From the moment I became a surfer in my teenage years, I forever changed the way my brain looks at the ocean.
Decades have passed, and it's never been the same anymore.
When I was a kid, I associated the ocean with the big Atlantic winter waves hitting the breakwaters of my hometown, or with playful fun during summer holidays.
I vividly remember watching the powerful January swells slamming the short beach and rocky formations of the Foz area in Porto, Portugal.
It was as if my beautiful city were under attack by Nature's liquid army. Those Atlantic monsters were heavy, brutal, and ruthless.
People die because they were curious or just playing with the elements. This happened (and happens) nearly every year, despite the high surf warnings issued by the authorities.
Winter waves never spared anyone, at least in Portugal.
And even during summer, we knew that August's infamous "marés vivas" (something like spring tides powered by large swells) would eventually take the lives of young and old.
You'd really have to pay attention during these days, and lifeguards would be constantly in the water rescuing fearless souls whose reputations quickly went from brave to embarrassed.
"You have to respect the ocean," I'd hear constantly.
I knew that during these red-flagged "marés vivas," I was not allowed to get my feet on the foamy broken whitewater that rushed up the beach at full speed.
In other words, it meant a boring or less fun day at the beach. Nothing else more than that. Besides, there was no surfing in my region.
The Surfing Perspective of the Ocean
So, my brain will always archive pre- and post-surfing era visions of the mighty sea.
Actually, to most people, the ocean is vast, beautiful, and intimidating; something to admire or relax beside. A place where you can dip and swim before a long tanning session.
But to a surfer, it's something completely different. It's a parallel reality with its own living, breathing system; an entity with a beating heart.
Since I've stood up on a wave, the ocean became like a road where we can travel here and there, powered by its own energy system: the swell and the waves.
I've paid my tribute to the waves the best I could, just using words. But maybe I should check it once in a while and update it.
So, the magnetic effect the view of the ocean has on me, a lifelong surfer, is on the antipodes of that of a non-surfer.
We, surfers, can barely appreciate a beautiful blue "sea of ocean" from the top of a cliff without aiming our eyes at potential wave-riding opportunities that could pop here and there.
Even a waveless, flat ocean is analyzed from the perspective of the existence or nonexistence of waves.
Sometimes, we want to see a miracle happen, i.e., a one-foot roller that we could potentially ride and have fun on.
It's a disease. It's obsessive-compulsive. It's paranoia-meets-dreams.
I have spent hours walking around an island searching for mini waves that never quite materialized into rideable surf. This is true.
I cannot look at the ocean with the mindset that it's just a large and beautiful body of water.
There Is No Way Back
I've been asked several times, "Goodness, can't you just enjoy this amazing view of the sea without thinking about waves?..."
I'm afraid not. Truly sorry.
In my brain, the ocean is a source of waves. I cannot dissociate the ocean from the presence of a wave, no matter how small it is.
It's an automatic mechanism that you have no control over. But I can live with that because you, dear reader, also share the same symptom.
Most people stand at the shoreline, see the distance, the vastness, and enjoy the sunset on the horizon.
Surfers stand there and see timing, rhythm, and energy. It's inevitable.
I've read an interesting comparison online: it's like the difference between someone looking at sheet music and a musician hearing the song in their head.
A surfer's relationship with the ocean is physical, emotional, and instinctive, and once you've felt what it's like to ride a wave, you can't look at the sea the same way again.
And even though I'd love to lose this perspective once in a while, and go back to my childhood years, it's also something I nurture and cherish.
If there is something that makes surfers a different class, this is a cool one, and I'm proud of it. It's like a special gift that only a few hold and that keeps us connected to the magic of Nature.
Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com
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