“For me, why you surf is more important than how you surf” – Nathan Oldfield, Seaworthy.
I think about the reef and how the wave forms a bowl over and around it. I know where to sit on my board and wait, taking my bearing from the sucky rock. Sections close fast going right at low tide, better to go left for a while. Take off straight on the fat left, then bottom turn and glide.
At 41 years of age and many years of barely a wave, I’m back in the water on a regular basis. It’s not just the physical enjoyment of surfing that brought me back, the cold water and powerful waves clear my mind. To have ill loved ones is heartbreaking yet they have inspired me to surf, feel more, and to tell this story.
Surfing simply fell out of my life as a consequence of career, family and location. A familiar story. Since returning to Melbourne some years ago, I’ve been surfing only once or twice while on holidays on the Sunshine Coast.
Noosa, Peregian and Sunshine Beach are all wonderful places, not least because of the warm water. Surfing in Victoria can be quite a different experience. Boardies, zinc cream and an outdoor shower on the Sunshine Coast are replaced by shucking off a wetsuit in the cold carpark, changing into warm clothes and folding around a hot coffee. I prefer the later and put it down to middle age nostalgia.
A longboard is my chosen vessel and the small waves at Pines in Shoreham suit it well. For bigger bumps I drive around to nearby Flinders for the Cyril’s break. Shoreham and Flinders are in Western Port Bay just over an hour from Melbourne.
The cold water, blackened by the dark reef, fills my senses as much as my nasal passages. Riding waves in the early morning is a highlight but not the only attraction. I like looking back from the line-up to the grassy paddocks above cliffs. I like the pine trees and old gnarly banksias. I like chatting to the friendly local with the orange board and hair to match, but why? The fresh air and crisp autumn light go beautifully with cold sea water and a red-wine headache.
Time to think is available when the swell is at a lull and you’re left bobbing and swirling. My mind wanders to those I care so much about.
I think about our beautiful daughter and how life glowed when she was born. Then the black dog of depression returned to lock its jaws on my wife. It was there while she was pregnant, a psychiatrist confirmed it. Drugs provide her sanity while long term plans are laid and practiced. Yoga, mindfulness and sound sleep. There are no guarantees of recovery and she has her good and bad days. I try to stay positive, encourage her and feel guilty for any seemingly self indulgent activity like surfing. I shouldn’t because my wife understands why I surf. Surfing is my yoga, mindfulness and sleep.
I think about my youngest brother who suffered a stroke at 34. No fat unhealthy bastard here. An artery in his neck was injured while he trained. A blood clot formed and travelled to his brain. I cried my way through Fitzroy Gardens for two weeks every night as I walked to the Epworth Hospital in Richmond to visit him: “So long as I can still surf”, is what he always said.
One year later and he has peripheral vision issues on his left side. He’s surfing again but going left is tricky. Surfing itself is not a problem but rather dropping in. He simply can’t see properly anymore. Time may heal his eyesight, it may not. He says he thinks about it all day and every day. But I know that when a wave rears up and he paddles hard before taking off, his troubled mind is clear.
Surfing is a sport largely completed in the moment, in the present tense and there’s no time to think on a wave. There’s a feeling of contentedness and empowerment that comes from the clarity of mind that surfing gives. Later, back in the carpark where you wrestle with a wetsuit that feels like a straight jacket, not even a bracing wind is enough to quell the extraordinary high of surfing.
I’ve always believed that some activities can clear your mind, maybe even heal it. Focus becomes absolute. There is no room for the negative. For some it’s painting, writing or yoga. For others it’s golf, sailing or footy. For me it’s surfing. Plus, I’m so knackered after a surf session that I’m out like a light after two or three St Kilda peers.
I feel the bubbly seaweed on the reef with my hands as I paddle out to Cyril’s. The tide is so low it’s barely surfable. I think to myself that I should buy a helmet. I know where to sit on my board and wait for the waves. To my right a large flat rock appears and disappears as water swills and gurgles around it.
Kelp sways and floats in the black water. I think about sharks and my legs go up. The white-water reform wave closes in. I paddle hard to gain momentum before the wave-foam cloaks me. Quick to my feet on my nine footer, I stay low for balance, negotiate the rough water and streak out to the wall and gain speed. The water rears up steeply against the reef and I don’s make the section. The close-out lip hits me and sends me onto the rocky seabed. My arse bounces off the reef. Better buy that helmet because next time it might be my noggin.
My mind is clear, I’m content and another bottle of red will be had tonight. This is why I surf.
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