No, but seriously.
Riding twenty-five feet of purepoweris not for the faint of heart. It’s not something many people can say they’ve done. Not even most surfers can say they’ve successfully ripped a twenty-foot swell.
Waves like that are for professional big-wave surfers. It takes training, dedication, and perseverance to tame a wave like the ones that break at Leviathans every winter.
It’s something I’d always planned on working toward in my lifetime; I just didn’t expect to be chasing this dream so soon.
But here I was, signing the final sale documents for the small beach shack I had found listed for astealin Stars Cove.
Apparently, local Stars Cove surfers had been sitting on this secret beach for years, knowing that the waves that swelled in the winter months would attract surfers from all over the world once word got out that there was a California beach that could produce such monsters.
As I signed my name on the dotted line, ignoring the quizzical look of the realtor as she watched me fritter away my entire inheritance in less than thirty seconds, I had to smile at that.
I supposed they had been right.
I was not from California, but here I was. Ready to show these local Leviathan tamers what I could do.
I was born near Virginia Beach, and that’s where I actually got my start surfing. The waves were small, but so was I at the time.
Despite being a beach known to be best for beginners, the surf culture was strong, and that’s where I learned the basics of the sport. I rode my first wave on a foamie at eight years old, and I still remember my best friend, Turtle, grinning and whooping like an idiot as I skated across the water on my own two feet for the very first time.
My mom and I didn’t have a lot of money, but it never seemed to matter. She always managed to put food on the table for us. She had to work two jobs to keep a roof over our heads, and because of this, she had always been really supportive of my love for surfing.
It kept me busy and out of trouble.
My dad bounced before I was born, and it used to bother me when I was younger. I asked my mom about him a lot in the beginning.
‘Why doesn’t he want us, Mommy? Why’d he leave us all alone?’
‘You’re not alone, sweet boy. I’m right here!’she used to tell me with a wink.
As I grew and saw just how much my mom tried to be the best of both parents for me, I stopped hoping he would someday come back for me.
Of course, it sucked that he didn’t want me… wantus.
But my mom was right; we had each other, and that was enough.
Until one day, Mom didn’t come home from her shift.
I had just turned eighteen and was wiped from spending the day at the beach with Turtle.
She wasn’t in the single-story bungalow we had been renting since before I could remember, which wasn’t out of the norm. She often worked late and just ate when she got back.
I made dinner for us and passed out on the couch, waiting for her to come home and tell me about her day. She worked at our localComfort Inn, and she often hadhilariousstories about the guests who stayed there.
I woke up around midnight, and she still wasn’t home. I’ll never forget the sinking feeling in my gut the moment it occurred to me something was wrong.
Every time I tried to call her, her phone went to voicemail. I tried to convince myself I was overreacting, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling that my life was about to change forever.
I called Turtle in a panic. My mom and I shared a car, and she had taken it to work that day, so I had no wheels. Turtle picked me up, and together, we drove around for hours looking for her.
It was around three am when I received a call from the police, informing me that my mother had been involved in an accident with a drunk driver, and they needed me to come to the morgue to identify her body.
Turtle held me while I sobbed, and my entire life fell to pieces around me.
She was gone, and now, I reallywasalone.
