It's not the Sharks that are the Problem

Isabella was awake on Monday morning at 05h30. Fantastic news as I had finished my sleeping by then. I gave her a bottle and tossed her back into her cot. Her eyes fluttered open, panic swirled in my gut, she gave me a half smile and then settled back to sleep. Breathing a sigh of relief I headed back for the warmth of my bed.

That warmth was short lived as I found myself sitting on my surfing neighbours dark pavement barely an hour later. The wind was howling and I wondered why I had traded my bed for a potentially miserable surf.

In no time at all we were on the road, then back to the neighbour’s house to pick the wetsuit he had forgotten, and back on the road again. We arrived at Paranoia, our local surf spot, to find beautiful big waves reeling down the bay. I should have been excited, but the heavy wind did not inspire much confidence.

We hopped into the water and paddled like mad men to get through the channel as fast as possible. Getting caught in the channel means an unpleasant date with a set of rocks. Always best to avoid that! Halfway through this mad paddle, I realised that I was panting, practically hyperventilating. The water was absolutely frigid. Duck diving my fourth wave was pure torture. Somehow I made it to the back and watched in fascination as these huge water mountains rolled on past. Somehow they had seemed far smaller on the shore.

I paddled for a wave, felt the pull of it, looked where I wanted to go, and was blasted by thousands of needles. Able to see nothing, I pulled out and paddled back to the line up. I find I am a little uncomfortable about catching big waves that I cannot see! After a couple of frustrating failed attempts, I started to feel cold. I don’t normally feel the cold, so this was a little unexpected. There was no relief from the elements with a water temperature of about 10 degrees Celsius and a wind of at least 40km / hour that was bent on whipping up the tops of the waves into mini squalls. I felt more than a little exposed!

My paddling became wildly erratic as my hands and feet morphed into ice blocks. One chap commented that it was not so much that I was paddling for waves but rather suffering an epileptic fit. Not funny at all! My speech started to slur and I developed a stutter. I was absolutely sure I was not hypothermic but something was wrong with me. The other guys were cold but not overly concerned.

There is no easy exit out of there; out at sea with massive amounts of water surging off a rocky shelf certainly leaves little room for error. I waited for a wave to get me out of there as fast as possible, yet none came to my rescue. When I started to have trouble swallowing, I did the unthinkable for a surfer. I paddled all the way down the line up to the end of the wave in order to get out. A little burst of energy saw me make the paddle and negotiate the tricky exit over the rocks. The wind on its own was a welcome relief!

A quick examination revealed swollen hands and feet, as well as big inflamed welts around my calves where they were exposed to the water.

It seems an old friend of mine has resurfaced in a rather aggressive manner, my allergy to the cold! Who needs to worry about sharks, when it is the cold that is gonna get ya!