If you were forced to pick your paradise, where do you think your thoughts would take you? Would you go to the quaint wooden cabin in Michigan that has been in the family for years? Or would you think of your cozy apartment a top a skyscraper in your favorite concrete jungle? Without a second thought, my mind rushes to Pawley’s Island, South Carolina. As locals describe it best, the “elegantly shabby” beachside town 40 minutes from Charleston has been my chosen vacation spot since childhood. Between the hammock shops, crabbing in the creeks and ghost stories, there is always something to entertain you on the island. With only the best memories there, never did I think that there would be something to hold me back from indulging in the lazy beach bum lifestyle.
As I stood with my peachy pink toes in the gritty sand, I watched as the salty water rushed over my feet. The white waves covered my feet completely and I let them submerge deeper into the wet sand. Looking out toward the horizon, my chest rose as humid air filled my lungs to spread warmth throughout the rest of my body. Finally letting my thoughts come to a slow stop; I relaxed for the first time in a long time. “Don’t wait up for me!” My grandpa yelled from the top of overpass. We had established a tradition of body surfing where he had always held the number one spot as the winner, no matter who actually won the race. I dove head first into the water and headed out toward the sand bank to catch some waves. Tossing my clumpy hair over my shoulder, I continued to dig my toes deeper into the snug sand. Pieces of grains settled between my feet to complete my feeling of paradise.
Out of nowhere, a hot rush of tentacles moved across my shin. Before I knew it, I plunged myse...
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...as hurriedly approaching my toes. I clinched my toes deeper in the sand to prepare myself to get annihilated by the wave’s white water. But, of course, it was just the familiar feeling of the cool rush between my feet as they sunk deeper into the sand. Scanning the water vigorously, I tippy toed my way out into bottomless ocean. Remembering the feeling of the tingle and than burn, I peered back to see my beach chair waiting for me in the scorching sun. While I contemplated turning around and heading back to my safe place. I continued on. I continued to walk forward. I did not stop once the water passed my waist. I would not let the phobia of jellyfish hold me back from the once place I loved the most. As the water washed over the tips of my hair, warm memories of my past fled into my mind. I let my once again peach colored toes disappear deeper into the blue water.
The smell of the restaurants faded and the new, refreshing aroma of the sea salt in the air took over. The sun’s warmth on my skin and the constant breeze was a familiar feeling that I loved every single time we came to the beach. I remember the first time we came to the beach. I was only nine years old. The white sand amazed me because it looked like a wavy blanket of snow, but was misleading because it was scorching hot. The water shone green like an emerald, it was content. By this I mean that the waves were weak enough to stand through as they rushed over me. There was no sense of fear of being drug out to sea like a shipwrecked sailor. Knowing all this now I knew exactly how to approach the beach. Wear my sandals as long as I could and lay spread out my towel without hesitation. Then I’d jump in the water to coat myself in a moist protective layer before returning to my now slightly less hot towel. In the water it was a completely different world. While trying to avoid the occasional passing jellyfish, it was an experience of
I smiled to myself and decided that I would go join in. With that, I took a huge deep breath and jumped into the salty water. The water was cool and refreshing; I felt it slide through my hair making it sway in the water. I swam deeper and deeper into the deep blue water. Sunlight streamed through it, lighting up the water around me turning it to gold. I kicked harder and I felt my muscles surge with strength and I pushed further. My lunges began to burn for the need of oxygen, but I refused to go up. I repeatedly told myself just a little bit longer. Until I was unable to proceed anymore without more air in my lungs, I swam to the top of the water taking a huge breaths, filling my lungs with air. I could then taste the salty water as it ran down my face and dripped over my lips. Just then I thought, I will never forget this moment, this place, or the experiences I felt while visiting
Surfing has come a long way since it was first conceived (roughly 1500 years ago). From the Polynesian “watermen” and Hawaiian Kings, to the European takeover in Hawaii and surfing's American debut in the early twentieth century and all the way through present day, surfing has had a rich history. Over the decades, surfing has fit in to a number of roles in society, but whether we surfers are seen as beach-bums or heroes (as of late), we still surf only because we love it, because the ocean’s calls us, because nothing else on this planet can create the sensation felt by riding a wave.
Where the cool ocean breeze fills the clean mountain air exists a hidden paradise that I have treasured throughout my life. After an eight hour car ride from my house, I finally reach my getaway: Steuben, Maine. Words cannot describe the meaning, importance, and value I hold for this little town on the coast of Maine. Every summer since birth, my family and I have vacationed in Maine at a house owned by my grandparents and within close proximity to other close relatives. My mother’s father was born and raised in a nearby town, Milbridge, and has since bought and owned a summer house in Steuben. When my mother was a child her summers solely included month long trips to the house in Steuben. Naturally, when she birthed my brother, sister, and I our summers came to include Maine as well.
There is a guy from Hawaii that I know. Every day, he wakes up, straps his surfboards to the racks on top of his car, drives his car from a town called Ewa, across the island of Oahu, to a little beach known as Ala Moana Beach Park. He does all of this even before the sun comes up. He spends a few minutes just looking at the ocean, watching and surveying the waves and how they break. As soon as the sun makes its first peek over the horizon, he grabs a board, waxes it up, and jumps in the water. He then paddles his board through what many people call a journey: two hundred yards of dark cold water, blistering currents, and waves pushing back against each stroke made to push forward. He makes this journey to get to a point right past where all the waves break, to a point called the line-up. It’s here, where he waits for a wave that he catches back towards the shore, only to make the journey back through all the cold harsh currents and waves again. He catches a few waves, and then catches one all the way back to shore, where he showers, gets dressed and then goes off to work.
