by Gregg Berman

Gregg Berman surfing on a “small” wave day. Photo credit: Anne Kang

Waves come in all manner of shapes and sizes. There are spilling waves that form a crest at the top, while the wave gently (comparatively speaking, that is) collapses on itself from the top down, releasing its energy slowly over time. There are dumping waves which peak up and then pitch forward, dumping their energy suddenly and often violently in a massive explosion. There are waves that peak up but never actually form a frothy white crest; they blur the lines between being waves which one can ride and being unsurfable ocean swell that passes serenely beneath us, offering merely an up-and-down elevator ride. There are perfectly formed glassy waves and waves that are a mosh pit of different energies converging in one spot to form a jumbled mess. The tidal height, the wind, the deep-water swell, the ocean bottom and many more factors go into the mix when making a wave. 

What this means in a practical sense to those of us who ride waves in their various forms and in our various ways (kayak or surfboard, long or short) is that a steep-faced 4-foot shallow water dumper has the potential sometimes to give a bigger beating than an 18- or 20-foot deep water monster that barely crumbles at the top of a gently sloping face.

One winter weekend the forecast was for some huge water with the potential for waves over 20 feet at Mavericks. I was just back in town from two weeks paddling the Pacific coast of Baja and was excited by the news. Ed Anderson and I took a look at it on Saturday, joining the crowds on the cliff who were there to watch the immense waves. We were scoping it out for a Sunday morning surf session. Anderson and I met in Pillar Point Harbor as Sunday morning dawned. (Well OK, we had each slept in and met a reasonable amount of time after dawn.) Our plan was to meet with several new and old friends including Roger Medler, Lucy O’Brien, Bill Joerger and quite a few others who would be showing up at various times both before and after us. We were in short boats today, some in whitewater boats and others of us in surf boats. 

After crossing the harbor, we found a good crowd on the launch beach. In the water, we could see folks in kayaks and on boards. My first view of someone in the surf zone was a kayaker trying to get out to the lineup; a wave faced up and sent the kayaker flying over backwards. Quite a melee on the reef and beyond. We weren’t sure what to expect once we got out there as it never looks the same once you’re in it as it does from shore. Still it was a sunny day and the first opportunity I’d had to enjoy some real winter waves.

I chatted amicably with folks as I paddled out. The word was that only a few had made it to the outside as waves were breaking huge all across the reef, making passage to the outside a scary ordeal. Luck was with me though and as I paddled out, I saw one or two kayakers already on the outside. As I headed for them most of the kayakers I was with stopped as if the ocean had drawn an invisible line that they dared not cross. I guess I was still on a high from my recent trip and excited at an early start to the winter season after last year’s wave-poor winter. 

I paddled a bit south of Mushroom Rock and just a bit outside of it. Almost as soon as I reached the spot, I caught my first wave. The Half Moon Bay buoy was reading 16 feet at 14 seconds and the waves were often big and steep with much larger sets at the Mavericks break just outside of where I was. As that first wave reached me, I took off like a shot and was quickly engulfed in a wall of white. Yeeeeeeeehaaaa — what a rush! I’m glad the ride came so soon after I paddled out because the waves were an ominous size and too much time sitting and thinking about how big they were would do nothing to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

I was able to make it back out easily and almost immediately took off again. What an auspicious start to the day! A little while later, I met O’Brien on the outside and while we chatted I saw a big one coming. “I’m going for it,” I called to her and was soon staring down a steep face. As I took off, it was as if a large CO2 canister had been ignited behind me and I rocketed down the face, yelling with joy. Heading across the reef, I could feel the wave’s energy dissipate and then the foam pile slammed into me, the wave peaked up again and my speed actually increased. Anderson who had seen the end of my run, laughed and welcomed me back to the coast. 

While sitting on the inside for a brief rest before heading back out, suddenly a dreaded call rang out, “Swimmmmmmmer!” Medler had seen an overturned boat and its owner in the water next to it. It was Lee Van Pelt, whom I had never met but have wanted to because I’ve heard of his exploits on the river. Van Pelt’s paddle had been stripped from him on a big wave; he still managed to hang in for a bumpy ride, but when he got flipped sans paddle he had to bail. A group of us managed to get him back in his boat — twice. With low-volume boats like Van Pelt’s, it can be hard to get a swimmer back in without inadvertently filling the boat up again and that’s just what happened the first time. We eventually got it right, Joerger found Van Pelt’s paddle, and the game continued. 

O’Brien had her contacts stripped from her face in another wave and had to call it a day. One by one people dropped away. That left Joerger and me and a group of board surfers on their way out. I caught a few more rides and felt I was reaching the “Just One More” point of the session. That’s the point where you start to say “just one more” before each wave you take. Sometimes that can go on for hours. It could be because you’re looking for that perfect elusive ride or because the rides are all so wonderful you’re having too much fun to pull yourself away. Well, I saw a wave that I thought was going to be “the one.” I paddled hard to catch it and as I rose to the crest, the ocean fell away in front of my bow. Immediately my heart leaped into my throat as I looked down at a 20-foot vertical maw. I’ve seen plenty of huge drops but never one quite so steep from such a precarious perch as I hung over the precipice looking straight down. It was exciting and terrifying. I resigned myself to the drop, and then it was over. Instead of careening down the face, the wave roared underneath me and I fell off the back side. It was amongst the biggest waves, and certainly the steepest drops, that I never caught. And truth be told, I was pretty happy about that.

I did catch my final wave and had a wonderful ride. Afterwards a group of us headed to El Gran Amigo for some Mexican food and a recap of the day. As I returned home and put my key in the door, I could see the ocean glittering in the sunlight through the trees. Ahhhh it’s good to be living on the coast!

Passionate about the outdoors, Gregg Berman is a kayak instructor, expedition leader, docent at Fitzgerald Marine Reserve and 6-year coastal resident. When forced indoors he’s an emergency room nurse. He can be reached at ofarchesandants@yahoo.com..