Sandy Point, a howling WNW wind and an urge to replicate the great Cup Weekend wave sail of 2005. (My favourite and best wave sail ever.)I rigged the 5.0 and donned the skid lid and joined James and Joel, two young bucks with more sailing talent in their little toes than most will get in their lives. Possibly including me.
The three of us headed out with a posse of onlookers crowded on the boardwalk, videos in hand and "they're bloody nuts" comments wafting from their mouths. And they may have had a point there, cos it was farkin huge. We're talking 2-3 metres average, with the occasional mast high set (ie 4 metres).
I was just pumped and was seeing it as a chance to carve some waves and be a legend in my own lunchbox. Little was i to know that the ocean demands respect, and i was just a petulant little boy with grandiose ambitions and testicles too big for their boots/grundies.
The run out was going ok... till i hit a steepening wave and a breaking top.
"Floof" - in i went.
No wukkas - lets start again.
But it was somewhat harder than that, given that the infamous Sandy wind hole was working to perfection, cutting the breeze to zip the moment you hit the breaking zone. Still i escaped, a little tireder than expected for a first run, and the gods opened a path to the back of the break for the gybe and sail back in.
Or so i thought.
Back on the beach, apparently there was a collective:
"OH-MY-FUGGIN-GOD-HES TOAST!!!!!!"
Cos what they could see and i couldnt, was a mast-PLUS high set building behind the last of what i thought were the last of the breakers. And build it did... (picture the final scene of The Perfect Storm...)
I looked up and, well, pooped me dacks/wetty... cos it was a wall infront of me about 5 metres high. And starting to break. And nowhere to go...
I cant even remember how i ended up in the drink (though i may have fallen - i really cant recall), and attempted to guide the mast under the water and the breaking wave. Survived. If a little mix-mastered.
But then came his uglier angrier brother. Who was particualraly ugly and angry.
Oh shit.
The following monster wave broke on me and all i was doing was rapidly trying to swim under my gear, in front of it and at least away from fins and masts and gel coat and things that break noses/ribs/me-in-half.
The person high wash (which was still heading down) crunched me + gear, and the kit was ripped from my hands. Great. Here i was in the front-loader from hell, being washed about with nothing to float me.
Then i got washed again.
"Oh this is getting rediculous"...
I couldn't see my gear, the boys or, for that matter the beach.
I had a momentary panic... cos i also realised a rip was dragging me sideshore and i was simply buggered from fighting waves. Momentarily though, cos that wonderful little man that sits on my shoulder and whispers words of logic said:
"Dude... you've bodysurfed here all the time... just wash in and dont bother trying to swim it."
Right you are then.
Only some of these waves were about twice the size of anything i'd normally bodysurf, and hence i ducked under several before taking on one that looked a little smaller than the others... which was still size XXXXL and promptly rolled and tumbled me underwater, with an instant of "Excuse me sir, but do you know the way to the air please?" In all seriousness, this was where I had a "so this is how people drown eh..." moment, which was almost instantly replaced with a "dont be a tosser, just swim AB". A second or three later i was gulping the oxygen again.
Man, was i knackered. Where were those boys??
(Bugger - could see them now on the beach having a Tosca.... just my luck.)
A few more and generally successful washes and i'd been rinse-cycled in far enough that i was out of the big ones and into the shore break... which was still big, but i proceeded to bodysurf in relatively easily and quickly.
Then I saw my gear - floating about 50 metres downwind and with joel wading out to meet it. Then i saw him lift it skywards and laughing.
Board fine, mast fine, boom fine, sail farked! It would have fared better through an industrial shredder. Crikey! (At least that wasnt my body...)
After the walk of shame back up the beach, assisted by an obviously nervous Mistress P ("I was so glad when you finally started doing freestyle - you were just a bobbing head when we finally saw you"), and feeling like a complete nong, I went back to the car and packed up and joined the diehards on the boardwalk watching the others carve it up in the waves. Even took a few pics.
I was, I admit, shaken. As well as stirred.
That round goes to the Ocean.
Respect.
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