Dirt roads and the rhythm of the sea.

I wake up with a start and look out the window, and the sky’s ablaze with the red of fresh dawn over the dunes at the end of the bay. The water is like a mirror, and I blink my eyes a few times to register where I am and what is happening. Heavy dreams and not enough sleep. Its 5:45 am, and I know that the water won’t stay this calm all day. Summer trades are expected to blow up mid-morning. I spent yesterday afternoon checking a few spots to see if the swell reported on the net was a reality. Not big, but there was energy in the ocean. I blink again. The bed is warm, and I could just lay back down. Close my eyes for another hour. But no. I had set my intention last night and will make the hour trip south and surf, no matter what. I get out of bed and grab the iced coffee I had bought the night before, a banana and a quarter of a McCain’s supreme frozen pizza out of the fridge and jump in the car. Just three days over here on the coast, and it looks like I have packed my entire life. Fishing Rods, novels, food packets, surf gear, clothes and tools all just chucked in. I make sure I have wax and water and I’m off..

The dirt roads at this time of the day are hypnotic. My eyes half asleep still and a podcast on the stereo — I am on autopilot. From experience, all I am looking for is the sign of roos on the side of the road. I call this stretch of dirt, Roo Alley. A bumpy dirt road that cuts straight through the peninsula, gleaming white in the first rays of golden light. When you spot a mob up ahead, you have to cut the speed from 90 down to nothing. When they hear the car, they clamber out of the shrubs into the road like a bunch of drunken tourists leaving an Irish pub on St Patrick’s day. Bumping into each other and bouncing straight down the road. I don’t take chances with them. They are made to wreck Jeeps. Once I hit the bitumen, I can put the foot down, never seen roo’s on this stretch. 30 minutes straight down to the tip of the country and into the national park. I am greeted by a family of emus running alongside the car, the little ones so crazy looking and cute. Manic eyes and bodies too big for their legs. The anticipation of the surf is on me now. Will it be pumping? Will the wind have picked up? Will it be packed, its still summer holidays. As I come up over the rise, you get a glimpse of one of the breaks. Telltale sign if there is swell in the water. From the top of the bluff overlooking the flat land below, I watch a 3–4 foot glassy peak roll in and heave over itself, hollow and fast. Yesss. The 40km speed limit in the park is rarely observed, especially after that vision. 15 minutes later, I turn off into the carpark. There are 10 or so cars, which is both a good and a bad sign. I jump out of the car and assemble the things I need into a tote bag. Wax, earplugs, water, a cookie and a towel. I throw my wetsuit over my board and pace off towards the track to the beach. When I was a kid there was no boardwalk, and you would make the trek through small paths in the towering dunes, now it is easy. The rise before the beach is always filled with eager anticipation, you can hear the surf before you see it, but it can be deceptive. I pick up my pace and come over the top to see 15 or so people out and a small set come through, clean and fun. A father and son are standing on the rise, also looking out at the surf. I casually mention that the tide looks a little full and he quips — too many bloody people and sets off back towards the car park. A few more people are suiting up to head out on the platform that overlooks the beach. I wander to the far end and look out at the lineup. It’s small, and only the left is working, but it’s calm, and there are dolphins out amongst the surfers, and the sky is overcast and moody. The energy feels good. I throw on my wetsuit, hoping that the zipper doesn’t get stuck and not zip. There is nothing more frustrating than wanting to be racing off towards the water and having to fumble with a dumb zipper and cold hands for 15 minutes. But it glides in the first try…a positive sign. The tide is high, and the paddle is only 30 seconds or so. I jump into the water and watch a set rolling in and several surfers paddle and miss waves. The last time I was out here, I surfed terribly. The waves were pumping, but I was not in the zone. I kept falling and was in the wrong on every wave. Today though, I felt good and paddled straight into the lineup and snatched a smaller set wave from under the pack of 15. I stood up feeling light. My back foot resting on the tail pad and my front toes feeling the wax, the face of the wave green in front of me and a blank canvas waiting for me to react. I pump and do a quick cutback and jump off into the foam. There is nothing like grabbing a first quick wave. I paddle back into the group of surfers, smiling and vibing with positive energy.

I only started surfing at a later age. As a kid, I was a bodyboarder and threw myself into the culture and the spirit but never pushed myself in the surf. I would read magazines from cover to cover. Remembering all the spots. I would ask my Dad, who had been a surfer a million questions about the breaks in our home state, and we would always go and check spots and just sit and watch the waves roll in. Which is something I do to this day, no matter where I am in the world if there is a surf spot, I have to check it. When I came back from London at the age of 29, I bought a board and set the intention of becoming a surfer. I remember I bought a wetsuit from a shop on the coast and told the bloke I was back from Europe and wanted to learn to surf, and he told me that the number one thing I needed to do, was to commit. If I was hungover, or it was cold, or the surf was only average — you had to make the trip. Commit. It was solid advice, and I ate it up and found myself driving the 45 minutes down the to coast several times a week. Thrashing about in the straight closeouts at beach breaks learning to get a feel for the sport. Surfing is complex — much more than just paddling into a wave and standing up. Once you get the basics down, you realise that the progression is never-ending. It’s a battle against yourself with a myriad of variables thrown in to make your life more difficult. Before you can even begin to hone your skill on a wave, you need a myriad of perfect conditions to fall into place — Swell, tide, wind, weather. You need to get to the right spot. You need to know how to paddle out and duck dive and feel confident in the water. You need to navigate the crowd… who are the locals and the rippers and the grumpy old bastards on thick boards who don’t like people like YOU!

