All the Soothing Waters Meet in Wrightsville Beach

Tis the season for many of the more awesome events to take place. That's the good news paddlers…some paddlers. The bad news for this paddler is that I am in good enough shape to go about half the distances these courses require. In 2014 I had hoped to travel to some of the more notable events but as can happen when we least expect it life and weather get in the way. When I cannot attend a race in a locale that is special to me I will exorcise the disappointment in way that is healthier than downing Budweisers put down in front of me by a scowling wife at the Old Town Ale House. Rather I will recall experiences I have had in these locations. This way I will be able to stifle the jealousy I might experience while all my brethren wave their paddles in an enviable solidarity at these events . This week the Carolina Cup will commence and I will be tucked between the rolling dunes in northwest Indiana staking out a fence for two unruly mongrels. Where I will be is a pretty special place in it's own right but where many of my friends and fellow paddlers will be this weekend has an aura that is all its own.

Now I regress...

As summer came to a close in 1996, so did one of my more memorable relationships, leaving me downtrodden, alone, and unaware of what to do next. I was living in Charleston, South Carolina after way too many years pursuing an unwanted college degree followed by an awkward year gainfully employed in New York's fashion industry. Manhattan had beaten me down into into a young man who had no idea who he was. I sought solace in the crown jewel of the south in order to imitate the lives of others and begin to develop my own niche. Being so insecure and lacking self confidence I knew I would be more comfortable dipping into someone else's life and stealing parts to build a foundation I might one day call my own. That someone did not need to be a real person. That person could be a construct. In Charleston, that person would be a character from a Pat Conroy novel.

The story I wanted to live had already been told numerous times and published for the masses. The pressure was off me trying to make my own way in the world. At first Charleston was not easy. For the first few months I spent many nights alone re-reading Conroy's novels planning my moves for the next day.  When an old boarding school mate visited town and acquainted me with a close group of people, that would soon include new friends and a few familiar faces from my dreaded prep school years, things fell into place quite nicely. I found myself having the time of my life waking up every day with a big smile on my face. Most mornings there was a hangover, before strong coffee could settle the storm, but that hangover came with a tan. That tan came from working in a boatyard with a great group of guys and a boss who was, and still is, a master craftsman. These guys taught me how to surf and put up with me as I spent months kooking it up and trying not to drown. Finally, I rode my first wave during Hurricane Bertha and went home to celebrate this triumph with a fine looking woman who had grown up south of Broad. I had studied the blueprints well!

What does this have to do with Wrightsville Beach??? I'm getting there…

Because I was living a life that was based on the work of another I was incapable of making decisions on my own that were mature, well-thought-out, and served an intended purpose. Good times only go on for so long then the realities of life on Earth command one's attention and demand a proper response. Works of fiction have no relevant chapter providing the blueprint for what to do next. My charmed existence in Charleston soon came to an abrupt end when my relationship with the local girl came to an abrupt end. Before our demise I had booked an non-refundable suite in a boutique hotel on Ocracoke Island, N.C. in order for us to have a romantic getaway. However, she decided to get away from me before the trip. What does one do when plans go awry with a lady and logistics are already in place near some of the best surf spots on the east coast? You load up the boys from the boatyard and head in a northerly direction with a cooler full of cold Budweisers and Thule rack piled high with surfboards.

Finally we arrive in Wrightsville Beach…

As we headed north on Route 17 it was either Jamison or Jaybird who suggested we stop in Wrightsville Beach to break up the drive and check out some waves. At the time, none of us had cell phones, laptops, or anything close to Internet access to find surf reports and locations. To find out where we should go we stopped into Surf City and met the former owner (whose name I forget but he was a super nice guy). He greeted us with smiles and provided us with plenty of good information. We immediately headed to what turned out to be a mighty fine surf spot that provided ample amounts of waves and a section of the beach that we would call our own for the day. My rehabilitation had begun.

I couldn't get over how clear the water was surrounding Wrightsville Beach. I wondered how such clarity was possible outside of the Caribbean, but I did not concern myself with the how or why for longer than a passing thought. Those waters were there for me and my companions to enjoy to the fullest. Those fine waters diluted the bitterness that had been circulating through me for far too many weeks. Sitting out in the ocean I started to feel the paralytic effect of stress ease off a bit. I began to think on my own and quickly realized what a jackass I had been. It was offshore of Wrightsville Beach that I shook my head in embarrassment at my epiphany: Pat Conroy would have never included someone who lived life as foolishly as I did in one of his works. By sunset I would begin to gain momentum into becoming the man God put me on earth to be. Some Swedish girls staying on Ocracoke Island would help further that momentum.

Salt water has always been the best prescription for healing what ails you, whether is be physical or mental. Such is true for all salt water but there certainly is something special about the waters that flow into and around Wrightsville Beach. It was in those clear salty waters that I began to heal after my character had been written out of Charleston's eternal story. I enjoyed the Outer Banks but I did cast some longing looks back to the south in the direction of those healing waters. There is substance in that part of the ocean unlike anywhere else. There is a power that encompasses you. The fortunate ones who realize they are in a special place can harness that power and channel it into any affected area of life that could use a good cleanse. I was struck by the place and knew one day I would return for a more in-depth exploration of the area.

I have been back several times since 1996, especially due to the explosion of SUP in the area. Back in January, my wife and I spent a week in Wrightsville Beach that coincided with the Cold Stroke Classic. Only can a race with awful, terrible, horrible, no good, very-bad conditions (sorry Ms. Viorst) still be well worth the long drive when that race is held in Wrightsville Beach. That was a week we needed amidst a big move that turned out to be very trying on us. Wrightsville offered great food, time with family, a few new friendships, and some more time in those soothing waters. There, we were able to regroup before retracing our steps back to the Midwest and settling into the life that suites us best, although we found it very hard to leave Wrightsville…

In just a few days paddlers will partake in the Carolina Cup and I am super bummed to be missing the race. Actually, I am not missing the me racing part of the race; I would be happy just to be there to watch the start and finish. The list of participants promises a stacked field and the Graveyard Course certainly offers all kinds of conditions that will test paddlers of all abilities. This year is going to offer plenty of excitement for both paddler and spectator. I am sure everybody in attendance will have a great time. How can they not? It's Wrightsville Beach after all!    

Yes I am envious of those going and yes I will be ignoring all the pictures that will be posted of all the folks having a good time in one of my favorite places in America. All the other people obsessed with SUP, such as I am, will be gathering to share the vibes and to share the stoke. From all over the world people will gather and form into one tribe where are all are welcome and more are always encouraged to join. I don't know what I will miss more, taking full advantage of those all-powerful waters or the Tower 7 shrimp tacos. DANG! I am so jealous!

Then weekend after the Carolina Cup is the Key West Classic…ugh. I got the luck of a gypsy to be too far out of shape to justify all the traveling to these wonderful events. Next year I have to do better in the offseason, even if that means sacrificing time away from my lovely wife by spending all of February and March training in Florida!!

After I was written out of the Charleston novel I would set sail, literally, further south. My gaze focused on an even warmer climate as I sought to start anew.. Although I left one paradise for another with the intention of growing up, I was still a much addled youth full of stupidity and foolishness. Heading to Key West with these traits would not make for a dull experience. If only stand up paddle boarding had been around when I was there, I might not have left the way I did…in a hurry!

To all those attending the Carolina Cup: be safe, have a blast, and eat some shrimp tacos for me!! Take a few moments to soak in the ocean and feel that love enwrap you. Enjoy your time in Wrightsville Beach and soak in the comfort of the moments you spend there. Those moments will be with you for the rest of your life.