After we fixed the car, my brother and I decided to go for a surf down at the nearest ocean beach. It is a 30 minute drive down the coast, but a good chance to test out the new (professionally installed) CD player in the car.
We went down to a beach called Gunnamatta and prepared to jump in the surf for some mid afternoon frolicking. As we walked down to the water, we only saw two other surfers there. They were far out too. It would take some paddling to get near them. Closer to the shore, the waves were smashing right onto the beach. Actually, it looked as though they were spinning as they landed on shore. The undertow and the crash of the wave seemed to happen at the same time, right before a wall of water barreled up on the beach. It was quite intimidating.
Incidentally, along the same stretch of coast in 1967 one of our Prime Ministers disappeared while swimming. His body was never recovered.
Anyway, not letting a tired piece of history both us in the least, we dived into the churning water and let nature take its course. Lyndon tried the surfboard first, but after 5 minutes of struggle, he decided to give it to me. I started paddling out to get to the surfers out the back, while Lyndon swam next to me. I was almost out there, when I spotted a wave heading toward me, looking like it was going to break. I increased my paddling and as it was on top of me I pushed down on my board in an attempt to execute a duck dive. It almost worked.
I felt myself being sucked backward through the water by an incredible force. Normally, when a duck dive is executed, the wave may hit a part of you, but you’ll come up breathing. The wave usually just passes the top part of water, leaving the bottom relatively unmoved. Not so at Gunnamatta. The whole body of water from top to bottom sucked me down. I spun a few times, was dragged along the ocean floor for a bit and then clunk my surfboard slammed against my head.
After making my way to the top, I was not pleased to see another wall of water heading my way. Think not blue skies, crystal clear water. Think churning, swirling, choppy water with grey skies. Think desolate ocean beaches and emptiness. I would’ve thought these things myself, but the only thought I managed to have was ‘oh shit’.
I tumbled around again, fought my way to the top and decided to find my board. It was tied to my leg, so it can’t have got far. I grabbed it and floated closer to shore. My brother approached, grinning. I don’t know why because he had been dumped too, although with less surfboard-hitting-the-head action. I tried to tell him about my near-death experience, but all that came out was “urgh”. To which he replied, “why is your head bleeding?”
Turned out it was rather a nasty bump. We headed back, me to hospital to get my bleeding head fixed, Lyndon to watch TV. We had dared venture into the water, thinking that we might conquer nature and nature spat us out, broken and bleeding onto the shore in under 10 minutes. Am I Aussie any more? We’re meant to withstand these conditions, fly in the face of danger. This is my country, I should be king of these lands. Has all my time overseas really changed me that much? The conclusion of the day hit me like a fiberglass float in a churning sea.
I’m getting soft.
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