The Ocean Did Not Get the Memo

I am pretty good at making plans.

Check the weather.

Check the wind.

Check the swell.

Check the tides.

Look at the fishing reports.

Study the forecast.

Fuel the boat.

Rig the rods.

Pack the dive gear.

Load enough equipment to make it look like I am leaving the country permanently.

Set the alarm for some ridiculous hour.

Then head out convinced I have done everything possible to put myself in the right place at the right time.

And sometimes I have.

The ocean just does not care.

I can plan the perfect surf session and wake up to garbage.

Run offshore after a week of promising reports and find absolutely nothing.

Show up expecting beautiful diving conditions and discover I can barely see my fins.

Plan to sail all day and spend half of it looking at sails hanging there doing absolutely nothing.

I still believe in preparation.

I just no longer confuse being prepared with being in control.

The Forecast Looked Perfect Last Night

There is something dangerously convincing about a good forecast.

Everything lines up.

The swell is there.

The period looks good.

Wind looks favorable.

The tide is right.

I can almost see the waves before I go to sleep.

Then morning comes.

I walk over the dune.

And apparently the ocean did not check the same app.

Maybe the swell arrived late.

Maybe the wind got there early.

Maybe the sandbar is not working.

Maybe the waves are closing out everywhere.

Maybe every number was technically correct and the surf still looks terrible.

Sometimes the forecast simply misses.

That is always impressive.

Technology can tell me a lot.

It still cannot promise me a good day.

Eventually I have to stand there, look at the water and deal with what actually showed up.

Offshore Fishing Might Be the Best Example

Few things test my confidence in a plan quite like offshore fishing.

I can spend days getting ready.

Study water temperatures.

Look at current edges.

Check reports.

Rig everything.

Buy bait.

Make sure the tackle is ready.

Leave the dock before sunrise.

Run a long way offshore.

Find good water.

Find weeds.

Find birds.

Find bait.

And somehow not find the one participant I was hoping would attend.

The fish.

Meanwhile somebody fifteen miles away drops lines in what appears to be completely ordinary water and catches exactly what I spent all morning looking for.

There is a certain humility involved in burning a significant amount of fuel just to discover the fish had other plans.

But that is fishing.

Preparation improves the odds.

It does not issue invitations to the fish.

Visibility Can Ruin a Dive Before It Starts

Diving gives me another version of the same lesson.

The weather looks good.

The ocean looks calm.

Everything seems promising.

I get excited about clear water.

Maybe I am already imagining the reef.

The ledges.

Fish moving below me.

Then I put my face in the water.

Green.

Or cloudy.

Or just enough visibility to see that there is not enough visibility.

Perfect.

Now the entire plan changes.

Sometimes I can move to another area and find cleaner water.

Sometimes conditions improve.

Sometimes I accept that today is apparently a very expensive boat ride with fins onboard.

I would rather make that decision than force a dive simply because I spent all morning preparing for one.

The ocean does not owe me visibility because I brought a speargun.

Sailing Has Its Own Sense of Humor

Sailing might be even better at this.

I want wind.

Not too much.

Not too little.

Preferably from a useful direction.

Which, once I say it out loud, does sound slightly demanding.

The forecast says twelve to fifteen knots.

Perfect.

I get everything ready.

Leave the dock.

Raise the sails.

Four knots.

Maybe five.

The sails slap around.

The boat creeps along.

At some point I begin studying the same cloud for fifteen minutes because it is the most exciting thing happening.

Then there is the opposite version.

I wanted wind.

Now I have entirely too much of it.

The sail plan changes.

The route changes.

Maybe the destination changes.

Sometimes the smartest sailing decision is admitting the trip I imagined is not the trip the conditions are giving me.

The One Thing I Forget Immediately Becomes Important

Of course, nature does not deserve all the blame.

Sometimes I am perfectly capable of destroying my own plan.

I can pack an unbelievable amount of gear.

Coolers.

Rods.

Tackle.

Fins.

Masks.

Weights.

Spearguns.

