On a relatively small and otherwise personally un-noteworthy day of surfing in Santa Cruz, I look back upon the morning and wonder how today of all days could have produced the undisputed barrel ride of my life.

My buddy, Matt, and I paddled out into a small to medium morning session; A session that almost might not have been except for the promise of things to come in a set that fired off The Point in the last moments of an otherwise uninspiring surf check.

Hoping for more, we suited up, and went for a surf.

Walking down the stairs minutes ahead of Matt, I was greeted by a guy that I surf with in the mornings quite often. With a touch of envy, he commented, "It's really starting to come up. There was nothing for awhile, but two nice sets just came in."

He had caught one of the set waves and was reluctantly heading off to work. Matt and I paddled out and immediately lucked into another set that produced a couple of nice waves with a crowd of only about five other guys to contend with. For the next 20 minutes I picked up a few lucky ones in front of the cliff that had either been missed, or blown, by the guys sitting further outside.

Gradually, the sets began to build, and coupled with the incoming tide produced some thick, head-high and overhead peaks. The crowd thinned a bit and the point wave became a little more accessible. Another set appeared and with it went the two guys riding deepest on the peak. I moved into the vacancy and put myself in position for the next set.

Shortly afterward, a single peak appeared and I paddled for it; my biggest wave of the day up to that point, but not quite up there with some of the sets that we'd already seen. Getting to my feet right as the bottom dropped out I was trapped by the pitching lip and while I was able to land the free-fall drop, anticipating more speed, I leaned way too far over the nose of the board on my bottom turn. It pearled and I was stuck fast with a seething 6-foot wall of water at my back, ready to unload.

In a semi-controlled bail out I was able to grab my rail, and eject it over the back. It was a freakish moment. One that left me in disbelief in that I had narrowly plucked myself from the wave's crushing grip, but that still left me feeling as though the wave had gone to waste because I tried to go too deep on a heavy wave and wasn't prepared for the consequences.

Left with nothing to do but paddle back out and try again, I sat quietly outside awaiting my next chance. It came shortly: Another head-high wave that when it pitched, seemingly grew as much from the top as it sucked out from the bottom. This time I anticipated the double up, made the drop, and was already driving hard off the bottom when the lip came crashing down. I went straight for the curl and slotted myself high in the bowl. Leveling out, I felt the wave wrap around me, trying to separate me from my board. With a strange warping of time and space, the board fought to regain the shoulder while my head and shoulders were being drawn up into the lip. Miraculously, I was able to maintain my footing, fight my way back out onto the wave face and charge through the last couple of sections. I paddled out feeling really good knowing that I had been deep in the pocket. Had it not been for the next wave, I probably would have considered that my wave of the session. Little did I know…

The previous set had contained several waves, and by catching the first I was able to easily paddle right back out into the point position. I was only out there for a few moments when THE WAVE rolled in. I paddled deep into the oncoming swell, my confidence buoyed by my last ride. Knowing that I was already walking a tightrope with no net between me and 20 feet of vertical, sedimentary cliff face, I feared getting any deeper than I already was. At the last moment, I spun on my tail, paddled hard, and went.

Mid-drop, my wave struck the reef and heaved. Instantly, I was 20 feet deeper in the pit as the shifting peak horseshoed and sought to cut off my escape. The early morning sun was kicking up such a glare that everything around me was reduced to silhouette. To my left was the ominous shape of the towering rock cliff and to my right another vertical wall: This one building, and heaving, and with a peak that seemed to more than match my speed.

Against the glare of the sun I could barely make out the gap between wave and cliff and the frantic paddling of other surfers beyond. This gap was rapidly diminishing, and my only thought turned to escape. Holding my line, and with my speed increasing with every second, I went straight for the light and for the safety of the channel. In one fluid motion, I caught up with the traveling overhead peak, and tucked into a tight ball right as the lip threw out over me, completely blocking all sight of the cliff. Semi-crouched, very high and dry, from the furthest stretches of my peripheral vision, I saw the semi-arch of the lip, now radiating like a golden cathedral ceiling in the morning sunshine, race out a good ten feet beyond the nose of my board, waver slightly threatening collapse, and then come racing back as I was blasted from the barrel like a bullet.

An involuntary hoot exploded from my mouth, "Whoooohoooo!". Was I dreaming? Had that really just happened? I rode out the last section of the wave and dropped back into a paddling position. I was tingling from head to toe and wearing a grin from ear-to-ear.

In silent hysterics, I paddled casually back out to where Matt was sitting.

"Did you make it?" He asked.

I nodded and casually responded, "Yes. I've never gotten barreled like that here before."

Then, eyes wide, I screamed, "What am saying?!?! I've never been barreled like that IN MY LIFE!"

- Ryen Phillips