I’m not sure if they were the biggest waves I’ve ever
surfed. They were breaking over sand, it was a long period swell, it was sunny,
what little wind there was was gently puffing offshore and the water was a
balmy 25c, board shorts. But for some reason they were the scariest waves I’ve
surfed.
Ex tropical cyclone Oswald had emptied it’s bladder on most
of Queensland and an extended fetch of Easterly swell had come in behind it to
add some punch. Along with this were
unfavourable onshore winds. Only the protected points were working and they
were rammed. Sure I got some good ones amongst the flotsam, jetsam and pro’s
home for the week but when Saturday came and brought with it the merest breath
of an off shore I was all for hitting the open beaches.
Brian had done the classic Noosa shuffle the day before, you
know the one, trying to exit as the tide’s coming up, mind concentrating on
mountain goats feet but still failing miserably and slipping on those pesky
boulders. His little toe was at right angles to all the rest, it looked like it
wanted to go left. He was game for a go though. He necked a couple of
painkillers and strapped the errant toe to the next in the vain hope that the
little piggy that had none would convince the neighbouring little piggy to go
wee wee wee all the way home.
We met up at our trusty ‘secret’ spot and hiked/limped
through the bush only to discover the usual channel had been filled in in the
previous days and there was no paddle out. Brian was pretty sure he’d seen a
channel out front where he lives so we retreated and shot back to his local.
There was a channel, the only problem was that where the channel was the waves
that were passing through and over the gutter were unloading on the shore one
after another, six foot faces breaking in waist deep water all on top of each
other. I made it through, Brian wasn’t so lucky.
Next thing I’m sat in the gutter in betwixt a pounding shore
break and an off shore bank that was breaking a fair way out. I was praying for
Brian to make it and join me for the final push across the outside bar. It
didn’t happen. Fuck. I sat there and wondered and watched wave after perfect
wave reel both left and right either side of the channel then went for it. I
stopped paddling just short of Fiji and sat in the big blue getting my head
around all this. The ocean surface was so smooth, the sun was still low and not
yet scorching, boats further out where leaving blindingly white wakes against
the steel blue and behind me perfect bombs were spending themselves on the
bank. I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet that absolutely not another surfer was
out. Just me.
I moved in. I even tentatively paddled for a few, shit
that’s a long way down. Then salvation arrived, salvations name was Mark. He
wasn’t gonna come out but he saw me and thought fuck it. He actually got one
before me and that was all the impetus I needed. The drop seemed to go on for ever;
the fins were humming on my board. I flew, straight for the shoulder and over
the back, dropping onto my board my arms whirring in paddle motion before I’d
even connected. I was safe, I’d made it to the channel and there was nothing
behind. My knees had become liquid.
Mark took the first wave of the next set and in my
astonishment at his drop and bottom turn I’d neglected to worry about the rest
of the set. Suddenly my heart was in my throat, my arms have never dug so hard,
I wished my hands to be the size of dinner plates and I streamlined myself as
much as possible and paddled like a motherfucker for the rapidly growing
horizon. I squeaked under all five of them by the skin of my teeth and found
myself almost back at Fiji. Mark had sat out the set in the safety of the
gutter and was soon back out convincing me to go some more, and I did and I had
some blinding waves and I got the biggest barrel of my life and I came out and
my knees are still shaking.
On reflection, it wasn’t the size, it was the perfection
that did me. Flawless waves one after another reeling and spitting, every one.
They were brutal in their beauty. Did I have a good surf? I’m still pondering
this. I can say with some assurity that I didn’t really have fun but I’m glad I
had a go. Would I do it again? Probably.
Dumbass.
Here's a link to a photo taken about 2k's up the beach from where I was of an obviously much more competent surfer than me... I leave you to decide on a size.
