A quick post to keep the meter ticking and indicate there is a pulse beneath this wizened frame.
Last weekend I took my son Joey for a surf, with me, in my protective, fatherly way, trying to find a spot that fit the bill. Not too hard, but not too easy. A wave that would help a young goofy footer on his path to better surfing.
I chose a mellow reef called the Big Left, the forecast was pretty mild in the size department and I felt it a good match. We arrived to find it way bigger than expected, bomb sets and an unusually powerful swell, but a bit messed up at the same time.
Now as a concerned dad I wanted to keep an eye out for the dear boy, and naturally, in those circumstances, my concentration was a bit off.
I got caught by more sets than a penguin with a nail in it's foot, while Joey blissfully sat inside a bit and scored wave after wave.
Then a really big set turned up and we both got blasted shorewards, he decided to throw in the towel as his shoulder popped (again) and I headed over to a nearby right, joined the ridiculous crowd, managed to get a couple of good 'uns amidst the throng, while listening to the torrents of abuse being hurled skywards by some local boof head who insisted everyone else in the water was a kook except him.
Why can't people just sit there quietly and contemplate their navels?
Attached a couple of shots retrieved from my long dead camera, circa our January trip to the South Coast.
One, of me gazing wistfully towards a flat horizon, the other, a couple of days later as my prayers were answered.. with the lovely Pink Rocks showing a bit of form.