I Just Wanted a Few Waves

I hadn’t surfed in weeks. Work. Kids. Stuff. My brain was mush. I needed water. Salt. A few waves. Just that.

I grabbed the big blue 9’0 soft top. The Log Model. The one everyone disenjoys me riding, A superior paddle machine.

My friends don’t mind. I’m not selfish in the water. I’m too unfit to be inconsiderate.

The others, though. They glare. They mutter, and they don’t greet. Don’t acknowledge. Don’t shake hands.

They also don’t catch many waves. They ride ego-driven, superlight, narrow pro models. The boards have great turning but no paddle power.

The ultimate quest in surfing is finding the marriage between paddle power and turning ability. You can’t have optimum levels of both.

I don’t care too much about turning. I just want a few waves. Just a few. No one dies. Everyone gets wet.

The Wave. The Surfer. The Air.

Late afternoon. Golden light. Long shadows. Wind going slack. That clean hush before dark.

I paddled out to join my daughter, Brin. Twelve-years-old. And her best friend, Summer. Also trouble.

Got one. An absolute bomb. Swung and went. It stood up just right. Smooth wall. My feet found the sweet spot.

But the sun. Right in my eyes. Blinding. Like fire. And then, a blur. Some young guy. Blue wetsuit.

He was paddling straight up the face. A wrong move. Should have paddled into the whitewater and ducked under. A golden rule.  I saw his head too late. Too close.. Point blank range.

Instinct took over. I bunny-hopped. On a 9’0. Full credit card air. Not easy with 90 litres of volume.

A full leap of faith. Board went light. I lifted off the water. Floated. Briefly.

Somehow, I cleared him.

No thud of fins to head. No scream and no blood.

He popped up blinking.

I carried on riding.

Blue Cheese on Wheels

Brin and Summer screamed from the channel.

Someone hooted from the car park.

Someone whistled. A long, single-tone whistle, indicating a ‘shew, that was close‘ vibe.

In the distance, a dog barked.

I paddled back out to the guy. A little bit shaken. Apologised for giving him a scare.  Gave him a thumbs up. He was fine. Still blinking. But fine.

He went straight in after that. Paddled in. Over the rocks. Driven over by a tanker. Enough for one day.

Brin reappeared as I paddled back to the top of the point.

Summer was with her.

Pirates

They paddled straight at me. Grinning like pirates. Both punched me solidly on the shoulder.

“Blue Cheese on Wheels!” they shouted.

And burst out laughing.

Not about the kid in the blue wetsuit.

About some arb blue car in the car park.

If you see a blue car, you can punch some and shout, ‘blue cheese on wheels.”

It’s just a game they play.

“But I nearly killed someone,” I said.

“I know,” said Summer. “That was rad. I always wanted to punch you with blue cheese on wheels.”

“That was cwazy,” said Brin, adding the speech impediment for special effects.

She turned. Paddled. Caught an inside wave. Moved on to the next thing in front of her eyes.

Her wave was watched over by the blue car in the car park. Same place it had been all afternoon.

The end./

Further reading: Seal Point Boardriders Club Grom Comp Great Success