My heart is steadily racing faster and faster as I continue to stare out into the massive sets that parade towards me. My feet are sore standing on jagged rocks out on the halfway point on the infamous Punta de Lobos. My hands are quietly trembling from a stiff shot of fear and adrenaline. My head is throbbing as I scan the break for other surfers. Not a soul in sight. I convince myself it’s because it’s a workday before the start of the major tourist season in Pichilemu and not because there’s some unforeseen reason not to be out there right now. I begin to feel extremely alone and quite vulnerable as I replay my route past the 40 feet of jagged rocks, past the break, and into the what-would-be lineup. I’m the type of person that recites mottos in his head as a source of inspiration at critical moments, and “you only live once Matt just go for it” is currently on repeat.
“My heart is steadily racing faster and faster as I continue to stare out into the massive sets that parade towards me. My feet are sore standing on jagged rocks out on the halfway point on the infamous Punta de Lobos. My hands are quietly trembling from a stiff shot of fear and adrenaline. ”
Out of nowhere I hear a shout, “Hola, ¡Por aquí!” I look to my left and spot a small figure with surfboard in-hand making its way down the side of the cliff surrounding me. I take a step back from the ledge and observe the small dark man with a grin from ear to ear begin jogging my way. He’s laughing when he gets to me and says something quickly in Spanish I can’t make out and I reply “No hablo español bueno!” This statement puts him over the edge and he roars with laughter for a moment before pointing to the break and exclaiming “Big!”. I quietly chuckle to myself, sigh, and reflect on my current predicament -- facing likely the largest waves I’ve ever encountered.
Before I could think about it anymore my new friend was jogging off to another ledge farther down from where I was standing and waving for me to follow. In that moment my fear slipped away and morphed into a stream of adrenaline. I knew that I was going to take a risk and paddle out with the local. I rationed that this risk was for me. There were no bystanders, cameras, friends, or other surfers to impress. Only me and… “Tu nombre!?” I shout as I catch up with the local. He turns around and with that same smile he shouts “Mi nombre Luis!,Vamos!”
Luis makes his way up a rock and gazes out into the oncoming set. I can tell this will be our launch point. He turns to me and says “un momento” and gestures that we have to wait for a break in the set to paddle out. After what felt like a half hour (but was likely only a few minutes) Luis finally finds the lull in the waves he was looking for and in one swift motion recoils and launches himself into the water. I ponder my next move for a half second, say quick prayer of “holy shit” aloud, and take a leap of faith into the mercy of the sea.
My body begrudgingly enters the cold Pacific water and the sea punches back with a small wave that takes my breath away. I feel vulnerable in that moment as I realize how far I need to paddle to get past the large masses of rocks to my right. For me, the optimistic, mountains, trails, and waves always looks smaller and easier from a distance. This time was no different. The rocks now look like massive walls ready to swallow my fragile body if I make a wrong move. By now, Luis is already becoming a smaller figure on the horizon but continues to stop and wave towards me to follow him. I begin paddling as hard as I can. A mantra begins by repeating -- as I paddle with my left arm “Mother!” and with my right arm “Fucker!”. I rarely curse but it motivates me, makes me laugh at the absurdity of the moment, and turns my paddling into quite a nice rhythm.
I can see a large set building on the horizon as I look to my left and continue to book it towards Luis who is now sitting on his board stretching his arms. Shoulders screaming and gasping for breath I reach Luis who receives me with a calm smile and a gesture that the waves are on their way. At this point I notice the iconic pair of rocks that mark the tip of the point at Punta de Lobos. My heart skips a beat as I picture the videos of my hero Jeff Johnson surfing at this break. I reflect on the history of the waters in which I float. The water is holy. I’ve dreamed about this moment since watching 180 Degrees South.
The set was now upon us and Luis was paddling hard towards the white of the break point. Luis looked tiny as he paddled over the waves I could finally see what I was going to be taking on. I loyally follow him and decide that I will try to emulate his movements. Suddenly, I realize that I am going to be in position first and my mind goes blank. A massive wall of water peaks close to me and I begin to paddle hard.
With a woosh I’m sent speeding down the face of the wave and jump to my feet. I lean slightly to my left and speed farther down the face until I’m in position. I let out a small woo! as to not let myself relax but can’t fight my smile. To my left is a wall of water that stands over my head and to my right is the roaring of the wave breaking behind me. The feeling is like no other. I would guess it’s like how walking on the moon must feel, and I concede that I am more present in this moment than any other moment in my life.
After attempting to take a sharp turn I fall and am sent flopping through the whitewater of the wave. It’s heavy on my body and churns me for a moment before spitting me back out. I shoot out of the water to take a gasp.
“Yewww!” I yell at the top of my lungs and pump my fist back at Luis. I take a moment to let my senses return and allow them to bask in what just happened. It’s resolved that if I somehow suddenly died in this moment that I would be fine with it and perish a happy man. But death didn't come and there was another set building on the horizon past my new friend Luis. There was only one thing for me to do.