Sitting out the back, I looked around at the people in the water. A massive part of surfing is understanding the lineup. Who are you surfing with and where do you sit in the hierarchy. From the beach, I could see that at least 3 or 4 of the pack were beginners. You can see where their body is weighted on their boards in the water. Too far back and struggling to paddle with grace. I know that I can paddle inside of these guys and grab a wave. Two of them are just young blokes on beginner boards, finding their feet. The other two look like they have grabbed borrowed boards from their shack, just messing about. An attractive couple with sexy looking twin fins are chatting out the back. Big smiles and white teeth watching the dolphins play, probably on a road trip. They aren’t here to hassle for waves, and I enjoy surfing with their kind. There are 3 or 4 of the mandatory old blokes. Grey hair and longer boards. They know the lineup and are always in the right spot, but slow to get back out and not really in a rush. They have been doing this for years and today is nothing to write home about. It’s a 3D game of chess finding your position and ascertaining where you can slot it to grab some waves. That first wave had put me in a good place, and I smiled as I paddled back out and said hello to a few people. I am always friendly and chipper in the surf. We are all just here to have fun — there is nothing worse than bad vibes in the ocean. I paddle inside two of the beginners and watch the pretty girl take a set wave on her backhand, she pops up easily but loses momentum on her bottom turn, and the wave runs away from her. I give her a yew as she pops up and paddle around one of the older blokes to grab the inside for the next wave. The peak rises up behind me, and I can feel the energy of the swell grab my board and I jump to my feet. When you are in rhythm with the ocean, everything just gels. You find yourself in the right place at the right time, and the waves come to you. Often I feel heavy when I surf. I pop to my feet and lose speed and find myself out of sync and behind the power source. Today, the sync is there, and I feel speed gather as a pump up the wave to race a small section coming down in front of me and bottom turn into a carve back towards the white water, feeling speed and flow, and I am again facing the green wall and the closeout section ahead. Below the moss-covered rocks are only 30 cm from the surface, so I pull up under the closeout and stand up on the soft rocks looking back towards the lineup — two fun waves in a few minutes. Sometimes you can sit in a lineup for an hour and not get a wave. Sometimes longer. Today the surf gods are shining down on me, and I can feel it and am thankful. As I paddle back out, a massive pod of dolphins enters the lineup. There must be 50 of them swimming in and amongst us. Some giant old females with scars oil their backs and fins that have seen some shit. Little babies the size of a small tuna popping out of the water and landing on their backs. Their eyes dazzling in the morning sun and a smile baked onto their faces. They are playing in the surf, and so are we. I look around at the crew and watch their faces as they watch the dolphins. The couple are both beaming; they dig it. Some of the younger blokes dive down to see if they can swim with them or touch them. The older blokes seem nonplussed but happy to be sharing the water. Everyone is happy. How could you not be? I feel the water move behind me, and a big one is within a foot as a baby jumps out of the water and back in brushing against my leg. They could care less about us and what we are doing in their backyard.

I enter into a rhythm with the cool girl who I find out is from Victoria and surfing her way along the coast with her boyfriend. We trade waves for the next hour or so, easily picking them off the rest of the pack. The beginner guys head in, and two overweight, hungover looking middle Aged blokes with sour faces paddle out. They are aggressive and hog the inside, yelling down the line that they own the wave. It’s 2–3ft and a bit fat on the face, and while they were both probably much better surfers than I will ever be, their weight and energy is not helping them today, and they seem frustrated. They don’t smile at the dolphins, and within 15 minutes they have paddled in and are off hunting the elusive ‘bigger peak down the beach. Even though the tide has not moved much, the surf starts to change. It’s crazy how many different faces an ocean can have within an hour. We find ourselves out of position for the sets, and my arms are beginning to tire. It’s been two hours and I must have caught 25 waves or more. Nothing too exciting, just that rush of getting to your feet and turning into one nice carve… on repeat. I am pondering on a meditation I sometimes do which is called ‘The Last Time’. You think about whatever it is you are doing and that this could be the last time you ever do it. I am so lucky to be sitting here in perfect surf amongst friendly humans and dolphins on an unpolluted beach in a national park full of emus and Kangaroos. I would be sad if this was the last time but also… embrace it NOW.. I tell myself one more good one before I head in — a fools mistake. The next 3 or 4 are not quite good enough. The wind shifts a little onshore, and the travellers head in and a new crew of beginners joins the lineup. The vibe is changing, and I am getting tired. I take off on a medium-sized set and push my turn too hard, hoping for that big dramatic finish. It doesn’t eventuate. Oh well. I stand up on the mossy rocks and catch the next rush of whitewater into the beach. I turn around on the shore and look back out. Maybe I will eat the cookie and drink some water and head back out? I wander up to the viewing platform and realise I am done. But there is still time to stand here and watch for 30 minutes while I catch my breath and surf the waves in my mind. The girl from Victoria is doing the same thing, and we smile, and I wish her safe travels and pack up my tote bag and walk back across the dunes. The drive back is such a different mood from 3 hours earlier. The sun is high in the sky, and I am tired and beaming with a soft glow, already dreaming of the next surf.