There's an old Irish proverb that runs "The waves have some mercy, but the rocks have no mercy at all," at least according to the barely legible words inked into my old surfmat. Way back in 1978, because I am who I am, I used a permanent marker to memorialize my brand new blue-and-gold surfmat with poetry and proverbs, not even thinking that being the bookworm was hardly cool in the high school halls and so probably even less cool along the rocky shores of Sonoma and Mendocino counties. I took some ribbing, as you'd expect, but actually most divers who made any comments seemed to like the nautical verses and the weird enthusiasm that obviously gripped me. I think the lucky Greek eyes I'd inked on the bottom of the mat helped too; everyone wanted an extra set of eyes looking out for the great-white-you-know-what. No matter how copacetic the inquiry, I'd get self-conscious and stammer out something, feeling silly. If you consider that I refused for a full year or so to buy a dive flag sticker for my car, one of the classic emblems of the diver, until I had enough underwater exploration as stock for this new Jacques-Cousteau-esque identity, you may wonder how--and why--I so marked my mat and myself.
On that abalone-floater, I had verses by Jack London, Rudyard Kipling, Poul Anderson, and many more. I should dig out that old mat; it's still in the garage, though it leaks air too quickly to be of much use in the water now. I used it too often as a pad under my sleeping bag, despite being only two-thirds my length; my knees would end up sore from the hard ground, but hey, man, I'm using my surfmat as a camp pad! Last year, when I started going out for abalone again, I picked up a fancy innertube and net combination for shore swims; then, I got myself a kayak for further excursions, and so there's no call for the old 'mat. Still, I haven't quite abandoned it, and I think I'll check through the garage tomorrow and see which verses are still legible.
Now, when I started this post, I meant to write about waves and rocks. I meant to muse on marine mercies and the kindness of kelp. Another day for that one. Tonight, I'm musing on abalone ink, kelp cathedrals, wave trains, and nightfall by the driftwood fireside, watching the salt crystal colors shifting, sparks popping, from the relative comfort of my sleeping bag and surfmat. For a pillow, I always ended up using a damp beach towel or sweatshirt. I remember sleeping pretty well, though.
