Slow down everyone..

I wake up this morning to the ‘Murder, She wrote’ song (oh how I love cellphones..). It’s early and Jono (as he does every weekend) is chasing me out of bed for a surf.

I’m cold. I’m tired.

I check the surf report.

Swell: 2.5m

Cool.

Period: 7 seconds.

Not cool.

I debate in my mind if I should go. I win. I grab my stuff, run down to the car.

It’s cold. Heater on. System of a Down is singing ‘Needles’.

‘But I cannot grow till you eat the last of me,’ they say.

I know what they mean.

I wait for the engine to warm up and speed off to North Beach.

Some idiot is on a Sunday drive doing 60 on the freeway. It’s gonna take him forever to get anywhere. I hoot. He waves. He changes lanes. I gun it.

There are radar traps on the way and I have to crawl.

I glare at the traffic officer.

‘F*ck you.’ I mouth as I pass him.

It takes me 45 minutes to get to the beach. I’m pissed off.

I wish I could describe how it makes me feel to get to the beach and see good surf.. How I get butterflies in my stomach wondering if it will be too big to paddle into, putting on my still damp kit before I run down to the water’s edge. Have a quick stretch to keep the cramps at bay and then into the (warm) water, paddling down the pier. A swell pushes me into it. I cut my leg. Screw it. I’m waiting for the set to come through, then a quick burst to the backline, all the while seeing *huge* barrels and knowing that in a few short minutes that stoked grin on the face of the guy paddling alongside will belong to me.

And then it’s my turn. The set comes in, the locals catch the first few waves and then suddenly I’m the only one on the backline. The next set wave is a good one. I look down the line and see it pitching. Look back and see the face. Solid. 6 Foot. Take off. Bottom turn. Flo-rider has paid off. I dig my rail in a bit for traction. Stall a bit. It’s coming closer. It happens.

My first wave throws a lip about a metre in front of me, suddenly it’s a bit cooler, the water over my head shielding me from the morning sun and spraying drops in my face, a few seconds later I’m out and so stoked I could never have another surf in my life and not care. I ride the wave all the way to the beach, I need to because there’s no way you (I) could paddle through the set waves to get to the backline again. Walk down the beach to the pier, catch my breath.

‘Rinse. Repeat.’ I think to myself.

I smile.

By about 10:30 the wind has picked up and there’s quite a strong rip, I have to constantly paddle to stay in the right spot. Steers has paid off. I’m unfit and getting tired, cramp sets in and I try to stretch a bit but I get pushed further down the beach because I’m not paddling anymore. Screw it.

‘Jono, my next wave is gonna be my last.’

But I can’t do it. I lie there, content, watching the sets come in, waiting for a wave that will be worthy of being my last for the day. It doesn’t come. After about 15 minutes I catch the next wave out. Rinse myself off under the showers, get dressed in the parking lot. I’m tired. My arms hurt. The skin on my face is tight from the sunburn. My eyes are bloodshot and sore from the spray and the glare. The cut on my leg stings from the salt water. My fins have had their way with my toes and the little skin that is left on them is home to sand and filth and it hurts to walk. I throw my old jeans (the same ones I slept in) and a tee-shirt on and get in the car.

It’s hot. Aircon on. Jack Johnson is singing ‘Inaudible Melodies’

‘Slow down everyone, you’re moving to fast’, he says.

I know what he means.

I’m doing 60 on the freeway.

It takes me 45 minutes to get to the lodge. I’m not in a hurry.

Some irate guy hoots behind me. I wave. I change lanes. I laugh as he speeds past the radar gun on the side of the road.

Slow down man, you’re moving to fast.

I smile at the traffic officer.

‘Dagsê.’ I mouth as I pass him.

I get back to the lodge and Keith is having a ciggie on the stoep.

‘You missed breakfast this morning’, he says, ‘big night?’

‘Nah Keithy, went for a surf.’

I tell him where I was. We swap stories of good surf we’ve had. He tells me how they used to hike to the beach when they were lighties. We talk about good times with good mates.

He has a twinkle in his eyes.

‘Peter, ‘ he says, ‘people need to slow down.’

Biggest Sunday

I check the surf report.

