Make the most of your days off. Photo: Jono Smit
As the warm autumn days pass and winter creeps in, frozen windscreens and the unwillingness to remove the warm bed sheets become a commonplace. Monday morning has its cold claws deeply sunken in as I reflect on my six-month sabbatical. My work phone rings; no work for at least the next two days. Pondering this after a weekend of rest due to poor weather and feeling under it, some salty alarm bells ring and I check the forecast. I can’t remember making the decision to go, but I just remember that I did.
The area of coastline with ample swell is located on the other side of the island, which involves either a hectic four-hour, non-stop drive or an enjoyable half-day roadie to the destination of right-hand points. The end of fishing season was nearing, too, so I made sure to opt for the half-day trip and stop for a fly-fishing intermission or two. I spotted a few great fish fleeing. I nearly stepped on them in my haste, but after a couple quiet moments, I got my fix. I think fishing is a bit like surfing—when you have a good session, all you want is more. However, if the waves are good, I will always surf.
When I arrived, the swell was just as the forecast predicted. But with a building south swell, it certainly had some larger pulses. This particular point beak is an ideal wave with varying sections, which offers 200-meter rides on the good ones. But it also has something for every kind of surfer.
I was desperately trying to conserve my energy for the next day’s peaking swell, but I said to myself, “One more wave” for what felt like a few hours. I couldn’t contain myself. But all good things must come to an end. It wasn’t the darkness, but a stiff body and cold, stumpy feeling in my legs that brought me to shore. With my useless numb fingers I attempted to remove my wetsuit. Following a local burger and a couple bevies in the belly, not even the grommets playing up in the camp outside could keep me from falling into a dark, happy zone of sleep. I was content, to say the very least.
Photo: Jono Smit
The next morning was gloomy, cold, and onshore. The wind wasn’t in the forecast, but with a quick Internet check, I saw that it was going to swing once the sun found its lazy winter energy. I took a few moments to refuel the body and, of course, my station wagon only to find a coolant leak in the engine. Panic and sweat seeped into my morning. Do I take it now to a garage and hope to salvage a surf by the arvo offshores? I was prepared to take a blow to the wallet and the soul, but all I wanted was to surf.
I decide to wing it as nearly every surfer has done when they’re being selfish. A quick mechanical check and I make the decision that the leak wasn’t so bad. I made the call to travel further south to yet another peninsular, where it should be offshore and even more exposed to the rising swell. Driving the entire hour journey through fog, isolated farmland, and forestry, the coolant leak was soon forgotten, as the ocean was now in sight. The feeling of driving down a coast and seeing a swell of significant size with offshore winds is something I will never grow tired of. With swell period predicted to peak at 17 seconds, the raw feeling of a rising swell is something I will never grow tired of.
Parking at the lot I try not to rush in order to keep a low profile. The locals here can sometimes be tricky to pick. Being humble and quiet will never grow tired from a local’s viewpoint. The waves stacked with a stiff offshore and just a couple of surfers out. I watched for a few minutes before I couldn’t take it anymore. Heading out down the rocks I see the others paddling in. Good timing for me, I thought for a moment. I then noticed one of their boards bent at a funny angle with the fiberglass hanging off. After a dry hair paddle out, and easing into the lineup, I realized sets are bigger than it looked from the carpark. Double overhead sets were rolling in with their speed magnified from the bend of the reef. I managed to scratch into a couple just before the wind increased and the angle switched. Damn devil winds…
This wave can be testing in ideal conditions. Its steepness and speed, with a harsh wind blowing sideways, some interesting late takeoffs occurred. I attempted this for two more rides before coming in a little frustrated and relieved. After all, I was shocked to have escaped any humorous upside-down pitchings, which this wave can dish out without sympathy.
Back in the carpark I met a guy who had just finished a nightshift and was hanging out for a surf. He thought the waves looked good until he saw me on a wave, negotiating that wind chop on a tricky face. We both chatted about another point further in the bay that could be sheltered from the wind, but it would be considerably smaller due to refraction. Still, we figure it was the best option.
I drive down with my wetsuit still on and run up the point with my shorter board. Clean head-high waves were peeling down along the point. Climbing down the rocks I spooked a seal, who then showed me the fastest way into the lineup. Once over the slippery rocks and out at the takeoff spot, a set arrives—four overhead waves that were offshore and peeling perfectly with no one out. The only thing that could’ve made this session better was to be wearing a warmer suit, without booties, gloves, and hoodie. But that would surely encourage more people to join me. Twenty minutes later, my new friend joined me and we traded wrapping rides for the next two hours until our fingers couldn’t make cups to paddle. My body was crying out for warmth. A hot coffee from my thermos and my toes are still numb. Still, watching the waves, I contemplate going out again when two other locals head out. But even with a rising swell, it cannot compete with the rising tide. And after another 30 minutes passed, the waves stopped. Only then was it an easy decision to make. I made the five-hour drive back home to a flat ocean and a warm house, content with a hit and run session well done. I get a text on my phone. Work begins again tomorrow.
