‘Give us a Wave!’

Surfing is cool. As far as sports go, you’ll be hard pushed to find a cooler recreational activity.

I am not cool. You may have gathered that by the way I described surfing as a ‘recreational activity’. That is not how surfers speak. They have a completely comprehensive language that, even after a year and a half of living in the key surf destination of Sydney, I still haven’t mastered.

Along with struggling with the lingo, crucially, I am having trouble getting to grips with the pursuit itself.

The idea is you paddle out to open water, wait for a suitable wave, ‘catch’ said wave, jump up on to your feet and travel along gracefully making unusual signs with your pinky finger and thumb in lowkey celebration.

I will now breakdown the reality to any would be surfers out there. The primary challenge is the ocean itself. Far from being hospitable to those who desire to balance on its immeasurable shoulders, the sea gives the impression that it doesn’t want anything to do with you.

Much like a bouncer manning a private party, as far as the ocean is concerned, ‘You ain’t on the list, you ain’t comin’ in!’

For every attempt to make your way out, a wave will push you back toward the shore. Much like a bouncer manning the entrance to a private party, as far as the ocean is concerned, ‘You ain’t on the list, you ain’t comin’ in!’

If you do make it out past the security force that is the breaking surf, you can then splash your way toward a group of fellow surfers, sat casually on their boards. As they scan the horizon, waiting to see the next wave worthy of their attention, you would think of this as a suitable opportunity for a spot of socialising.

You are incorrect.

Any attempt at conversation, be it a simple ‘hello’ or a mood lightening sea themed joke about where killer whales get their braces fitted, (an ‘orca-dontist’ – I thank you) is often met with, at best, a dismissive raise of the eyebrows.

Apparently, no matter how gregarious or friendly an individual may be on dry land, that goes out of the window when he or she is surfing. The priority is catching the next wave, and the last thing they want is to be distracted by some grinning beginner clutching a soggy jokebook.

Ascertaining that you stand alone in your attempt at mastering the sport leads you to the principal undeniable truth when it comes to surfing –

Waves are terrifying.

To put into context what we are dealing with here, they can now convert wave power to generate electricity. The energy of a single wave could power an electric car for hundreds of miles.

Based on this logic, surfing a wave is equivalent to jumping on top of a moving Tesla!

 The idea of this may well appeal to the everyday thrill seeker, but as much as an ill-timed leap would lead to you being sprawled across the bonnet of your chosen environmentally friendly extreme means of transportation, miss-calculation of catching a wave can have you plunging violently into the water, being tumbled around for what feels like an eternity only to be eventually released minus your dignity and possibly your swimwear.

Actually, dignity appears to be the leading currency accepted in exchange for gaining any practical knowledge of surfing. An honest conversation with anybody offering their expertise should go as follows –

“Hello, I’d like to learn how to surf please”

“Certainly, that will cost you your self-esteem and confidence plus tax and equipment hire”

“Oh, ok. When you say self-esteem AND confidence….?”

“Yes, well it all begins with the wetsuit. You think you’re in pretty good shape, right?”

“Well yes, I have been working ou…”

“This wetsuit will make you look like a deflated sea-lion. Next, the surfboard itself.”

“What about it?”

“Beginner boards are long, thick and impossible to carry. Oh, and when the wind picks up, it’ll spin you round like a weathervane. You will also continuously trip over the leg rope that, ironically, you need to wear for safety purposes.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, the combination of paddling, continuously falling off and then climbing back on whilst being pummeled by waves is exhausting. In ten minutes, you will be lying front down, clinging to your board looking like Rose from the film ‘Titanic’. Now, let’s discuss shark insurance…”

Due to pig headed pride and general stinginess, I decided to go down the self-taught route. Buoyed (pun intended) by the ever-accessible University of You Tube, I have carried out multiple attempts at varying levels of success.

For example, once I made my way out on a pretty rough day. The standard battle against the breaking surf was overcome only for me to get caught in a rip current that took me away from the group of surfers that I was aiming for. Rips are perilous things. If you attempt to swim against them, you make no progress and exhaust yourself. A bit like an aqua treadmill, except there is no ‘off’ button. Your best chance of surviving this liquid hamster wheel of death is to not panic and attempt to swim parallel with the beach.

I eventually got myself free, but my energy levels were now low. My paddle toward the group was interrupted by me falling off my board more than once, each grapple back on more desperate than the last.

Within yards of reaching the spot of choice, a megaphoned announcement was made from the beach –

“Would all surfing beginners please make their way back to the shore. Conditions today are not suitable for beginners. We repeat, would all surfing beginners make their way back to the shore.”

I looked at my fellow surfers. Seeing as I was the only one clinging to an upside-down board with my leg rope wrapped around my neck, I concluded that the order was directed at me. I blinked toward the impassive lifeguard who has no doubt fished out more than his fair share of the nautically naïve and gave an acknowledging wave.

 This caused me to lose balance and fall off. Again.

Clambering back on, I slowly and sadly paddled back to dry land.

This was just one example of my many failed attempts. I am, however, not one to give up and for all the tales of woe that I could recount, there have been glimpses of triumph.

Every now and then, conditions will be such that I can transport myself out into open water with relative ease. Reasonably sized waves then come along in slow, regular patterns, allowing a few minutes to regain composure if you do happen to bungle your last attempt.

It is on these days that I have managed to catch a wave and, all be it briefly, stand up. It is on these days that I see what all the fuss is about.

Being propelled by nothing but the force of the ocean is truly an exhilarating experience. The rolling water behind you, white spray jetting off the side of the board. Those few seconds feel like flying.

I just wish I could do it more often.

Typically, I just get dunked again and again. As my head rises from the water, it is a guarantee that my board will clonk me on the nose. I have single handedly delayed the imminent climate change inducing rise of global sea levels by swallowing half of it.

Despite all this, I persist.

As someone who has never been a natural when it comes to athletic pursuits, I am determined to master this unique sport. Geography dictates that there are not many surfers from London. I could be the exception to the rule!

So, with that, I continue to struggle with all elements of surf culture. When I do manage to stand up, I forget the cool pinky and thumb celebration, (known as the ‘shaka’, apparently) and give a lame, middle age ‘thumbs up’ instead.

The way I see it, living where we do has given me a unique opportunity.

I’m going to learn to how to do something exceptionally cool.

Even if I’m not.