Food.

Water.

Electronics.

Chargers.

Extra clothes.

Tools.

Enough backup equipment for problems that have not even happened yet.

Then get miles from home and realize I forgot the one small item I actually need.

There is apparently some law of the ocean that says whatever I forgot becomes critically important shortly after leaving the dock.

I can bring twelve things I never touch.

The thirteenth thing sitting on the garage floor becomes the star of the day.

Sometimes Plan B Is Better Anyway

This is where things get interesting.

Not every ruined plan ruins the day.

Sometimes the surf is terrible, so I stay on the beach and watch the sunrise.

Maybe I explore somewhere I normally drive right past. Or comb the shore and find some great shark teeth.

The offshore bite is dead, but somebody finds a weed line holding enough life to turn the afternoon around.

The dive spot is dirty, so we move and discover another reef.

The wind does not cooperate, so instead of making the passage we planned, we stay in an anchorage for another day.

And that ends up being exactly where I wanted to be anyway.

Some of my favorite days around the water have probably started with some version of:

Well, this isn't what we planned.

There is something useful about being able to adapt without deciding the whole day is ruined.

I Still Make the Plan

None of this means I stop preparing.

Actually, the opposite.

The ocean is unpredictable enough without me adding laziness to the equation.

I still want to know the weather.

I still want to understand the tides.

I still check the swell.

I still look at wind.

I still study conditions.

I still prepare the boat.

I still bring the safety gear.

I still make sure I have what I need.

A plan gives me a starting point.

It helps me recognize when something is changing.

And it gives me options when the original idea stops making sense.

Preparation matters.

I just try to hold the plan a little more loosely now, and ironically, knowing that makes it part of the plan.

There Is a Difference Between Persistence and Stubbornness

This is probably one of the harder lessons.

Sometimes conditions are not ideal but still workable.

Maybe I need to wait.

Move.

Adjust the route.

Change tactics.

Try another spot.

There is nothing wrong with persistence.

But there is also a point where persistence becomes me trying to force the day to become what I decided it should be.

That rarely works well around the ocean.

If the weather is deteriorating, I do not get bonus points for sticking with the original plan.

If the surf is beyond what I should be in, paddling out anyway does not prove anything useful.

If the visibility is terrible, forcing a dive does not make me more committed.

If the sea state is making the run dangerous, maybe the fish can wait.

Knowing when to change the plan is part of having one.

The Ocean Is Very Good at Humbling Confidence

There is something about being offshore, underwater or sitting on a surfboard that makes it difficult to pretend I control very much.

I control my preparation.

My decisions.

My attitude.

Whether I keep pushing, or when I should stop.

Whether I complain for the next six hours because the plan fell apart.

Or I adapt and enjoy the new plan.

It is always better to be sitting in safety wishing you were out there than being in a dangerous situation wishing you were sitting somewhere safely.

A Bad Fishing Day Can Still Be a Great Ocean Day

This one took me some time to understand.

If I leave specifically to catch fish, I obviously want to catch fish.

If I wake up at 4:00 a.m. to surf, I want waves.

If I load dive gear, I want good visibility.

If I go sailing, I would appreciate some wind.

I am not going to pretend the result does not matter.

It does.

But the result is not always the entire day.

There are still sunrises offshore.

Flying fish.

Dolphins.

Sea turtles.

Clear blue water.

An empty beach.

A good laugh with somebody on the boat.

A place I had never seen before.

A quiet anchorage.

A ridiculous story that only happened because everything went wrong.

Sometimes I do not get what I went looking for.

I still get something.

I Am Learning to Leave Some Room in the Day

Maybe that is what spending enough time around the water keeps teaching me.

Make the plan.

But leave room for the day to become something else.

I still want a destination.

A target.

A reason for getting up early.

I just do not need every detail to unfold exactly the way I imagined it.

And sometimes the unexpected option ends up being better than the original one.

That does not mean planning failed.

It means the plan did its job until new information showed up.

Then I make another one.

Go Deep. 🤙🏼