definitely more to pushing someone on a wave when it comes to teaching. She shows us how to wheelie the board over the waves and how to ride on the back, letting go only when the surfer stands. In the midst of our training, we hoot on the other soldiers who catch waves next to us. Even though some have suffered from IED related injuries, others have challenges not visible on the outside, and they are here to benefit from the confidence of catching a wave. I can only imagine what that does for them in their everyday lives. 

     During lunch we all gather in a circle one last time. Anthony expresses his appreciation for Daniel’s visit. With only days before his major surgery he can be anywhere, but he chooses to be with his surf family. Daniel laughs as he tells his story about surfing as a kid only to lose the use of his leg and be forced to surf goofy foot. 

     Rick and I say our goodbyes to Adam and everyone else we met. We throw a couple pizza boxes away and help carry some equipment. Other than my military service, volunteering has never been in my nature, but for the whole ride home all we can talk about is how good this experience was. Rick says, “That could’ve been me needing help to catch a wave.” He’s been retired for some time, but I see his point. Last night I wondered if I made the right decision, being concerned with catching my own waves for me, me, me. Even in the morning, I hoped Rick would look at me and say, “Nah, let’s just enjoy the surf.” That was pretty selfish—shameful. I’ve never thought about the other card, seeing soldiers with physical limitations, some with missing or nonfunctional limbs, still scraping, scratching, doing their best to paddle, and stand up on white wash that’s barely a foot high. These are the waves that I spit and shit on, discarded as useless and a waste of surf. From each of these waves, they turn around, determined to face the ocean for another ride. If they live in pain, it’s hard to tell from the joy on their faces. Even if they don’t stand or wipeout, they only suffer from a common surf syndrome: one more wave. I have so much in my surfing life, bitching and crying because the shape sucks, while some of these guys are trying to surf when they can barely walk. How could I ever complain about a session now? What blows my mind is Daniel . . . he’s about to lose his leg, and he’s already making plans on when he’ll be surfing again. I could’ve missed-out on all of this: the people, the energy, the inspiration, the beauty of those overcoming insurmountable odds, and how the smallest wave contains the power to affect lives. Now I can see. Each wave means so much more now, not the turns or barrels that I’ve obsessed about. I can be on it. I can surf it. That’s all that matters.