I’m like a dog chasing a car. When I catch one I don’t know what to do with it.
That’s how it rolls when I’m looking for waves. Its sketch looking at a raw 3 meter swell wrap around a slab of basalt with bullkelp ripping up the face. It’s a tough call to suit up and paddle across that deep channel to throw yourself into what is really, when you think about it, a pretty stupid situation.
More often than not on this trip I made the call not to go. Straight up. I ain’t brave.
I love the search though. Finding breaks.
From rumors, faded shots in an old surf mag you found in a servo toilet, from looking at a map and just going ‘I reckon that’s got potential’.
I met some of the people who were the first to find and surf these waves while I was looking around this coast. The ones who named them.
The ones who drink concrete.