Again...One Day

I’m dreaming about standing against the rail by the lighthouse overlooking the water in Santa Cruz, with the cool, salty breeze licking my face. The birds are landing on the seals out on that rock. The ocean just goes. In between the Boardwalk and the lighthouse is Cowell’s, where I used to surf. You take the stairs down to the water, let the cold water fill your wetsuit, say to yourself “…Okay”, then start paddling. Then you wait. It’s mostly waiting. Then you come back out after it carried you in. Someone asks, “How was it?!” maybe wishing that’d taken that one too. The feeling of the water on my skin, the booties on the feet, reminds me of diving. I hear the underwater sound of breathing through the regulator. I feel the stiffness of the blade strapped to my ankle because the towering bull kelp can get you in trouble if the water pushes it around just right. You are constantly adjusting your buoyancy, trying to get your body just right in this foreign place. Your hands are a bit less dexterous but now you have a stronger urge to feel your surroundings because you are only under here for such a short time. A bumpy chocolate chip star, a pokey urchin, a squishy bulb on the kelp. The shadow from another diver freaks you out because your initial instinct tells you it’s a predator. He waves and you nod and you carry on, investigating, breathing, checking your gauges. When you get out you’re hungry and thirsty and lust after a hot, freshwater shower. You rinse your equipment and think about how you’re going to do it and where you’re going to go next time.


I’m daydreaming of my foot on the first hold at the bottom of the rock, searching upward for a good grip. I look at my partner belaying and ask, “Ready?” “Ready”. “…Okay”. And for some reason my palms start sweating already, even though I’m still on the ground. I guess they know those words. I guess they know I’m going up. That’s what the chalk is for. I rub the chalk on my palms and fingertips, a little on my nose or cheek to be silly. Then I climb. You contort your body to find the slightest stability. You pull your body with your fingertips and push your body with the balls of your feet. You look down, smile at your partner, they smile back, one fist gripped around the rope behind their waist another just above their bellybutton. Almost there. You’re thinking about getting to the top, but down below, he is watching how you do it. You kick off the wall and he slowly lets you back down. Your achy, exhilarated muscles are shaking slightly because, if you’re like me, you don’t do this every day. It feels fantastic. You feel like you’re ready to try the next hardest way up.