The day in question. Yes, it was that good. Photo: Stu Gibson
You might consider it normal, but I sure don’t. I am not even gonna just shrug it off so as to all feel hip about it. It is not normal for me, not yet anyway.
I wrote once about surf porn and what it is doing to our kids. We seem to live in a world where the sacred is becoming less so. If this is true, is it a good thing? Let me tell you a story…
The other day I had a call from Big Al. He was frothing about a particular group of breaks down south that were about to wake up from a long hiatus in the next few days. I listen to Big Al because Big Al reckons he has an uncanny ability to predict these things. He says he feels it in his bones. Although you have to be careful, because Big Al can feel a lot of things in his bones, and you don’t want to be around when things are getting mixed up.
In 16 years of living on this island, for a variety of reasons, including not actually surfing for a large portion of that, I had only mind-surfed these amazing sleeping beauties. I heard the old sea hag tales of what signs to look for when they break (no, I am not going to tell you what they are) and I was keen as mustard to get a couple of these never-ending crab grinders, so I raced on down to sleep on Big Al’s couch to catch the dawn and to beat the crowds for the big day.
As I lay on the couch getting little-to-no sleep –I blame it on the sugary rum and the solitary bottle of smoky mescal we smashed – I thought about my life into the wee hours of the morning. I pondered about where we go and where we have been and how, if I were to measure my success in the world as to what I was doing right now, at that point, then curled up on a too short, too lumpy, smelly sofa, in an old sleeping bag without a comfortable pillow or a woman by my side, then I was measuring around 1.7 out of 10 on the “Life Success Chart.” Fucking Great!
Anyway, after that shit sleep, a cup of instant expressive espresso and a mad drive to the frosty, fields of liquid fun, we quickly learned that Big Al was not the only one that had a feeling in his bones. The dawn patrol was a mistake. Every man and his dog was there. A steady stream of 9 to 5’ers were making their way out for the long walk to the end of the point. In a lemmings-like move we just said, “screw it, let’s do it too!”
That morning’s surf started bad and ended ok. I took out the log again (this is becoming a habit. Careful Charlie!) and nose dived the first wave. The next few were like driving school dodging witch’s hats down the rocky point. Thankfully, I finished with three racy wide insiders far away from the maddening crowd that were so good I needed to pinch myself because I had no one to run over. I left the water feeling slightly blessed and took my iPhone for a wander along the point to get a sneaky little snapshot or two of this, from my perspective, unique and special place.
Years of growing up in South Australia had taught me discretion in taking shots and sharing them with the public. Photos were to be kept in the glove box and only taken out for trustworthy friends or soul mate travelers around the campfire, and even then, only after they showed theirs. Whole film crews have been run out of towns at gunpoint, or so legend has it, for even wanting to raise a lens at the ocean. Very prickly indeed. So, with that upbringing, I was feeling a little suspect about even taking a iPhone photo of this unnamed place, regardless of the fact that were about 87.5 people lining its rocky headland.
Here’s the thing: after sneaking in a couple of crap photos and being content with the knowledge that it was a great day and would only get better and I didn’t need to digitize it, I got home. Facebook was showing me today’s adventures from other perspectives, mind you with far better surfers than myself. Those perspectives had already made several laps around the world, and look like they plan on doing so for a few more days. My hair wasn’t even dry yet, and I know one video was spreading before the surfer was even out of the water?
Now, I have been an active consumer of such wave porn, and I know this sort of vagrant confabulation has been happening for a long time. But never have I felt so close to the action, and in some ways, kind of chuffed that I was there surfing on a day that became slightly legendary. Thousands around the world were jealous of our southern adventures. It felt a little like a violation, like sleeping with a gorgeous person, and then watching as they put up photos of the night… only not photos of you, but of everyone else they slept with that night.
Even though I see it every day from everywhere else, it’s not something I’ve ever really thought about. I would say that more famous surf locales have had this happening for years, albeit not in such an instantaneous way. So, this is the new paradigm, I suppose. I am not saying it is good or it is bad, but it is something I still don’t yet consider normal. The optimal word though here is “yet.”
