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Alexa Play: Coastline by Hollow Coves

M aybe if I were capable of feeling fear, I would have heard the name Leviathans and had the good sense to stay away.

But, as it was, I don’t process fear the same way most people do. I don’t get all jittery and frightened when faced with things that could kill me.

Nope.

Instead, I get excited, and my body gets this warm, rushing sensation.

So, if you tell me there’s a wave so badass they named it after a demon that came straight from Hell, I’m gonna surf it.

No question.

That’s pretty much how I ended up in the quaint little coastal town of Stars Cove: Home to a beach that produces waves so gnarly that the dudes who named it got all biblical on us.

It’s said that the swells in Leviathans, California, can hit twenty-five feet in as many seconds.

Twenty-five feet.

In twenty-five seconds.

Let me put that in perspective for you.

Here’s my list of things that are roughly twenty-five feet (in no particular order):

A Two Story House

Half the Hollywood sign

Four refrigerators

An orca

A telephone pole

My dick (HA! Just kidding, that would be terrifying.)

No, but seriously.

Riding twenty-five feet of pure power is not for the faint of heart. It’s not something many people can say they’ve done. Not even most surfers can say they’ve successfully ripped a twenty-foot swell.

Waves like that are for professional big-wave surfers. It takes training, dedication, and perseverance to tame a wave like the ones that break at Leviathans every winter.

It’s something I’d always planned on working toward in my lifetime; I just didn’t expect to be chasing this dream so soon.

But here I was, signing the final sale documents for the small beach shack I had found listed for a steal in Stars Cove.

Apparently, local Stars Cove surfers had been sitting on this secret beach for years, knowing that the waves that swelled in the winter months would attract surfers from all over the world once word got out that there was a California beach that could produce such monsters.

As I signed my name on the dotted line, ignoring the quizzical look of the realtor as she watched me fritter away my entire inheritance in less than thirty seconds, I had to smile at that.

I supposed they had been right .

I was not from California, but here I was. Ready to show these local Leviathan tamers what I could do.

I was born near Virginia Beach, and that’s where I actually got my start surfing. The waves were small, but so was I at the time.

Despite being a beach known to be best for beginners, the surf culture was strong, and that’s where I learned the basics of the sport.

I rode my first wave on a foamie at eight years old, and I still remember my best friend, Turtle, grinning and whooping like an idiot as I skated across the water on my own two feet for the very first time.

My mom and I didn’t have a lot of money, but it never seemed to matter. She always managed to put food on the table for us. She had to work two jobs to keep a roof over our heads, and because of this, she had always been really supportive of my love for surfing.

It kept me busy and out of trouble.

My dad bounced before I was born, and it used to bother me when I was younger. I asked my mom about him a lot in the beginning.

‘Why doesn’t he want us, Mommy? Why’d he leave us all alone?’

‘You’re not alone, sweet boy. I’m right here!’ she used to tell me with a wink.

As I grew and saw just how much my mom tried to be the best of both parents for me, I stopped hoping he would someday come back for me.

Of course, it sucked that he didn’t want me… want us.

But my mom was right; we had each other, and that was enough.

Until one day, Mom didn’t come home from her shift.

I had just turned eighteen and was wiped from spending the day at the beach with Turtle.

She wasn’t in the single-story bungalow we had been renting since before I could remember, which wasn’t out of the norm. She often worked late and just ate when she got back.

I made dinner for us and passed out on the couch, waiting for her to come home and tell me about her day. She worked at our local Comfort Inn, and she often had hilarious stories about the guests who stayed there.

I woke up around midnight, and she still wasn’t home. I’ll never forget the sinking feeling in my gut the moment it occurred to me something was wrong.

Every time I tried to call her, her phone went to voicemail. I tried to convince myself I was overreacting, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling that my life was about to change forever.

I called Turtle in a panic. My mom and I shared a car, and she had taken it to work that day, so I had no wheels. Turtle picked me up, and together, we drove around for hours looking for her.

