Killer Waves

What was I thinking?

Golden rays shining through the silvery clouds gave Anahola Beach an amber glow. A steady surf of soft, rolling waves crashed onto the beach as Gage and I strolled along it, leaving twin sets of footprints in the sand. We were celebrating our 10th anniversary and were still very much in love.

Down the way, three kids, probably 12 or 13 years old, were catching those soft waves, gliding over the surf with their chests high and arms stretched out. They then floated on their backs, waiting for the next wave. The local boys, or 'maoli' in Hawaiian, made bodysurfing look easy.

“Don’t even think about it,” Gage said, anticipating my reaction to the sight. “You are not going to try that.”

“I might, just a little bit,” I answered.

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Gage scolded.

I kicked some sand with his toe and decided to play the Scolding Game.

“Man, I never get to go bodysurfing,” I grumbled. “All the other kids get to, but I don’t ...”

“If all the other kids jumped off a cliff, would you?” Gage answered, playing his part in the script.

“I would if it was fun,” I pouted.

“Well, think again, bub. You’re not going out there.”

“We’ll see ...”

It was a game we played a lot: One of us pretended that life was unfair, and the other one lectured about how he knows what’s best for the other one. The one being scolded answered with “What-everrr” and never took it seriously.

This time, however, I should have let Gage lay down the law.

Kauai has 73,000 permanent residents and 100,000 visitors a month. On average, eight people drown each year on the island. On the very last day of the year, I was almost No. 9.

* * *

The sun was finally burning through the gray haze that had covered the island for two days. Gage, who had been nursing a cold, felt a bit sunnier, too. We walked over from our B&B to Anahola Beach. I brought along a snorkel mask and fins.

Unfortunately, I discovered that the water was too murky for good snorkeling and still a bit too chilly on the north end of the beach. We headed toward the south end, where the sun had been shining longer.

Anahola Beach has an easy slope and fine sand, making it really nice for a morning stroll. A reef protects the shore on the north end. About halfway, a stream empties out. Past the stream, the surf is a lot stronger.

Gage and I stopped to watch the body surfers. 

“I could so do that,” I said.

“Uh-uh.”

We walked to a good spot and laid out our towels. I propped myself on my elbows and watched the surf. Far out, it was choppy, but closer in, it didn’t look so bad.

“I’m going in, just a little ways,” I said.

Gage arched his eyebrow at me and gave me a disapproving “hmmm,” but didn’t object.

Was I in over my head?

I waded in. The bottom was really shallow. I kept going -- ankle deep, shin deep, knee deep. I got to a point where the waves were breaking and looked back.

Wow, I said to myself, I’m pretty far out.

But the water was still only waist-deep. I let some waves crash into my chest and was knocked back a couple of steps. Strong, but not strong enough to bodysurf. I had bodysurfed before — on my first visit to Hawaii — 20-some years earlier, and also during a vacation on South Padre Island in Texas.

I ventured out farther, slowly, jumping up as the waves came crashing over me. The highest ones were over my head now, but in between swells, I could still touch bottom.

The waves were really good for surfing now. I caught a couple of good ones, my body gliding along on the crest of a wave. After a few, I let out a whoop and motioned for Gage to take my picture. Seeing how small he looked, I decided that I had better not go any farther. I dug my toes into the sand, confident that I was still safe.

The surf was really rough now. Some waves carried me a good ways, but sometimes they went right over me and I didn’t make any progress toward the shore.

I rode a pretty good wave, and all of a sudden, the bottom dropped out. I couldn’t touch bottom.

No problem, I thought. I had just hit a deeper spot. I would catch the next wave.

But the next wave went over me, and I was still treading water.

“Okay, get the next one.”

Same thing happened. Try again. Same thing.

I looked toward the shore for Gage. He wasn’t there! On the next cresting wave, I rose up and caught a glimpse of Gage -- way off to my left. 

“I’m drifting sideways, not toward shore.”

The waves kept coming, not giving me any time to catch my breath. I was treading and trying to swim with each incoming wave. A hundred different thoughts washed over me as well.

“Okay, I must be in a riptide ... Swim sideways, that’s what you’re supposed to do ...”

I turned and swam parallel to the shore. I didn’t seem to be making much headway. I looked ashore for Gage, and he was even farther to my left than before!

“He doesn’t even realize I’m having trouble.”

I kept trying to ride a wave in closer, but I didn’t seem to make any progress.

“... I’m getting tired ... I can’t keep this up ...”

A really big wave caught me off guard. I went under. I saw the bubbles rising as I sank, and the light from above fading.

“Crap! This is exactly how it looks in the movies when someone is drowning ... No, no, no, no, no.”

I kicked hard.

“... Head above water, head above water ... I’m in trouble ... I need help ... There must be someone around ... But there’s only Gage ... He still doesn’t know I’m in trouble ... I’d better yell ...

“Help!

“... I don’t think he heard me ... And even if he does, what’s he going to do? He can’t rescue me. We’ll both end up in trouble ... Is there a boat nearby? No ...

“HELP!

“I think he heard me that time ... He’s getting up ... Don’t come out here, don’t come out here ... I can’t drown ... It will ruin Gage’s vacation ... He’ll hate Hawaii forever ... And what about Mom and Dad? and my sister?

