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Storm Waves
Rain and
wind beat the island mercilessly during the night and most of the next day.
It was not a major gale by most standards, but it was enough to encourage
one to stay indoors. The storm finally broke by late afternoon, and the sun
started to make a meek appearance through the scattering clouds. I had been
cooped inside long enough, so I ventured to watch the remaining light of day
at one of the south shore beaches. Pack up the camera gear and head for
Surfside.
The
winter sun was low in the far southwest when I arrived. Belying the cold,
it cast a warm glow over the ocean surface. The gale had exhausted its fury,
but the momentum of the storm kept the waves steadily marching in. The surf
was still high as legions of waves continued to pound the shore. They were
impressive to this landlubber visitor.
Navigation charts call it the “Madaket Rip”, a shoal that extends out into
the Atlantic from the neck of nearby Surfside Beach. The incoming waves slow
down and swell over the rising bottom, only to have the following waves ram
into their backside. They are then unleashed as they clear the shoal, only
to meet with the energy of the waves reflected from shore. The water churned
in a chaotic turmoil that I can only attempt to describe.
Wave
tops curled to form whitecaps, their frothy tops blown into spray by the
offshore wind. The waves had a defined interval farther out, but when they
reached the Rip they became irregular mountains crowning over the deep, dark
troughs. A wave would spontaneously appear in one spot, and then suddenly
disappear. It might reappear in another spot either in front of or behind
the first. The waves reached higher and the troughs went
deeper. Predictability was lost. The entire scene seemed to be bursting into
chaos. Dante described the damnation of Hell’s inferno in an ordered
sequence. I felt that Dante would have balked at trying to describe the
watery maelstrom then unleashing in front of me. Just standing there,
watching it all from the safety of the beach, was intimidating. With the
primordial forces unleashed in front of me, I was sure I had reached the
edge of possible experience.
I set up
my equipment as close as I dared to the pounding surf. The luminance of the
oncoming dusk was fading quickly, and I had to work fast before I lost all
the definition in the waves. Photographing the action of the waves turned
into a more difficult task than I anticipated. They rose, peaked, broke, and
spilled very quickly. I chose to shoot with a long telephoto to put the
viewer right into the wave action. The waves had a mind of their own, and
chose to peak and roll in a very haphazard way. I ended up shooting more by
intuition than by actually seeing the image. I gathered a number of
exposures, and then decided to just sit and watch the scene for a little
longer.
Then I
saw him. I first noticed a small dark dot nestled between the waves in the
distance and five or more troughs out from the beach. A little later, the
same dot reappeared with a small dark crescent tip nearby. The dot and
crescent gradually floated toward the beach, and emerged as a human figure
carrying a surfboard. He was briefly outlined by the glaze of the shore
runoff. My jaw dropped when I realized that this person had been alone
somewhere out in the churn of the Rip. In the middle of the most
intimidating water I had ever seen, he floated out into it. The
irregular wave interval and random breaks deprived him of a ride. I only
saw him bob around, always the small dark dot in the wave troughs. He had
gone out into the turbulence to experience it firsthand. Where I found it
awesome and intimidating, he had plunged right into it. Once on shore, he
gathered his gear and walked up into the distant dunes.
Night
gathered quickly as I packed my equipment and made my way back to the car.
Thinking of the vast perspective of the day – the wild and violent ocean;
the chaos of the Rip; that lone person putting himself directly into it all
– I wondered what the limit of experience could possibly be.
Perhaps
when we think we have reached our limit; when we think we are at the edge
and can go no farther; there will always be another limit - somewhere beyond
that edge.
Bill Bernbeck
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All images and writings Copyright Bill Bernbeck
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