We got there right after the sun’s peak time ended, so around 3pm, and my breath was taken away by it’s beauty. The sand is so soft, it feels like a fuzzy blanket on a cold fall day. When I walked on the beach I could faintly smell the of salt. As I would walk into the water, I could feel my skin tighten as the salt water would touch my skin. Then, as I got out of the water, I could taste the salt lingering on my lips.
The sparkling waters lured me in, the ocean cool now rushing over my body from head to toe only to leave me in goosebumps, withdrawing me from the world. Aloof from earth itself, rather exploring the universe of the sea. I dove past the surface, assuring the snorkel is atop of the water level, to
As the dead of winter sets in, those who experience the harshest effects of it begin to dream of exotic places. White sandy beaches and an endless blue ocean replace the piles of murky brownish white snow and gloomy skies. To make these dreams a reality, they dust off their summer clothes, board a plane, and watch the gloomy skies fade into the cheery blue that promises warmth and relaxation. As they embark on their adventure to exotic places, these tourists do not consider the consequence, positive and negative, tourism has on the countries they visit. Although many believe that tourism is a beneficial industry, Jamaica Kincaid in A Small Place, and Cynthia Enloe in “On the Beach” tell a different story, one that expresses that the tourism
The lonely empty silence is overpowered by a wall of foam rushing towards me. Wheels of sand are churning beneath my feet. My golden locks are flattened and hunched over my head to form a thick curtain over my eyes. Light ripples are printed against my olive stomach as the sun beams through the oceans unsteadiness. I look below me and can’t see where the sand bank ends; I look above and realize it’s a long way to the top. Don’t panic Kate, you’ll get through this. I try to paddle to the top but am halted by something severely weighing me down- My board. That’s what got me in this mess in the first place. I can see the floral pattern peeping through the sand that is rapidly crawling over it. I quickly rip apart the Velcro of my foot strap and watch my board float to the surface effortlessly as I attempt climbing through the water to reach the surface. The fin of my board becomes more visible to me as I ascend. Finally, an alleviating sensation blasts through my mouth.
It was the perfect time to go. Everything was lined up for a great day of surfing. “Definitely a day to go,” my dad’s friend Mike said as he stood next to us. “When’s the next time you're gonna get conditions as perfect as this?” I replied anxiously.
As a child, I spent a great deal of time at the beach, imitating the seagulls as they darted back and forth along the sand, trying to dodge the incoming water. With each passing summer, I spent less time imitating the birds and more time enticed by the force and power of the ocean. I was hypnotized by the waves as they broke along the shore, settled in a foamy-form, and rolled back out to sea. It was not long before I found pleasure in running into the water and allowing the waves to crash over me, pummeling me to the floor. Often times, I would come up gasping for air, causing my mother to have minor heart attacks while she observed from the shore. Adrenaline filled me each time I was knocked over. There was something invigorating about not
I run and jump head first into the seemingly limitless pool of water; the impact of the majestic ocean takes my breath away, forgetting about the stressful directives of life with a sense of deliverance. The water's crushing force pulls on my skin driving me into the daring deep side of the ocean that starts a shimmering rush of excitement into my body. Once I reach the top, I lay back floating as my mind starts to unwind; my thoughts become as light and soft as a feather. The ocean feels like a soft protective blanket, shifting me from side to side, like a baby's cradle, while the waves sing to me a
Rolling waves gently brushed upon the sand and nipped softly at my toes. I gazed out into the oblivion of blue hue that lay before me. I stared hopefully at sun-filled sky, but I couldn’t help but wonder how I was going to get through the day. Honestly, I never thought in a million years that my daughter and I would be homeless. Oh, how I yearned for our house in the suburbs. A pain wrenched at my heart when I was once reminded again of my beloved husband, Peter. I missed him so much and couldn’t help but ask God why he was taken from us. Living underneath Pier 14 was no life for Emily and me. I had to get us out of here and back on our feet. My stomach moaned angrily. I needed to somehow find food for us, but how? Suddenly, something slimy brushed up against my leg and pierced my thoughts. I jumped back and brushed the residue of sand of my legs. What was that? As my eyes skimmed the water in front of me, I noticed something spinning in the foam of the waves. Curiosity got the best of me and I went over to take a closer look. The object danced in the waves and eventually was coughed out onto the beach. “Emily!” I called to my eight-year-old daughter who was, at that time, infatuated with a seashell that she found earlier that day. “Come here and see this! Mommy found something.” Although I had no idea what that something was and I definitely didn’t know it would change my life forever.
This lukewarm water was deceiving though, because it only seemed lukewarm due to the drop in temperature and misty rainfall. The waves were rushing toward me like a bull to a matador’s red flag. My mouth tasted as if someone dumped a whole shaker of salt on my tongue. The wave pushed my further and faster as it I could feel the wave breaking on my body and there I was back at the shallows again floating in with the white wash and was ready for another wave. As I stood back up and ran back out to the deep water I saw one of my surfing mates catch the most perfect barrel it was rad. It would have been a great snap shot. I caught another wave, this one was even bigger. The thrust of the wave was twisting my body and I was pulled towards the sea
Driving was the hardest part, anticipation and undisguised excitement pressed hard against the edges of the car door. The sight of the river was embarrassed with welcome ecstasy. Sighting the pristine waters offered no challenge or apprehension of the event that were to come. Stepping out of the car was slightly overwhelming at first but soon the pine and algae became a sweet aroma. Within five minutes we were by the shore the older two were splashing around in the water like silly otter people. Soon they began to wade deeper and deeper into the water. I wasn't a strong swimmer, instead entertained myself by hopping from stone to stone. My goal was a large boulder on the other side of the river, I reached it within minutes. Gently I lowered my legs into the crisp water, dangling them until my sun-kissed skin began to cool.