The cold air grazed past my head, forming goosebumps on my skin as I stared into the the surface of the blue depths, watching mounds of water forming like skyscrapers only to crash down. It was an early morning in Half Moon Bay; the sun was just starting to creep up behind the thick clouds. I recall almost being able to taste the bitter salt that was spraying off the ocean. To my left and right I saw brave men preparing for combat with mother nature. With their long surfboards in hand and thick wetsuits that covered them from head to toe, they were ready to ride those skyscrapers of water that I mentioned. From the safe outlook on the cliff, I watched them as they paddled out. Some were skilled enough to be able to ride down the massive faces of water without being consumed; others were a little less fortunate. One thing that every rider shared in common, however, was the passion and energy that these big waves brought to life in them. I was about nine years old at the time and had never seen anything like it.
Growing up as a kid, the ocean was always the epicenter of happiness for me. Whether it be riding waves or watching the lionhearted surfers willing to tackle the monstrous ones, it intrigued me. Throughout my childhood, I spent endless summers at the beach with friends and family, never remembering to put on enough sunblock which may be the reason why I have such a dark shade of tan on my skin. Anyways, the most memorable part of going to the beach was learning how to surf waves. My dad had began to teach me at the age of six and from that point on it always seemed to be the reason why I returned to the ocean over and over again. There was a sense of thrill and satisfaction involved in it that you will never truly know unless you experience it. The ocean was always there for me as a child, and that is why it is so sentimental to me to this day.
