Wind ripped through any semblance of surf along a hundred clicks of coast. Passed on the most powerful thing I found. A two meter wedging closeout breaking a few hundred meters off the shore. 2 hours of driving there. 4 hours driving back. Pulling down dirt tracks. Screaming down the highway.
More dirt tracks.
Wind. Sun. Rain. Wind. Sun. Rainbow.
Found the carcass of the most giant blow-fish I’ve ever seen. Strangely emotive face. Like a stoned dolt with a dimly dawning realization of what was up with its lot.
I regretted passing on that surf earlier in the day as I hit the final stretch of highway to home. The sky went pink.
And the road filled with flashing red lights.
The storm was coming. This time of year you can feel it in the heat of the day. The evening cools and dark clouds roll in from the ranges. Some days you might see a towering cumulus descend on an open blue sky lighting up its black belly with a magnificent lightning show.
People say there aren’t seasons here.
North Easterlies blowing all day leaving a haze of salt spray over the highway as the sun sets. The wind chopped ocean leaving a tideline of flakey seaweed and large bluebottles. Whales breaching on the horizon as they head south. Purple ‘Pigface’ flowers blooming on the sand dunes. The absence of any decent surf.
That’s what Spring meant to me growing up here.
When the swell hits a headland and wraps itself into the bay. That’s what you call refraction.
When there’s enough swell reeling into Snapper Rocks you’ll find a few hundred surfers paddling over each other for a shot at perfection.
There will be professionals, local legends, stand up paddle boards, older gents on ten foot Malibus, Bodyboarders and that one guy in a kayak. They’re all vying for the same waves. Burning, snaking, screaming their heads off in frustration and cheering when someone snags a real bomb. Its a circus.
It might only come to town once a year.
You’ll love the show but hate the clowns.