The Moment I Realised
Around June 2007 I managed to find a surfboard for the first time in almost a year. Scolding myself for how long it’d been I visited a little place called Woolacombe and picked up a minimal from a surf-hire place on the front (Google reckons it was Hunter (I’m not sure it was at the time, but this was definitely where I picked it up). £5 for a couple of hours at the time: well worth it.
One of the reasons I hadn’t been to a rental place before is because of just that. I hadn’t been to a rental place before, and I was scared of looking like a complete beginner (a funny, all too regular concern for a beginner to have) because I’d spent my life thus far acting like a know-it-all.
At this point in time the peak of my game is standing up and riding 1 wave in every 5 straight in to the beach, much to the amusement of my sand-side friends. My first pinch of advice:
[DO] Rent a surfboard.
[DON’T] Get arsey when you bail.
I think this particular day for me was the first sparkling of a new hope with my love for surfing. One of the problems with the sport is that you can lose your way for many reasons: no surf, cold weather, no time. On this day I caught a wave that propelled me along a crystal blue surface and nothing else in the world mattered. I didn’t trim, I didn’t carve: I didn’t even really get the pop right: but I loved it. It’s true what they say: certain waves really do affect you.
As the swell settled down and the sun began to set, we made our way back to the lodge to laze about on the decking: to see this beautiful sky.
*I’m all too aware of how boring it is when people rattle on about their “enlightening” in some natural hot-tub at the foot of some biblical mountain-range, so I’ll spare you the drivel. You know now that I went to Australia for a while, and that will do. [DO/DON’T!]