This true story was orginally contributed to the alt.surfing newsgroup in response to complaints from another regular contributor who had also sustained a serious foot injury.
Fundoggy,
I tip my straw hat to you on your rehabilitation efforts. I sustained a similar injury to my right foot (I'm a regular foot) about four years ago. I must confess I didn't dedicate myself as completely as you have, but I can say categorically that the desire to surf again is what kept me going and brought me back farther and faster than any of my doctors expected.
Since the story of my injury is sort of surf related, and has a message, I thought I would share it with everyone:
At the time of "the accident" I was coaching a college surf team in Southern California that had qualified for the NSSA College National Championships being held at Lower Trestles, the end of June. The team captain, Gary, and I drove down a day before the contest to catch an evening session, scope out the surf conditions, heat assignments, judges stands, etc.
I surf Trestles pretty regularly on surfaris up and down the coast and I cannot recall ever seeing the surf at Lowers smaller or more blown-out than it was that particular evening. But, since it was warm, and we needed to wash off the freeway dust, we surfed for a couple of hours and just before dark started the hike up the trail to my van.
It was late...and...we were really hungry...and...the train had gone by only a few minutes earlier..and...well...I decided we should save two minutes by walking the trestle. OK, I admit this was not one of my better decisions!
Gary and I walked side by side along the trestle talking about the session, the sunset, the contest schedule (the usual stuff) until we were about two-thirds of the way across. We heard the train coming when it was a 1/2 mile away and began sprinting for the end of the trestle. It was like a scene from the movie "Stand By Me". I was carrying my nine foot noserider in a canvas boardbag slung over my shoulder and remember cursing with each stride as I tried not to miss the wooden ties.
Trains in the country go really fast! The train was on us in seconds and we were nowhere near the end of the Trestle yet. Fuuuuck....
Gary stepped off the tracks onto the catwalk on his side of the trestle. There was no catwalk on my side, and it was too late to cut across the tracks. I stepped to the edge of the trestle and started to swing my board around to the outside, away from the train...I didn't make it. As the train engineer stared bug-eyed from his window, the front of the train caught the tip of my fin and shattered the board into three pieces. Somehow I kept my balance and was able to keep the board from spinning me around and back under the train wheels.
The board was still hanging from my shoulder by one of the bag straps as the train roared past, inches from my back. The trestle was shaking and the train wheels were spraying me with sparks... As the train roared by at 60 mph all I could think was, "something may be sticking out from the train that will cut me in half...I better move!"
At that moment the 20 feet down to the trail below didn't look so far, so for lack of a better idea I threw my board into the bushes and jumped....I was fine until I hit the ground!
As the train continued to roar by (it never even slowed down) I began to take inventory...Arms? OK...Legs?OK...Stand up? OK...Walk? Hey, my foot doesn't work!...and whoa, it's beginning to hurt! After the train passed I checked to be sure Gary was OK and we tried to hike out. No Way! We tried to improvise crutches, but no dice. Maybe Gary could carry me up the trail? If you know me, you know this was not an option. Nothing worked, I was stuck.
While Gary went for help, I lay down, pulled my board out of the bag and covered myself with the bag to keep warm and minimize shock. It was pretty dark by then, but a few surfers hiking out spotted me and stopped to see if I was OK. I just scrunched up some kind of grimace/smile and grunted something about "OK...friend...getting...help..." About 30 minutes later I heard a whole lot of sirens, and a sheriffs car came flying down the trail with Gary riding shotgun. It seems that when he called 911 from Carl's Jr. he told the operator his buddy had been hit by a train, and expecting the worst, the operator had dispatched every emergency vehicle between San Onofre and San Clemente to the scene.
On the way to the hospital the paramedics inspected my foot, which by this time had swollen to the size of a football, and proceeded to tell me, "You're really lucky. The last call we had from the Trestle was for some fool who was wearing walkman headphones and never heard the train coming. We brought him up in a plastic bag." Good one, where's the pain killers guys?
X-rays showed no fractures, but nearly all of the major bones in my foot were separated from each other and from my ankle, with serious damage to cartilage and ligaments. Late that night the surgeon realigned all of the bones and pinned them in place with metal rods. He later confided to me that the night I was brought in, it was a toss-up whether to try the pins, or just amputate. The fact that I was wearing a wetsuit convinced him to at least try saving it. A week after my accident another surfer was killed by a train on the trestle just a few yards from where it caught me.
Recovery was hell, and in some ways I am still in rehabilitation. Even though I was back on a new board in six months, it was a year before things started to click in the water again. The toughest thing about recovery has been my inability to participate in the sustained high impact activities like running that I used to do for cardio-vascular conditioning. Except for surfing, swimming is by far the best activity you can do to recover quickly and effectively. And by the way, avoid convenience stores!
Aside from the encouragement I offer Foondoggy, and the entertainment value of this story, surfers take heed...
No shortcut is worth your life...or a piece of it...or even a good noserider... If you must take risks, think contingencies, and plan escape routes in advance. Even the toughest of us are not indestructible!
da hulk, BBSD
Copyright©1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000 by Stephen Hull. All Rights Reserved
Return to da hulk's Surfpage.
Maintained by da hulk.
Last modified on 1/28/98.