On Fear

Dale paddled up to me and said, "Fear comes from the unknown or when you feel your skills are overmatched by the circumstances."

At that particular moment I was scared. We had just left a pretty calm beach on Porpoise Point, Vilano Beach, and paddled across the St Augustine inlet to the more east facing beach of Anastasia State Park. We had scrapped the original plan of paddling out to the offshore buoy in favor of surfing. Seeing the 2 to 3 foot swell in the distance, the big dogs wanted to go play.

When we got to the area, above marked "approximate area of sandbar," the swell became distinct, and quite surf-worthy. The period was about 12 seconds between each wave, perfect for surfing long boats. Initially, I was playing in the small breaks near the shore, warming up, letting the waves force me to brace, trying to avoid the side surf. I felt completely comfortable.

Dale called us out into the bigger swell a few minutes later, away from shore, and I became tense. Now, I *know* playing in shore break is more dangerous than it would seem. It is really hard to roll when one is trapped between their boat and the sand. But there was something about being pulled out of my chosen location that instantly led me to doubt my skills. I told Ashley I was scared and Dale came over with his timely comment.

The swells were larger farther out and they were really noisy. I find the roaring of the break the most disconcerting thing. It feels like a train coming up behind me. Ashley had taken me aside and was working with me but I was becoming more and more afraid. It was one of those times when my fear had risen to the silly level, right past "reasonable" to "freaked out."

I decided to paddle back to a calmer area, leaving Ashley to play. Somewhere down the line, a freak wave rose up, totally broad side to me. I threw down 3 or so hard sweep strokes, trying to turn into it but was basically lateral to it. It rose up and curled above me and I knew I was going to get creamed, just crushed. Then it dropped on me. Oddly enough, I braced effectively for an incredibly long bongo surf, side surfing 50 or so yards.

Rick, who was sitting in the calm water on the other side of the sand bar said he thought "oh, she's a goner, for sure," especially when he could only see the tip of my bow and stern but the rest of me and my boat were buried in the foam pile. He said I was high up, it was a 5-6 foot wave.

And then I was free, it finally died enough that I could both see and make headway out.

Dale's quip came to mind--"Bad form Oona!! Now go wash your hands, and don't tell anyone what you did."

I had *never* felt so strong. I know it is a cliche, but yeah, I felt really alive. When we broke for lunch I was just flush with the joy of not swimming, of riding and not capsizing. Later Dale said that I needed to trust my body to know what to do. That experience was the perfect demonstration of that concept.

(Photos by Ashley, and maybe Tom)

With the tide going out we had to eddy-hop back through the inlet, hugging the rip-wrap on the edge. Then, we poked around the Salt Run, and finally walked over a sand bar before paddling back to the launch.

I was so happy. Might be the happiest day I ever paddled.