Currents

Born as a tropical disturbance

off the coast of northern Africa,

Camille had moved into

the warm waters

of the Gulf of Mexico

after passing near

the western tip of Cuba

in August of '69

with extraordinary fury.

She was bypassing Florida

as a Category 5 hurricane

heading straight for Mississippi.

 

Camille left a path of devastation

up the state of Mississippi,

Western Tennessee, Kentucky,

the southern part of West Virginia, and

made waterfall at the Virginia coastline

and died out in the middle of no and where

in the Atlantic Ocean.

 

When the stormy surf

from Camille

pounded an otherwise

gentle gulf coast,

I stepped into 

the foamy agitated water

with my surfboard.

I could feel the current

rushing around my legs

and the sand eroding under my feet.

 

The current was so strong;

I felt as if I was taking a boat tour

along the coast of Florida

heading north.

There would be

endless paddling

in this tumultuous surf.

 

So I picked out some

Australian pines

North of the main beach

as my cue to get out of the water

and head back south

to the main beach.

I was like a dog chasing its tail.

 

Offshore I didn’t feel the sting of the rain,

being coated in saltwater.

Onshore I felt the pelting of the rain,

stinging like sweat bees.

My Dewey Weber would transform into a kite

whenever I failed to keep my board

pointed into the wind as I walked.

 

After fighting for about half a mile or so

the breath and spit of Camille on shore,

it was good to get back

into the inviting troubled waters of the gulf!

 

I surfed most of the day

in the wake of Camille

with an endless and sometimes

foolish energy of youth.

I seized the day

and surfed like there

was no tomorrow.

 

The pine line came up so quickly,

time after time,

as I steadily drifted

up the coastline.

 

The tug of a passion

that jumps in with both feet

into something few would ever do,

plunging headlong into the northern current 

with a passion for surfing

and loving every minute of it.