The Worst Surf of My Life

Well, it finally happened. I had the worst surf of my life. And it happened today.

I always knew there would be fog when I had the worst surf of my life. It’s long been one of my least favorite conditions. Probably more about the wind that accompanies it than the lack of visibility. So sure enough, today there was fog. Fog and fog wind. But there was some swell. Nearly straight closeouts, but size. It's funny that following weeks of eking out surfs that weren’t even close to being the worst surf of my life in teeny-tiny waves that there would actually be some swell running when I had the worst surf of my life.

So what happened? I don’t even know, I didn’t see it coming. You never do, I guess.

It started in the parking lot. I arrived with low expectations and a quick glance lowered them even more. But this is my window. Suiting up, I ran into an old friend — Blake Myers, who has a winning record against Medina — and he raised the stakes with a simple sentence. 

“Quick 20-minute heat?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

We finish suiting up and are about to trot down the hill when we see two locals stop a break-in. Apparently there’s been a bunch lately. Nice car pulls up real tight on a car, knifes the lock, peels out in a high-end import with blackout windows and your debit card, GTA style. So we see the boys foil this attempt, and the pissed off driver in the high-end import speeds past, narrowly missing my toes. Oh well, guess he’s gone. We’re out there.

I always thought it would be foggy and I would get stung by a stingray and my car would be broken into on the worst surf of my life. But so far, all have been avoided. I start paddling in inches of water to avoid the rays.

This is when it all falls apart. I let the first wave of the set go by and Blake’s in the spot for a rare corner on a SW wall. His backhand is famously strong — grew up surfing lefts in New Zealand. He throws fins three times. 8.5. Damn.

I paddle for a rare against the grain right, nothing doing. I fumble on take off and am late to the party. 1.5? Blake gets the next one. Throws fins four times. 9.5.

I am struggling. I am comboed. I am embarrassed.I had been riding really deep cuts in my quiver during the recent flat spell — boards with foam and gimmicks and funny fins and tails and rails, so my current “championship board” I’m trying to ride feels like a butter knife. I’m struggling to get to my feet. That's a first. Sheesh. It’s a mess. Fog wind is increasing. Tide is stationary but somehow I’m sitting in a rip. Brown water all around. Splashing water on my face feels nice though.

Blake gets one more, lights up the biggest wave of the day, one smash and done, but blasts it. Doesn’t even need that score. He goes in, fully satisfied. A winner.

I float around a lumpy, drained out, walled, sad and pitiful lineup alone. Fog and fog wind. I’m duck diving just to feel the ocean on my face. Riding waves is not enough.

I fail to even belly-in properly. I actually missed a wave trying to come in. Finally, I’m back on shore, tripping over my leash. I stumble up the cliff, out of breath, pretty disappointed with my surfing and my fitness. What normally fills me with confidence is shot. But that’s not all I feel. I also feel…better?

I’m soaking wet, I don’t have the barb of a bat ray in my ankle, my car is still there, no one keyed it. Or broke in. Blake was gone too, probably to his victory party. Once out of my suit, I open my phone. Surfline’s newsletter is about how California’s infamous fall surf drought is over and I see Brett Simpson’s IG post from his session just a mile down the beach from me. It looks like it's firing. It is. He does five perfectly timed backhand turns. He’s on. I officially made all the wrong moves today, but I still feel good. What’s going on?

What is it about surfing that allows us to perform at our absolute worst and still feel good? I am completely humbled and disappointed in my ability to ride waves today yet I’m sitting here putting my socks over sandy feet…stoked. Beaming even. My hair is wet. I’m excited about everything. Pizza Friday. Psyching. Might stir up a martini tonight for the weekend. I am a bumper sticker of emotion. Only a surfer knows the feeling. The worst day of surfing is better than the best day of whatever, etc.

I just had the worst surf of my life but I still surfed, so today is the best day ever.—Travis Ferré