THE LONELY SURFER

Alone he sat, sometimes waiting for the sun to rise, sometimes in the twilight of night. His favorite time to be on the ocean was evening, for he hated the night, the loneliness of darkness, and so alone he sat. on that calm sea, the sun fading behind him below the horizon, on a small board he sat that back in those days was still made of wood. waiting for the ocean to erupt into a massive, raging wave, that would be so demanding of his body and mind that he would have no time to feel alone or dread the night, but to ride it, ignore it ( not really an option,ignoring it) or perhaps to die.


But sometimes it was best when the ocean was calm, for it was then, he could hear the sound of his own mind, surfing the universe of thoughts, dreams, fears and the unknown. The ocean was and has always been to him, the personification of the unknown, especially at night . He would often wonder what swam just beneath his feet. Perhaps only a few small fish, a squid, a jelly fish, or maybe ?, something much more threatening, perhaps a shark ?, out for an evening meal. The ocean both scared him and intrigued him, made him come back again and again, especially at twilight. For as the night grew darker, the ocean, and its' hidden mysteries grew deeper , and more daring, daring him to stay a minute longer, waiting, waiting to see, to see what anger awaited. To him it was life made solid, tangible, to be won or lost on a two minute ride.

At times he would intentionally go out on his board when he knew the tide was going out and the likelihood of any good waves, demanding to be ridden was remote. He did this because he wanted the calmness, he wanted the depths to talk to him, it was like being alone in his room late at night, when the rustle of leaves or a stray animal would make a sound outside his window, ah, but that he could explain. But this was the ocean, the endless unknown ocean, and he would hear sometimes, faintly, sometimes very near, the splash of sea life, a porpoise ? a fish ? a shark! ? or ?.... unlike the land, he felt there were no solid answers to the night sounds of the ocean. And that to him was like the mysteries of life, no solid answers. But as he sat there alone, it was almost like he could feel the lack of uncertainty, almost touch it, hold it, and in someway have some control over it. He could sink or swim, not a metaphor anymore, but a fact, if a wave came he could ride or fall, there was to a degree some control. He liked that.

But what about the actual surfing ? Well there is nothing like catching the big wave, riding the tunnel, hearing only the roar of the ocean, and again, alone, he against one of the mightiest forces God ever created, the ocean, and its' waves. You will not control them, the best you can hope to do is ride them, and hopefully to the safety of the land. But at times they will take you under, spin you around like a piece of cloth in a giant washer and then slam your body against the bottom, sometimes knocking the breath out of you, and you know at that instant that in some small way you have come face to face with death. But you rise to the top and let the rest of the wave take you safely home.

Some believe we as humans crawled from the sea. I have no reason to doubt that, and no reason to doubt that it was not God's plan for us to do so, for how many of us can truly say, no matter how far from the sea we may live, that in some way we are drawn to the ocean, a need to feel it, see it, and on some level understand it. Like coming home, it waits for us, just like it did for the lonely surfer.

A SMALL CABIN ON A MOUNTAIN TOP

It was May when I first drove the winding country road through the deepest parts of one of the most beautiful States in our country; West Virginia. The year was 1966: The Vietnam war was raging, young men and women were dying, protesters were marching and going to jail and some of them were dying as well. It was a time of almost diabolical contrast. The killing fields of Vietnam vs the loving fields of San Francisco, and other places. Woodstock was yet to be. United States President Lyndon Johnson was saying that we should stay in Vietnam until Communist aggression was stopped there. US troops now totaled 190,000, and 20,000 Buddhists marched in demonstrations against the policies of the military Government in South Vietnam.

Driving that back country road as the beauty of Spring was coming to life, I was feeling far removed from all that was going on in "the outside world." And yet, I was about as non removed as a person could be. My Father was Government. I was, in the words of John Fogerty; "a fortunate one." And yet, I had already refused to take part in the safe life, having publicly burned my draft card, refused induction into the Vietnam War after forcing the Selective Service to reclassify me from "fortunate" ( otherwise known as 3-A, that is a family hardship deferment ( What Hardship ?) and a college deferment to boot meant I was never going to Vietnam. Except I was not going to sit silently and watch others die while I took the easy road out. So as I drove that beautiful country road, I was remembering the day I was supposed to step forward and accept enlistment, but instead stepped backward and said " No Thank You," I laughed as I remembered the Sargent's face looking like it was about to explode.

So Prison was no doubt in my future. It was part of my plan to accept nothing that "they" would offer, but first I was going to have a little fun and and lead them, the FBI, and a few others on a merry chase for awhile. There will be more on those adventures in the future, but this is about the wonder and beauty of aloneness and the ability to sink into one's mind with the sounds of the City and the normal rush and noise of the day to day world left behind.

So driving on, I finally entered Alderson, West Virginia, but to get to where I was going would be a few more miles on paved road, then 2 miles up what amounted to little more than a trail. and the last two miles would be on foot. And as yet, there was no cabin, That would need to be built before the first cold began on my mountain top.

Walking up the last few hundred yards to where I would spend the next year of my life, I could see smoke. Were the woods on fire? The nearest cabin was about 3 miles on the other side of the mountain, so it could not be a fireplace. But it was. The friend that I would spend the next year with-a very self-efficient and capable woman had already built a fireplace of rock. In fact, it was one wall of what would be the cabin. Having no other heat or electricity, this fireplace would be used not only for heating the cabin but heating hot water and cooking. It was large enough to heat a very large kettle of water or food, with a side stove for baking. Other walls had been started, with the help of the nearest neighbors, as well as a garden begun. Emily, who owned the property, was also a military brat. But very against the war, her Father was a General in the Army, she was not just going to sit around and wait for me to arrive. Her abilities were made even more remarkable by her small delicate looking frame and pretty face. Not the type of look you would expect on a woman who would carry rocks and wood and begin the building of such a place.

When the cabin was finished, we tended the garden, grew sunflowers, and took long hikes either together or alone. A stream ran through the property about fifty yards from the cabin, from the top of the mountain where there was a medium size waterfall and I spent many hours alone there thinking of the future, the past, and mostly the beauty of the present. I heard birds singing, and occasionally the sound of something in the woods, could be a bear, wolf, or deer....this was true wilderness. It was not unusual to wake in the morning to see a deer or a few wolves playing in the yard, or a bear trying to get over the fence that protected the garden, or into the small barn built for one goat for milk. Goats milk, by the way, in my opinion is very good. And we had a few chickens for eggs. Fish came from the stream and meat was never eaten. We had beans, rice, plenty of vegetables, and fish. The diet was sound and healthy and provided by us for us, and not by the local Stop and Spend.

The mornings, even in the summertime, can be a little chilly and a fog will add an even deeper mystery to the world. Forms move across in the distance almost like spirits, and the Cardinal, the State bird of West Virginia, will begin to sing the sun awake while the soul seems to have found its place on this earth.

After a year I left Emily and that mountain. I never saw her or the mountain again. I often wonder, is she still living there, or if she also returned to a city somewhere remembering the mountain top days. Even if that is so, I like to think that there is still an old stone fireplace standing and reverberating the memories of long ago, and maybe the great grandson of that old bear still rubs against the garden fence, and the wolves welcome the moon at night and the Cardinal sings to the morning sun. It can take my soul back to that place of peace, believing that is true....