Bowling

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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.

 

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Cornflakes

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We used to call tiny pieces of seaweed Cornflakes. In the mornings you’ll only see a few because its been calm all night and all the cornflakes have settled into behind the banks. Once the tide comes in and the wink rears up it’s over.

The surf will get thick with dense orange/red flakes, amongst which there will be a few jellyfish bopping around. It feels like  swimming through Minestrone soup.

It’s pretty gross.