Coolangatta Gold

I have been training pretty solidly, week in, week out for nigh on a year now. I’ve been jumping into the water on some craft or other, 3 – 4 times minimum per week, every season of the year. One of the things I often find myself marveling at are the many different faces – and moods, of the ocean… and how quickly those moods can change! Its been more than once I have made the comment “Gee, what a difference 12 hours can make!”. 12 hours is not really an accurate measure though. Sometimes the ocean’s mood can swing in an instant.

Sometimes we train in an ocean on a morning and it is so delightful. The wind is a mild offshore, the swell half to one metre, once you get pass the break it is like paddling on a lake. The water is so blue and clear, even when it is 20′ deep you can see to the bottom and be tricked into thinking you can stand if you jump off the ski. On these days, the marine wildlife you see passing underneath is a constant source of delight.

On these days, I find myself at during the day, daydreaming about the afternoon session rather than concentrating on work. The morning paddle was so peaceful, its all I can do to wait till 4pm, where I can down the tools of my trade and head out for another session. You can imagine my dismay on these days when I get to the beach, find the wind has swung around to an onshore South Easterly and picked up to about 20 knots, stiring up a wind chop of about a metre in size – frothing up the ocean so there are white caps all the way out to the horizon.

Then you have the dark, forbidding days when it is stormy, raining, and the wind is howling in any or all directions. The ground swell is large but completely broken up by the wind. The shore break is severe and followed by a larger break behind it. These are the days where you get a glimpse of your own insignificance, where we are dwarfed by the power and fury of the ocean. These are also the days though when we learn the most about ourselves, our capabilities, our limitations and our courage.

Often during the night after such a day, the wind drops off completely and everything calms down leaving a majestic, ordered ocean with those large peeling waves that all the surfers love. These are the playful days where we learn about the artistic side our craftsmanship. How well did we catch that wave, how did we use its face? Or how did we manage the runners on the way home on the ski.

If you get to the ocean at the wrong time on such a day though, a glorious session can turn into a bit of a nightmare. A change of tide, a change of wind are all that is required to turn your focus from art, to survival. I can  remember any number of sessions where we headed out on the surf skis, into a slight southerly wind, really looking forward to riding the smooth running swells all those kilometres back home. As we turn though, or within the first third of the return journey, we experience a dramatic shift in wind direction to the North East, blowing right into our faces, and an increase in wind speed to about 30 knots. The front has hit us, the running swells boil up angrily and we have had to fight our way home, stroke by fatigued stroke.

And then you have the shifting sand on the bottom of the ocean. Are the waves today going to peel beautifully to the left or the right, as the ridges on the ocean floor make the perfect base. Or are the waves going to hit the coast **BOOM** straight on, breaking along the entire beach. At Mermaid Beach, you never know till you get there. But that is part of the beauty of the ocean. That is part of our ever developing relationship with her.