Sunday, January 10, 2010

Too Tired to Surf?

Tuesday morning started beautifully. It was earlier than the sun and the world had that just new again look. The back of Table Mountain was just visible as it lay hunkered down across the bay. The beautiful colours of dawn seemed to have no effect on that slumbering giant.

In front of us the sea rumbled in apparent confusion, its size far smaller than that predicted by misinformed climatologists. Out of nowhere a lump of swell birthed a great wave onto the rocky shelf that we know as our local surf spot, Paranoia!

Without delay we were in the water, and somehow I managed to make some personal breakthroughs. Was it possible that my surfing was looking up, that I was moving onto the next level at last? After two hours of fun, I quit the watery rollercoaster and was back at my desk before 08h15. More than ready to tear into a new day!




Friday dawned with the promise of much bigger swell. With some trepidation I found myself looking at the same surf break. This morning the sea was angry, belching up big heaving waves that thundered spent energy. Without having taken a step, I felt exhausted, weeks of interrupted and fitful sleep having taken their toll. Ever up for the challenge, I suited up and paddled wearily into the frothing windswept melee that was the takeoff zone.

The waves were big, more than twice my height, and I struggled to catch any of them. And then by accident I caught a wave. It was big and exhilarating but even the intense adrenaline rush did little to fuel my slow and long paddle back.

Later a behemoth of a wave rolled on over to us. The surfer in front of me jumped off his board instead of duck diving under it. In my tired mind, I wondered why, until I noticed that his board looked like a matchstick in front of an avalanche of foam. With haste I followed suit and swam deep until I felt my leash strain against my leg as it took brunt of the waves force. Then I swam upwards for ages, feeling the pressure reduce on my ears but battling to get out of the writhing frothy cauldron of spent energy. Eventually it released me and I gratefully breathed some fresh salt infused air. My little strength remaining had been violently sapped. It was time to get out!

Somehow I caught the next wave and was shocked to see it lurch and explode in front of me. With no thought for my feelings, it swept me into its roiling self, surged onward, and spat me out down the rocky coast. Gasping! Not the exit that I had desired! Instead I paddled for the small rocky exit, eventually found purchase with my feet. I then carefully picked my slippery rocky trail with care, only to find myself unceremoniously thumped by an unhappy watery leftover of global warming. Landing on top of the thin part of my board, on top of three of my fingers, on top of a rock! The rock stood firm, whilst my fingers tried to squeeze themselves into my board. Thankfully, my board obliged.

A hard lesson learnt. Exhaustion is not to be fooled with in dangerous conditions. Perhaps the three neat grooves in the side of my surf board may remind me long after my swollen, bruised, and bloody fingers have healed!

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