Dawn broke on the North Jetty. Its geometric pylons interlocked into a finger that cut across the beach and extended a quarter mile offshore into deep water. It was January, the best month for jetty waves. Surf conditions were good today. A northwest swell and southeast winds meant clean heavy waves
Surf blasted over the pylons and soaked the slick concrete path that led out to the end of the breakwater. Satiny irdescent pinks and golds lit the hulking pylons and spread between the crests of waves.
Pateras was the first to paddle out, and he had the surf all to himself. Straddling his board, he watched the horizon. It was cold, but earlier in the week, he had closed a very lucrative contract and celebrated by purchasing himself a 7’ 10” Steve Boehne big wave gun, a new wetsuit, and 5 mm booties. His face was a little numb, but his core and feet were warm.
On the horizon, a gorgeous right was forming. He felt butterflies in his stomach as it took shape. He paddled in, turned, and caught it. His body hummed, electric. The wave was double overhead at least. He dropped into it and skittered down the face. The thick lip cracked behind him as it broke. He leaned into the wave, put his hand on the surface to balance, and buried himself deep in the barrel.
Inside, it was a luminous vortex of air, turquoise spray, and refracted light. He looked out at the jetty. Framed in the ellipse of the tube, it glowed in the honeyed sunrise. He truly felt like a god. A ball of foam and air exploded out as the back of the wave closed. It swallowed him, and blasted him out of the tube. Crouching lower, he gained speed, and nosed up to hit the lip. Then he dropped back down onto the face of the wave, and he flew.
He rode that wave all the way to the beach, turned, and paddled back out for more. Body singing, he sat outside the break about 30 meters from the jetty and watched the horizon. As he crested the top of a wave, he noticed something in the water off to his right.
What is that? Sharks were always a possibility. Humboldt County was part of the white triangle, the migratory path for great white sharks headed to the Farrallon Islands to mate and pup. There had been three attacks at the South Jetty in the last five years, of which two had been fatal. He stilled himself and squinted. As the crest of the next wave passed under him, he saw it again.
It was a person about fifteen meters out from the pylons. Light glinted briefly off pale arms that flailed at the surface, appearing, then vanishing in the dip of the waves. Cries for help caught up in snatches of breeze buffeted his ears. It was a woman. Those waves are going to smash her to pieces on the rocks. He dropped onto his belly and paddled hard toward her.
When he reached the end of the jetty, he searched for her beneath the surface, his face close to the water. Suddenly, she was directly below him—pale face looking up, eyes wide and dark in the shadows. Black hair eddied around her as she extended white palms and reached for him. He flinched.
Then he caught himself, and sat up. He braced his knees to leverage the ballast of the the board and reached down. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her up. She came to the surface retching and crying, hair plastered to her face.
“Move to the back of the board and pull yourself up!” he yelled.
He felt her weight as she dragged herself onto the board. Shifting back onto his belly, he bent his knees and made room for her. Then he paddled back to shore.
When he reached the shallows, he helped her stand, and they waded onto the beach, where she collapsed on the sand. He knelt beside her. Her skin was translucent and blue with cold. Her body quaked.
“We need to get you to a hospital. You're hypothermic. Come on. Can you stand up?”
When she didn’t respond, he bent down and picked her up. He carried her to his SUV. Depositing her on her feet, he propped her against the back fender and opened the hatch. Inside the Range Rover, there was a thick blanket and a towel.
The woman was barefoot and wearing only a white cotton dress and a straw-colored wool sweater that was saturated and hung heavily from her body. It was a ridiculous thing to wear in Humboldt County in January.
“What are you wearing? Where are your shoes?” he said.
She didn’t respond, just slumped against the truck and shuddered. He stripped off her sweater, dried her hair and body briskly with the towel, and wrapped her in the blanket.
“Let’s get you in the truck,” he said.
She leaned into him silently, and he led her to the passenger side, where he bundled her in and scrubbed the sand from her feet. Then he started the engine and cranked up the heater. He ran back to the beach to retrieve his board.
He put the board in the hard case on top of the truck and changed out of his wetsuit. Trucks and buses filled the parking lot now. Boards were offloaded, and white buckets stuffed with clammy wetsuits appeared from trunks and truck beds. The whole army of Humboldt surfers would be out today. He was leaving just in time.
She spoke as he got in the truck.
“I don’t want to go to the hospital. I just need to get warm.”
Her voice was sweet and husky, and she had an accent. He looked closely at her. She seemed familiar. That was because, like him, she was Greek. Though he had lost his accent years ago, he would know it anywhere.
She looked away from him.
“Are you sure? I can take you to Mad River Hospital or the Arcata Clinic. You’re hypothermic.”
“No. Please, I just need to get warm. I don’t want to sit in an emergency room. Please, just take me home.”
She looked at him briefly. His golden head was backlit by the sun. He was a giant. She looked back out at the ocean.
“Please, I just want to go home.”
“As you wish,” he said. “Do you live in Arcata?”
“I have a house near the university.”
“Okay. What were you doing out on the jetty in that surf?”
She turned to him. Even half-drowned, she was beautiful. Her bone structure and her bright gold eyes were stunning.
“I’m so cold. I don’t have the energy to explain right now.”
“Okay. I get it. What’s your name?” he asked.
“Edie.”
“Alright. Let’s get you home, Edie.”
Her house was an island surrounded by a stand of California Redwoods. When they arrived, he helped her inside. She asked him if he could make a fire. Of course. She had well-seasoned dry oak stacked in her woodshed. He prepared the fire, and within a short time, the house, which was relatively small, began to warm up. She huddled in front of it.
He asked if he could help her prepare a bath. She said no.
“Is your car back at the jetty?” he asked.
“I can have a friend drive me back to get it later. I’ve got it from here. Thank you.”
“I really don’t like to leave you like this. Let’s at least exchange contact information. I want to check in on you,” he said.
“Sure. Can you add yourself to my phone?”
Her hands shook as she gave him her phone.
They exchanged information. She wanted her space, so he left her.
To be continued…
This piece beautifully captures the raw power of nature and the fragility of humanity against it. The tension between survival, vulnerability, and the unspoken connection between the characters is compelling—well done!
Also, I wouldn’t “lean into the wave” but rather down it, you lean towards the trough of the wave (the downward part if that makes sense). But obviously I’m nitpicking. Your description is quite good but since you asked for feedback I couldn’t help get all technical 😅.