It was around three am when I received a call from the police, informing me that my mother had been involved in an accident with a drunk driver, and they needed me to come to the morgue to identify her body.

Turtle held me while I sobbed, and my entire life fell to pieces around me.

She was gone, and now, I really was alone.

My mom left me everything she had, which was more than I expected her to have squirreled away. I don’t know if she had been planning to use this nest egg to send me to school or what, but she had managed to save roughly sixty grand.

I didn’t touch any of it for years. Turtle and I both dropped out of school and went on a road trip across the US together, chasing waves.

Or that’s what I told myself. It was easier to believe I was chasing something instead of running away from the pain of losing the only family I had.

When we first heard about Leviathans, Turtle and I were living out of the van he bought for us in Cape Hatteras, checking out the East Coast scene.

Our plan had always been to eventually end up in Hawaii and level up into the big wave scene the islands were famous for… So, to learn that we could find twenty-foot swells without shelling out surf tokens on a plane ticket?

Say less!

We packed up the next day and drove for almost two full days from North Carolina to Stars Cove, California.

The second we entered the tiny town, I was overcome with this unnerving sensation that I would never leave this place again.

Turtle drove us through the single main road that cut through Stars Cove in the direction of the beach, and I drank in our new home with so much gusto you would think I’d never seen a surf town before.

It was identical to almost every other town we had passed through in the last four years.

The main strip was flanked by pastel-colored surf and souvenir shops. There was a bigger outdoor beach restaurant by the boardwalk called ‘Sharkies’ with a NOW HIRING sign out front.

This place had everything a couple of surf bums could want or need, including a beach-side trailer park for Turtle to park his van, Shelly.

Get it? Shelly? ‘Cause turtles have shells? HA!

We’d unpacked and slept in Shelly that night, but I was already itching to explore by morning.

Turtle didn’t seem as enamored with the place as I was.

Don’t get me wrong, he was pumped. He pointed out that the waves were nice (perfect pipelines), but they were a far cry from the twenty-footers we had driven across the entire country to surf.

After poking around, we learned that the waves we were chasing were seasonal and could only be found in the winter months on a much more secluded beach called Leviathans, just outside of town.

That was how I found this shack that I just spent all sixty thousand dollars of my inheritance on.

Now, you might be thinking: Finn ! That’s crazy! Sixty thousand dollars for a SHACK?

To which I say: Bruh. Look at it !

I can’t believe it was only 60k, if I’m being honest. Sure, the structure itself is small, but it’s all about location.

It’s right by the water, nestled a couple hundred feet back from a crescent moon-shaped private beach with consistent perfect swells.

It was only a mile away from Leviathans and sat just outside of Stars Cove, making it the perfect halfway point from town and the beach where I planned to make a name for myself.

The place also came fully furnished, and you could just tell the dude who lived here before me was rad as fuck.

The beige, shiplap walls were covered in framed posters of some of the greats. Black and white action shots of Grant “Twiggy” Baker, Mark Foo, and Keala Kennelly filled me with an aching sense of belonging as I handed the completed documents to the realtor.

“Congratulations, Mr. Summers. You’re officially a homeowner.”

I winced. “Mr. Summers is my father… or he would have been if he stuck around. Oh shit—that was too much information… sorry…” Fuck what was her name? “Brenda! I’m sorry, Brenda. Thanks. For all the, um, help with the paperwork and stuff.”

God.

Can you tell I haven’t communicated with someone who doesn’t eat, sleep, and breathe the ocean for a minute?

This poor gal in her pencil skirt was looking at me like I was some gnarly sea creature squirting ink all over the place.

“Not at all, Mr. uhm, Finn. Welcome to Stars Cove,” she said by way of parting, then she let herself out and left me alone in my new digs.

I glanced around at the small but comfortable space, taking in my new bright red couch and cream shag rug.

The shack consisted of a split living room/kitchenette, one tiny bathroom with a standing shower, and a small bedroom.

It had everything I could possibly need, and a huge grin spread across my face.

I fist-bumped the picture of Mark Foo and sighed happily.

“Home sweet home.”