Does the Ocean Know We Love Her?
The story of a rideable wave starts out at sea with a low-pressure system causing the atmosphere to rumble, lightning to strike, and wind to howl. Unorganized at first and unruly at worst, energy begins moving through the open ocean away from its original fetch. Slowly the energy organizes, and atmospheric conditions may become clear. The troughs and crests of the swell pick up and lower boats, gently though, as a wave won’t break in deep water. As the swell gets closer to shore, offshore buoys begin to send readings through the internet, and surfers wait in anticipation.
When the swell finally arrives in shallow water, it interacts with the coastline and the topography of the ocean floor. If the swell direction hits just right, the period is in a suitable range, and the tidal and wind conditions align, a rideable wave appears. Surfers show up at first light hoping for the best mix of conditions. The journey of a wave is equal parts physics and magic. Waves are energy of the Earth– of the atmosphere– and it is the greatest privilege of my life to connect with our planet through surfing.
Surfing is truly magical when I am tapped into a state of flow. In flow, I’m centered, embodied, and surrendered. I’m guided by some kind of intuition. I feel where to be in the lineup more so than I think where to be. When I am in flow, surfing is effortless. Wallace J Nichols explores the concept of flow in his book, Blue Mind. To be in flow, you must be engaging in an activity you enjoy, have mastered the basics, feel like you are being challenged, and lose your sense of the passage of time. Nichols explains that experiencing flow in the water is an enhanced state of flow. Surfing in flow is the greatest human experience of my life.
When I’m in flow, my internal narration is something like this:
Ooh! I am in the perfect spot.
Chin down. Feet up. Paddle. Paddle. Pop Up.
Heels dig. Rail engages.
Step Step Step. Tap
Wide Eyed. Giddy smile. Quick to get back in position.
Ooh! I’m in the perfect spot.
Once, in Southern Costa Rica, I walked a mile down the beach with a borrowed log. I arrived at the point to waves much bigger than I had anticipated. I certainly had the wrong board, no leash, and did not have time or energy to walk back and switch it out. So, I took my chances and sat wide and outside, away from the rest of the surfers. Thanks to surf flow magic, I did not wait long until I was the only surfer in perfect position for a wide swinging set.
Only a few paddles were needed to get into the wave early. I dropped in going fast down the line, my hair whipping behind me, and set a high line. I was timid as the wave was well over my head and more powerful than I’m used to feeling on a longboard. I worked the back of the board carving into the pocket, setting up the nose ride, and not going for it. The wave was perfect. I admired it while I surfed ever so cautiously. If I fell, the borrowed board would surely end up in the rocks. Having the wrong board put me in the perfect spot for four set waves with no paddle battling. After just 45 minutes, I called the session with full body gratitude.
I don’t find flow every session. I am super sensitive to other people’s energy and those traits come with me in the ocean. In crowded or competitive lineups, I can overthink, feel frustrated, mad, or jealous. In a crowded lineup, I am always trying to maintain a balance of taking up enough space without taking up too much space. When the vibes are competitive, then my game face comes on, and I am trying to keep up. Suddenly, I am the exact aggressive energy in the lineup that I hate. Is a really good wave worth it to become what you hate?
Finding flow with surfing requires I listen to both my body and the ocean. I have been learning to not push past injuries and know when I’ve had enough. Learning to tune into the flow of both my physical body, my emotional body, and the ocean body is the greatest journey of my life. Surfing alone takes the pressure off though. The parts of my ego that surf for performance and care what other people think of me disappear. I let waves go unridden and just admire their existence. I love surfing alone. Just me and her.
I was really sad in the water one morning and my body wanted to cry. To avoid the judgmental stares of the shreddy shortboarders that surrounded me, I paddled out and over to where the waves weren’t breaking. I let my tears run. I carefully watched each tear pour out of me and into the vibrant Caribbean Sea. In that moment, I felt the barrier between her and I melt. I surrendered and poured myself into her. The salty water of my body became part of her big ocean being. It was a reminder of our connectedness, as I watched myself become part of the water cycle. In that moment, she held me.
Minutes later, a rogue set wave swung wide, right to me. Everyone else was way out of position, paddling hard, and duck diving to get out of the way. I watched the wave coming in from a distance and my tears turned into laughter. Because certainly, this was a gift. Thank you, I whispered between tears as I paddled just two times into the biggest most perfect wave I saw all morning.
The water cycle on Earth, like any cycle, does not have a clear start and end point. At any given time, 97% of the water on Earth is in the ocean. Fresh water evaporates off the ocean surface turning into clouds. Some clouds remain over the ocean, pouring water right back into the source. Others move landward, gifting rain to our rivers and lakes. All rivers and lakes eventually pour back into the ocean. Along the way, some water becomes a part of the plants, the animals, and even the humans.
We can’t create new water. All the water that will ever exist on Earth, exists right now. As humans, we are borrowing water. Unfortunately, sometimes we return that water in a less than ideal condition. The rain that falls into our humanscapes becomes runoff as it follows the path of least resistance, carrying litter, fertilizer, pesticides, leaking car fluids, and other contaminants on its trek. During big storm events runoff can carry larger objects like cars. All our waterways on Earth lead back to the ocean. All the pollution from all over the world ends up in the ocean.
Our society is in a toxic relationship with the ocean. We are exploiting her. We use her to transport stuff we don’t need, that gets used once, and ends up polluting her at the end of its short life cycle. We abuse her. We use her as a garbage dump. We overfish her and we kill her whales with our boats. The ocean has given us so much and we have taken her for granted. She gives us food. She stores carbon. She gives us peace and joy.
We are witnessing incredible ecological loss in our lifetimes. We are part of a species creating irreversible change to our ocean planet. As we keep burning old dinosaurs and increasing the amount of carbon dioxide in our atmosphere, global ice cover is melting, and the ocean’s wrath is coming. She is experiencing so much death. She is losing her biodiversity; the life within and among her is disappearing. She has had enough. Her waters are less alive yet growing in power and rising towards all of us. She is reminding us with every storm and every coastal flood, that her waters are rising, and we are not in the right relationship.
To want to save anything, you must love it. To love something, you must know it. I love the ocean and I want to know the ocean. I want her to know me. She is my church, my playground, my greatest teacher, and the first love of my life. I leave the sea rejuvenated and with a commitment and a dedication to protect her from the ravenous culture that raised me. I need her and she needs me. She needs all of us. She needs us to know her, to love her, and to do good by her.
Sometimes I feel one with her. I feel the boundaries of my skin, of my body melt and the water inside me is one with the water of her. Does the ocean know I love her when I marvel at the way she glitters in the sun? Does the ocean know I love her when time stops still, or when I forget all about surfing because a sea turtle pops up next to me? Does the ocean know I love her when I cry and scream about plastic pollution, runoff, and bottom trawling? Does she know I love her when I teach my students that she is a carbon sink and our biggest climate partner?
Does she know we love her?
Lizzy is a surf coach for Surf With Amigas working and traveling in Central America. She grew up on the East Coast of the United States, spending as much time in the ocean as possible. Lizzy has built a life deeply connected to nature, using surfing as both a passion and a practice to strengthen her bond with the natural world. Lizzy holds master’s degrees in Environmental Studies and Public Administration. She is curious about exploring ways to create positive environmental change and live more harmoniously with Earth’s natural systems.
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Photos of Lizzie by @holalenita
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