Surf y Niebla. II
Después de unos minutos disfrutando del paisaje, volví la mirada hacia mar abierto. Un gran masa de agua se acercaba a media distancia y con una altura considerable. A cincuenta metros de nuestra posición, un chico se elevó sobre su tabla. Debido a la fuerza que transportaba el agua; se desplomó desde la cima. Viendo aquello, me preparé para su llegada. La gran ola golpeó con fuerza mi tabla, rápidamente me incliné hacia adelante y conseguí bajar hasta la base. Una vez allí, miré a ambos lados, vi como cerraba por izquierda y derecha, bloqueando cualquier posible trayectoria. Continúe recto hasta que me alcanzó la espuma. Me apeé sin llegar al final y regresé otra vez.
A las ocho de la tarde parecía ya anochecer. La estación aún conservaba más horas de luz, sin embargo las nubes habían cubierto el espacio de una oscuridad opaca. Las personas que estábamos en el mar nos resistíamos a retirarnos. Un grito se escuchó al fondo, seguido de unas risas. En aquellas circunstancias, el ambiente que había era de fiesta.
Las olas continuaban llegando a Somo. Su configuración rompía todas las expectativas, sólo los surfers más experimentados parecían no extrañar el lenguaje del mar ese día. En su nacimiento desplazaban una masa grande de agua, sostenida sobre una pared inclinada. Conservando aquella figura de manera prolongada. Su forma se asemejaba a pequeñas colinas en movimiento. Surfers acompasados al ritmo que marcaban las series y el estruendoso sonido del mar rompiendo, marcaron la siguiente media hora. Unos recorrían un pequeño trazado, exprimiendo lo que el momento ofrecía. Otros esperaban mejores recorridos, movidos por la fuerza del mar; arriba y abajo.
Posicionado transversalmente, observé el recorrido completo de las olas. Desde el principio hasta el final, su camino cambiante y aleatorio estimulaba la contemplación. La precaución se disparaba. Un buena ocasión arribó. Montado sobre la tabla, tracé una diagonal hacia la base. Cerca de la cresta mantuve la trayectoria. La velocidad hacia evacuar agua por los cantos. Veinte metros delante de mí, la ola se desplomó. Con un leve movimiento de cadera finalicé el viaje. La tercer ola de la serie llegaba más definida. Sobre ella un surfer ondulando sobre su cresta. Antes de su rotura, descendió a la base y se deslizó paralelo a la pared de la ola. Dibujó su recorrido flexionado, agarrando la tabla con una mano; para conseguir cortar la ola. Pasó delante de un grupo de gente, que lo mirábamos con atención. Acto seguido me sumergí, haciendo la cuchara. Al volver a la superficie, busqué su trayectoria, observando como finalizaba su viaje con los brazos extendidos.
Surf & Fog. II
After a few minutes enjoying the landscape, I turned the look towards open sea. One great mass of water was approaching half a distance and with a considerable height. At fifty meters of our position, a boy rose on his board. Due to the force that was transporting the water; it collapsed from the top. Seeing that scene, I prepared myself for its arrival. The great wave struck strongly my board, rapidly I inclined ahead and I managed to go down up to the base. Once there, I looked at both sides, I saw it was closing for left side and right, blocking any possible path. I continued In straight direction until the foam reached me. I finished my travel before the end and returned again.
At eight o’clock in the afternoon, the day seemed the dark night. The station still was preserving more hours of light, nevertheless the clouds had covered the space of an opaque darkness. The persons that were in the sea did not want to withdraw. A shout was listened to the back, followed of a few laughs. In those circumstances, the environment that existed was of party.
The waves were continuing coming to Somo. Its configuration, had broken all the expectations; only the most experienced surfers seemed not to be surprised by the language of the sea this day. In its origin, the waves moved a big mass of water, supported on a sloping wall. Them were preserving that image for long time. Its form were alike small hills in movement. Surfers measured with a compass to the pace that were marking the series and the thunderous sound of the sea breaking, they marked the following half hour. Some were crossing a small tracing, squeezing what the moment was offering. Others were waiting for better tours, moved by the force of the sea; above and below.
Positioned transversely, I observed the complete tour of the waves. From the beginning until the end, its changeable and random way stimulated the contemplation. The caution was shooted . A good occasion arrived. Mounted on the board, I drew a line towards the base. Near the top, I tried to support the path. The speed made evacuating water for the rails. Twenty meters in front of me, the wave collapsed. With a slight movement of hip I finished the trip. The third wave of the series come more definite. On it, a surfer undulating on his crest. Before its break, he descended to the base and slipped parallel to the wall of the wave. He designed his travel with his bent body, seizing the board with a hand; to cut the wave. He ran in front of a group of people that we were looking at it with attention. Forthwith I submerged, doing the duck. On having returned to the surface, I looked for his path, observing the end of the trip with his widespread arms.
