Losing My Marbles at Surf Camp
Questioning my insanity during my winter getaway to Las Palmas
They say that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Well, if that is true, I am left with both good news and bad news. The bad news? I’ve lost my sanity. The good news? I’m able to pinpoint the exact place and time I lost it: the morning of December 24th, 2021 at Playa de Las Canteras.
Where the heck is that?
Well, Las Canteras is the largest beach in the city of Las Palmas, which is the capital and largest city on Gran Canaria, which is the second most populated and third largest island of the Canary Islands, which is an archipelago of volcanic islands about 150 KM (100 miles) off the coast of Africa in the Atlantic Ocean, which is all a part of Spain. Or, if you would like to simplify it, just think of it as Spanish Hawaii. The similarities are pretty striking. Both are a chain of volcanic islands in the middle of the ocean. Both have beautiful green mountains and black sand beaches. Both are famous for their biodiversity and for having multiple microclimates within the same island. Oh, and of course, both have a history of colonial conquest and rule by a foreign empire that resulted in the land being stripped away from the natives. But anyway, enough about that and onto the next question.
Why was I there?
Two reasons. First, moving to Spain in September of 2021 meant that I would be spending the Winter Holidays away from my family for the very first time. This combined with the fact that I would have around 3 weeks off of work seemed like the perfect excuse to go travel somewhere over the holidays. Sometime in November I went to the SkyScanner website (by far my favorite site for finding international flights) and searched for the cheapest flights in and out of Seville. The cheapest flights were all to Morocco, but given the severity of the COVID lockdown in Morocco and my previously-failed attempt to travel there during the pandemic, I decided I would pass. But what about the next cheapest? It was to Gran Canaria. A cheap flight to a beautiful island? Spending Christmas on the beach? It seemed like a good plan to me.
The second reason was that I wanted to learn how to surf. I had done a single day of surfing while on a family vacation to Hawaii a few years ago and I absolutely loved it. Unfortunately, living in Indiana and later in Cincinnati meant I was always at least eight hours (or more) from the nearest beach, so I had not been able to follow up on this new interest of mine. However, after a quick Google search, I learned that Gran Canaria shared another key similarity with Hawaii: surfable waves year-round. I was sold on spending the holidays there. I went ahead and booked a week at a surf school and hostel in Las Palmas. (I ended up also booking a hostel to spend a couple of days in San Cristóbal de La Laguna, which is the second-largest city on Tenerife, which is the largest of the Canary Islands. But that’s for a different story.)
The Morning of December 24th
“Yeah, so these are the strongest currents and roughest waves I’ve ever seen here, I would never surf in these conditions”. Those were the first words from the surf instructor on the first day of class. If number one on the list of “Things You Never Want to Hear Your Surf Instructor” is “the waters are infested with bloodthirsty sharks”, then this warning from our surf instructor may very well be number two. Nevertheless, the class of eight other students and I changed into our wetsuits, grabbed our boards, and headed down to the beach. As we made the short walk down the beach, I took a lookout at the incoming waves and thought to myself, “These waves don’t seem so big. This shouldn’t be too bad.” Silly me.
After a brief warm-up led by our instructor, he told us to go get in the water. Umm, excuse me? What about some instructions? Or a safety overview? Nope, none of that. Straight into the water. Well, no better way to learn than by actually doing it, I suppose.
As I quickly found out, waves look a lot smaller than they actually are when you’re standing up on the promenade. Now that I was in the water trying to paddle past them I realized just how big they were. These weren’t those waves that you could just easily turn to the side and hop through. These were waves that you had to actively brace against to not get knocked off your feet. These were waves that picked you up and dragged you halfway back to shore. As I tried to paddle out to catch my first wave, I also immediately noticed just how strong the outgoing tide was. After the larger waves broke and swept you towards the shore, the outgoing current of water was also strong enough to knock you down. It felt like having the rug pulled out from under you. In a matter of seconds, the water would go from waist-high to knee-high and even down to ankle-high as the water was pulled back out to sea. I had never experienced anything quite like it. All the while, the incoming waves and outgoing tide were picking up softball-size black, volcanic rocks which were constantly crashing into my feet and legs.
It took me ten minutes of fighting against the crashing waves and surging tide to get out into position to catch a wave. Unsurprisingly, my first attempt did not go so great. I popped up onto the board for a solid half-second before getting thrown off the board. When I resurfaced, I heard the surf instructor call out, “Work on keeping your balance once you pop up”. I was thankful to finally be receiving some type of instruction, so I enthusiastically started making my way back out. Battling the waves, tide, and crashing rocks, it took me another ten minutes to get out far enough to catch a wave. Unfortunately (and altogether unsurprisingly), my second attempt went about as well as my first. And once again, the surf instructor called out “Try to keep your balance when you pop up.” I was starting to suspect that this was the surfing equivalent of “ keep your eyes on the ball” or “just throw strikes” in baseball. Yeah, I get it. I need to keep my balance. If only it were that easy.
The conditions were getting worse and it was becoming even more difficult to fight against the waves. Paddle out. Get pummeled by a massive wave. Paddle out a little bit more. Get swept back halfway to shore by another wave. Avoid the rocks getting pulled out into the sea. Get hit by another wave. This was the process I repeated over and over just to get far enough out to catch a wave. My reward for my efforts? About a second up on the board before getting knocked off and the instructor shouting the equivalent of “just don’t fall”.
After about an hour of repeating this process over and over, I was physically and mentally drained. Physically drained from repeatedly fighting the waves and getting knocked around. Mentally drained from the hopelessness of the situation. It felt like some sort of cruel Sisyphean punishment. A constant struggle with no end in sight. No hope for improvement. But nevertheless, I continued on. It became a blur. Wave after wave crashing over me. Getting swept back and forth from the incoming waves and outgoing current. My lower extremities getting battered and bruised by volcanic rocks. Popping up on the board for a fraction of a second. Getting put through the washing machine as the wave rolled right over me and sent me crashing into the sandy ocean bottom. I was reaching the definition of insanity. Repeating the same thing over and over and over and over thinking that the next time it would be different. The next wave would be the one I would catch. The next wave would be the one that I would stay up on the board for. The next wave would be the one where it all clicked. I was convinced that somehow, against all odds, the next one would be different. Nope, nope, nope, and nope. Turns out I was wrong. Turns out I might have gone insane.
I would like to say that things got better as the week went on. But they didn’t. Or at least not significantly. The lack of proper instruction and the difficult conditions (waves were between three and six meters all week and there was constantly strong current) made it hard to improve. The improvement I did gain was due entirely to the “How To Surf” YouTube videos I watched in the evenings. Nevertheless, I still managed to have a great time and I hope to surf again. Although next time I will do a little more research and find a better instructor and a spot with more favorable conditions. Which I think proves that I am capable of learning from my mistakes and at least not completely insane.