“Dammit, the newspapers will say, “Iowa tourist drowns on New Year’s Eve” ...

“... So tired ...

“Okay, I am NOT going to be a headline ... I am NOT going to die this way ...

“C’mon, Tim ... Make all those workouts count for something, all those weights you lifted. Pump those arms! I didn’t lose 25 pounds for nothing. Catch this wave. Swim, SWIM!

“... Okay, I think I’m getting somewhere ... Where’s Gage? No! He’s heading out this way ...

“C’mon. I can do this ... I have the stamina ... I have the muscles ...

“Here comes a wave. Ride it! Go go go! ... Wait, my toe! It touched! Okay, again! Go go go ...”

I ended up at the point where the waves were breaking, far to the left of where he went in.

“YES! I feel sand!”

Gage was wading in. He realized that I was in trouble. He was in up to his knees.

“He still looks so far away though ... Swim, dammit, swim ... Yes! I’m touching!

“Okay, get a foothold ...

“All right, keep your head up ... Keep going ... Swim! ... Both feet touching now ... so tired ...

“I think I can stand now ... water’s only up to my waist ... oh, but I’m too tired to stand ... whoa, that wave knocked me down ...”

I felt Gage grab me by the arm. He pulled me up, and dragged me ashore.

“There’s the shore ... almost there ... almost ... unh ...”

I flopped down on my stomach and elbows. I took in huge gulps of air.

“I am so out of breath ... I’m gasping ... This is what gasping for air is like ...”

I lay there for a good 10 minutes. Two other guests of our B&B, Dale and Rodrigo, walked up the beach toward us. They were talking to me, but I couldn’t focus on anything except breathing. My mouth tasted like salt water. It was getting drier and drier. I was so thirsty.

Gage went to get our towels. I managed to get to my knees. Rodrigo said something to me, but I couldn’t make it out. I tried to follow Gage, but I sank to my knees.

“I’m so tired ...”

We were at least a mile from the B&B. I wasn’t sure I could walk the whole way, but what choice did I have? Then Dale said that they had driven to the beach access point. We could take their rental car back. It was parked just on the other side of the stream — 150 yards, tops. I mumbled my gratitude — it’s all I could muster — and started trudging in that direction.

My mouth was parched; my legs were rubber; my head was pounding; and I had an adrenaline rush like I had never felt before. But I was exhausted, and I still hadn’t caught my breath. 

Outside our room, I stripped off my swimsuit right there on the patio. (It was a clothing-optional B&B.) A bucket of sand fell with it. Another bucket clung to my body. I walked into the outdoor shower and started drinking as water from the shower head cascaded over me.

Water ... water ... fresh water …

* * *

I had quite a tale to tell the fellow guests at the villa’s New Year’s Eve party — and the first thing they wanted to know was whether I was a strong swimmer.

“I do okay,” I said. But the truth was, I was a pool swimmer. Obviously, growing up in Kansas and currently living in Iowa didn’t give me much ocean experience. I also lived in Florida for 10 years, but that hadn’t helped because the Gulf Coast doesn’t get very high surf.

It turned out that my situation was a textbook case in what NOT to do. I disobeyed nearly every guideline on beach safety. The bed-and-breakfast even had a pamphlet:

Kaua’i Beach Safety Guide

1. Swim in lifeguarded areas.

Nope. If there was a lifeguard at Anahola Beach Park, I was too far away from him. And he was probably 100 yards from the kids who were bodysurfing.

2. Watch the ocean for at least 20 minutes before entering.

Nope. I watched it for maybe 10 minutes. Not enough time to notice hazardous conditions.

3. Always swim with a buddy.

Nope. Gage stayed on the beach.

4. Never swim near the mouth of a river.

Oops. The stream empties on Anahola Beach, splitting it in two.

The bottom line: I was about as stupid as I could get. (And I should have listened to Gage in the first place.)

* * *

Dale said that this may be a life-changing experience. He and I talked about the deeper meaning of it all.

Was I lucky? Was it fate? Was I saved because I’m destined for greater things? Was it divine intervention?

“Beats the hell out of me ...” I said.

I had been agnostic for a long time. I had never been sure what I really believed. Did God exist or didn’t he? Are religions based on anything except a culture’s need for a moral code and for simple answers to life’s fundamental questions? These are issues I had pondered for a long time.

So, when an occasion arose that I could have -- some would say should have -- called on a higher power, I didn’t. I never called out to God or Jesus or Allah or Buddha — or even the Hawaiian god Lono —to save me.

I had found the strength within myself. Pride, stubbornness, determination, and concern about causing others embarrassment and pain had pushed me. Well, all that and a fear of dying. But no one saved me except myself.

Doesn’t that, then, make me an atheist? No, I didn’t think so. I would keep an open mind, but I was now more certain of the strength of my convictions.

So what changes?

I am reluctant to say that I'm going to turn my life around. The fact is, I have a pretty good life. And it's hard to plot out a new course as I am sitting by the fireplace, trying to survive another frigid Iowa winter. Time and distance are causing the initial feelings of relief and awe to fade as fast as my tan did.

So, I guess, if anything is going to change, it will be that I am more determined to enjoy life – spend more time with friends and family, travel more, drink more wine, and love my man more. Because I almost lost him — and he almost lost me.”