Ok... so wrapping this baby up for now, here's a brief recap of Sunday. No time for an elaborate review (much to the relief of you ADD babies... SCAB) - so this'll have to do.
Saturday was looking seriously big, meaty, heavy and one legendary paddle fraught with walls and rips and mountains of churn. I wasn't feeling tremendously motivated - yet the thought of another couple hours wasted at Sumner spurned me into a brief moment of bravery and I decided to give it a burl at the Pier. Three guys had just headed out, and I watched them hike forever to the south and make the paddle. Took them about 15 minutes, maybe 20 all up and by the time they were out the back they'd nearly passed the pier. But if they could do it, so could I.
The paddle itself was indeed a mission. I got tossed and churned and I paddled so hard and so long I felt my arms were going to simply fall off and my shoulders were ready to explode like ripe pumpkins dropped off the SkyTower on a hot february afternoon.
Time and time again, once I hit the real impact zone, I got blasted back a hundred yards by a set wave after coming paingfully close to beating fate out the back. The pier loomed ever closer and I was panting so hard from all the rolling under, paddling and scrambling to get the olo turned back around that I'm pretty sure my lungs were actually bubbling out my mouth like chewing gum as I exhaled. There was nothing left in my arms or legs when finally everything once again went magically calm. The offshore breeze sang to me and the shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiisihhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....... sound of the seaspray raining down off the back of the last wave to break told me I'd made it.
I stroked a few minutes more to be sure I was well clear of any sweeper sets and then sat up to assess the situation. At first I couldnt find the pier... until I realised it was directly behind me by about 300 meters. I'd never sat so far out here before, and for a moment I wondered what in hell I was thinking. But as the gunmetal grey day sunk into my aching muscles and the sounds and the sea and the wind calmed me, I began to feel that there was noplace I'd rather be. The olo made pleasant wood on water sounds beneath me and gave me a reassuring presence way out there... made me feel safe.
The first few sets I dodged. They looked insanely big and when I realised that on the bigger ones I was physically straining to paddle UP their faces... on thirteen feet of wood with plenty of water both above and below me... my heart fluttered a bit. This would be interesting to say the least. But I was comforted by the fact that I'd been hammered by a few on the way out and lived through that. Ironically, because I was sitting out so far, the hold down wasnt all that bad and despite being dragged and tossed around quite a bit I found the torrent of these waves less lethal than some of the big near-shore thumpers I've dealt with in other parts of the world before.
And so it was that I gained confidence and set aside the twinge of fear to swoop into a bomb set a few minutes later. At first the olo had a tough time. It bogged and I thought I'd be pitched by the rapidly nearing waterfall. Before that happened though, I shifted my weight well forward and the board took off - nearly leaving me behind as it did. Like a big wooden rocket I was swept out into a deep bottom turn and then leaned hard to bring the board carving back up and out of the range of the foamy white teeth bearing down on me. I took a high line and beat it straight along a big wall dragging a hand in the moving water and feeling the board flow. Dropped down and up a few smallish turns, but fearing the beatdown I refrained from any hard turns. Finally I drove hard up and over the back just before a secion collapsed ahead of me.
Alive with a firey stoke I whooped and paddled back out hollering THANK YOU!!!!!! That one wave alone would have been more than worth the entire weekend of beatings.
But I got five more just like it.
