Big Wave Dave
Posted on January 30, 2007 @ 2:46 PM
Words by Joseph Giannini
Illustrations by Jeff Petersen
I’m checking the waves from the cut at Ditch Plains. I’ve
been ill and haven’t surfed for two months. Big Wave Dave,
a New York City fireman, walks up to me. I haven’t seen
him since our mid-August surf session at Block Island – an
incredible day. Large waves from an offshore hurricane and a
near-death experience for both of us. We shake hands and he
asks, “Where have you been?”
“I was bitten by a deer tick,” I tell him. “It put me in a
hum. I thought I had malaria from Nam. But I’m okay now.”
“I’ve been wondering what happened to you. Joe, thanks
again for pulling me out of the impact zone at Block. I’ve been in
a lot of bad fires but that was more frightening than that.”
“I’ve been in some bad situations, and a fire was the worst.
I’ll tell you about it later. Let’s catch some waves.” I walk off to
put on my wetsuit and get my longboard.
Dave has no clue. I think back two months, to August
15, 1995. Hurricane Felix is offshore and generating huge
groundswells. I’m standing at Ditch, Dave and George nearby.
The waves are huge and out of control. George says, “Let’s get
my boat and go to Block.”
Two hours later we drop anchor off the southwest corner
of Block Island. Some of our tribe, hardcore surfers, are already
here. I see Alex take off on the outside, drop into a doubleoverhead
wave, make a sweeping bottom turn, trim left … We
put our longboards over the side and paddle for the break. I
watch Jim get barreled on a shortboard. The surf is great: 10-15ft
faces and clean. I reach the spot where I saw Alex take off. It’s a
large rock ledge. Hurricane swells are rolling over it, creating a
steep drop, then a long left wall that seems to go forever.
I position myself over the middle of the ledge and wait for the next set of waves. Dave and George are about 30 yards to
my right. I haven’t waited long before a set of four approaches.
Suddenly I feel very small. These are the largest swells I’ve ever
been in. I let three waves go under me and paddle into the
fourth. I’m facing my own fear when the wave passes over the
edge of the rock ledge and I drop down the face. Instinctively I
jump to my feet and turn left down an overhead wall. I cut back
right, and then turn left again. The wave is still overhead and
beckoning. I surf through a startled pack of shortboarders and
decide to kick out. I’ve gone about 200 meters. I paddle back to
my takeoff spot and continue catching long overhead lefts. Dave
and George are getting long rides, too. The only drawback is the
length of the paddle back to the lineup.
I’m by myself on the ledge when I hear someone screaming
above the sound of the breaking waves, “Help! Help!” Big Wave
Dave has just wiped out, broken his leash and lost his board. He
is caught in the impact zone and drowning in the whitewater.
Jim is paddling towards Dave, but he has a shortboard. I turn my board toward them and fear grips me. I could
drown if I go to them. I push my fear away and
stroke with all my strength. Jim is there, holding
Dave’s head above the crashing waves. I reach them
and shout, “Grab my leash, I’ll pull you out!”
Dave grabs my leash, and I start to stroke for
safety, but suddenly he scrambles up onto my back.
I try to throw him off, but no way. I’m in the claws
of a giant crab. We attempt to paddle together,
making little headway. We’re not going to make it
over the next set. We’ll get tangled up and drown.
I see a set approaching ominously. I can’t even save
myself with Dave on top of me like this. Then I
hear the engine of a boat … closing fast. It’s Alex.
He pulls up, and we scramble onto his boat with
my board. He turns the bow into the approaching
set and guns the engine. We climb over four large
waves and out of harm’s way.
Damn, that was close! We thank Alex again
and transfer back to George’s boat. We’ve had
enough. We pull anchor, start the engine and head
back for Montauk. I sit aft feeling nauseous and
weak. I figure it must be the engine fumes or else
I’m catching a cold.
The next day I wake up feeling miserable, but
I hook up with Vic and we meet George at the boat
in Montauk. George says, “We’re fogged in. We
can’t go to Block.”
“Let’s go surf North Bar,” Vic responds.
“Vic, I’m feeling bad, I’ve had it.”
“Come on, it’s just a summer cold.”
We drive to the Point. I paddle out with Vic
and get pummeled for about 40 minutes. It’s my
worst session ever. I go home and crawl into bed.
Three days go by. I’m alternating between high
fevers and chills. I have the worst headache of my
life. Nauseous, no appetite, but I’m falling through
my asshole. I’ve already lost 12lbs. I think I must
have malaria from Nam. On the third afternoon,
my wife Nikki says, “Get in the jeep. I’m taking
you to see Dr Kerr.”
After he examines me, he says, “ A deer
tick bit you, you have Babesiosis. One more day
without care, and I’d have had to hospitalize you.”
One more day without medical care and I might
have met the Big Kahuna. Dave doesn’t realize how
close I came to not having the strength to help
him. Somebody up there must like him.
Now, eight weeks later, I paddle to Ditch’s
outside break. I’m still fighting the Babesiosis, but
the waves are user-friendly. Light northwest winds.
Head-high-plus and clean. I need to surf to get my
physical strength back and some free therapy. I
catch several set waves. Dave paddles over and says,
“So tell me about that fire you were in.”
“Napalm,” I respond.
{exp:allow_eecode}{embed="includes/square_ad"}{/exp:allow_eecode}
Send this article to a friend
Issue 77 Out Now