Period – 10 seconds. Good

Swell – 4.1m. I do a quick mental calculation, that’s almost 14.5 feet. Big. Bigger than I’ve ever seen, let alone surfed.

I decide not to go, It’s cold, raining and windy, and I convince myself it will be messy and closing out, but after about twenty minutes curiosity gets the better of me.

‘I’ll just drive down to see what it looks like.’ I think.

Another five minutes and I’m in the car. All my kit is packed in. Just in case.

I take the long way to the beach and drive slowly, I’m nervous because I know I’m unfit and I know that the last time there was big surf I had a close call and I know that in spite of all of that I’m probably going to paddle out today.

Linkin Park is singing ‘Paper Cut’.

‘Face that laughs every time you fall,’ they say.

I know what they mean.

I get to North beach and walk along the pier. It’s cold and the rain beats against my jacket and it beats against my jeans and I’m soaked.

I stand watching for maybe ten minutes, the waves are breaking easily twice overhead of the guys that are stand-up surfing and I’m scared shitless.

I haven’t felt like this since I was very young. I remember my dad would take me deep into the sea and I would cry and be mad at him. I hated it. Then one holiday we where in Hermanus again and I wasn’t scared anymore. I loved it. I loved the ocean and I’d swim out till I was at least a few metres deeper than everyone else. I swam out deeper than he did. He’d always talk so matter-of-factly about what to do if anything went wrong (don’t fight it, it’s stronger than you are, just let the currents take you and drop you further down the beach), that I honestly thought nothing would ever happen to me.

Sometimes I’d bodysurf but most of the time I’d just swim around and let the swells lift me up and drop down me the back. My parents would call me to leave and I’d pretend I didn’t hear them and swim like that for hours, by the time we got home I’d be sunburned and tired and mad that we had to leave. It’s something I’ve done ever since, and even when I stopped surfing I’d still swim out past the backline and float around whenever I was at the beach. The last time I did it was in Plett a while ago and I remember feeling like I was 6 again.

The rain on my face brings me back to reality. For the first time in many years I’m scared of the ocean.

I walk back to the car and decide to go out.

‘Don’t be a pussy.’ I think.

I get undressed from the boot of my car and I’m glad I brought my wetsuit. It’s been packed up for a while and its dry and tight, but I get into it eventually and the warmth is good.

By the time I get to the pier I’m slightly out of breath, the adrenaline and the now uncomfortable heat from my suit make me decide to forgo the paddle and jump off the end of the pier.

I wait for a lull and jump, grab my board and swim to the backline. My timing was off and I’m in the middle of a set. I Duck-dive the first wave but the second pushes me off my board. The third wave catches me off guard and forces me under. I didn’t have time to take a good breath and almost as soon as the wave breaks over me I start to panic. I get tossed around a bit. I can’t see where I am. I don’t know where up is. My chest contracts. My lungs scream at my brain to take a breath. My brain tells my mouth to stay shut. Stay the f*ck shut. I feel for my leash. My board floats. All I have to do is swim in the direction it’s being pulled.

A second later my head breaks the surface and I take a deep breath. Another.

I’ve never felt so calm in my life.

I swim to the backline dragging my board and when I’m behind the breakers I get on it and catch my breath. I’m sure I should be feeling something else, but all I can do is smile.

As soon as I feel better I start looking out for a wave. It doesn’t take long.

The face of the wave is easily four metres and it’s already starting to break. I know I’ll probably get sucked over the falls if I don’t take it, so really, I don’t have a choice.

I take off. It’s moving so fast I don’t have time to bottom turn. Take off and head straight down the line. The speed makes my board cut through the face of the wave like a knife. It responds much quicker than usual and I love it. I ride the wave all the way to the beach. Catch my breath and walk to the end of the pier again. And again. And again.

My suit keeps my muscles warm and I don’t get cramp in my legs. After a few hours I’m exhausted and I catch another wave back to the beach. It’s big and quick and I think about going out for one more, but I’m too tired.

I walk back to the car slowly. Get undressed. Throw my wet kit in a bag.

It’s cold. Heater on. Pearl Jam is singing ‘Given to Fly’.

‘A wave came crashing like a fist to the jaw,’ they say.

I know what they mean.