Waves crashed down on my battered body. “Turtle roll!” Kris shouted from a distance. I popped up gasping for air. Two arms. Two legs. I was still in one piece. Off on the horizon the next set was rolling in fast. The morning fog had finally burned off, revealing a scattered line of locals and pros waiting to catch the next big wave. This place was no joke. Be on your game. No rookie mistakes. Time the wave. Something funny happens when you’re out on the water. Your mind shuts off. You feel more connected to the water, air, sun, the pulsing of the waves. We rode bravely that day.
Later on we piled in the car and headed south along the coast toward Big Sur. Perched high on the California coast this magical place boasts 90 miles of rugged coastline, beautiful beaches and rugged hikes. The sheer vastness of the Pacific from its high cliffs takes your breath away. As we wound homeward along Highway 1, the last bits of warm sunlight darted through the sequoia trees. Sunburnt and weary I could still taste saltwater on my lips. I felt one with the ocean and filled with a deep sense of peace.
Sand on my pillow.
Waves crash down.
My mind is still.
I am released.