The 4 day surfers (part one)

The numbers game

1 = sharks seen

4 = gloriously sunny days

65 = beers drunk since landing in Oz (Tom and I worked it out)

2 = dolphins spotted

1= American Blackhawk pilots befriended

1 Portsmouth 1 Fulham

Well the fact that you're reading this blog is proof I made it through my surfing week alive.  I'm bruised and bloodied but I've had an incredible few days since I left Sydney.  I've learnt to surf (which did look unlikely at one point) and once my many, many injuries heal I'll definitely be testing my skills in Surfers Paradise, our next stop.  Hope everyone is well.

Tuesday

 

After our three day Sydney bender (which you'll hear about this week sometime) it was a bleary eyed start to our surfing adventure.  We caught the Manly ferry to the centre of Sydney and waited for our coach.  Tom and I were wondering what kind of crew we'd be accompanied by.  Our thoughts ranged from a bus load of Swedish cheerleader types (good) to 30 northern Brit blokes on a stag week (bad).  As it was we were greeted by just 6 other people.  An American helicopter pilot called Rand who was on a 2-week break from flying missions for the US military in Afghanistan, two pretty Dutch girls, Joyce and Eva, an classic English girl called Gigi (as it was Melbourne Cup day when we met this name couldn't have been more appropriate) a smart Canadian dude called Dustin and Leesa, a Finnish girl who played American football.

I'd never even thought about surfing before and didn't really know what to expect.  But as I sat on the coach I cast a gaze around and thought to myself, 'please let me be better than some of these people.' 



As it turned out, I wasn't!  The first session took place that afternoon in beautiful surroundings and I sucked so bad.  Man, I was rubbish.  Whilst everyone else started standing up and doing handstands I was still trying to balance properly.  Despite the fantastic beach, blue skies and fine company I walked away from my first session decidedly underwhelmed by my own ability.



The other side of surfing I hadn't realized was just how much it hurts.  It look so graceful and easy on tv.  But one of the problems we all encountered on the trip was how physically and mentally challenging it is.  We were all up at 7am every day, usually hungover, we were ferried around on a coach for hours on end, the food was pretty good but limited in range, the accommodation was basic and on the Wednesday and Thursday the weather was terrible.  Oh yeah, and on day one, whilst attempting to surf his third wave of the trip, Tom broke his rib.



Now, not all of you reading this will know who Tom is.  He's a good mate of mine from back in the day.  We were in the 6^th form together, we listened to Pumpkins, Orbital and a whole host of tunes alongside each other, we spent a year at Uni together before Tom's lax attitude to studying led to his premature departure.  He's a great bloke, funny and on the ball.  But he also likes a bit of a moan.  I mean, he loves a good 30 minute moan.  Loves it.  Absolutely LOVES to moan.  But fair play to him on this one.  He was an absolute legend.

He had been in a fight a few months earlier and bust his rib then.  So when he heard it crack he knew what he'd done.  But despite being in constant pain he firmed it for nearly two days of surfing before he had to sit back and admit defeat.  And what's more he didn't explode in a ball of pent up fury about it.  Instead he sat back, drank a lot of beer and amused us all as we lay on the beach struggling for breath after another painful session.  Well done mate.

Anyone who has ever played football with me on a Thursday evening will not be too surprised by my struggles to impose myself on the surf.  But all thoughts of negativity were dispelled once we got back to the camp we were staying at.  We met up with a whole host of other surfers and proceeded to get royally fu*ked up.  Crazy drinking games, fancy dress, sangria, people shagging in the showers, the night had it all.  Needless to say there was a pretty high English contingent and for the first time since I left home I felt like I was on holiday.

Wednesday

Waking up at stupid o'clock in the morning we all realized the folly of our actions the previous night.  As we dragged ourselves out of bed, the couple who'd been doing it doggy doggy near the swimming pool avoided eye contact, and as we boarded the bus, five people forgot to bring their wet-suits.  Which meant they had to surf without for the following three days.

And this brings us to another point about this trip.  It was run by surfers for wannabe surfers.  And these were your stereo-typical surfer dudes.  Tanned, built, mashed all night, laid back during the day.  Co-ordination, structure and forward planning aren't exactly what these people are famous for.  And as the holiday progressed we noticed it more and more.  What was funny at first and quite amusing quickly became annoying.  And even dangerous.

So, people were allowed to leave camp without their wet-suits because nobody had thought it a good idea to prevent it from happening.  Thankfully I was not one of them.  But if I can give you all a piece of advice right now, if your surfing instructor can't decide whether you're a medium or a large, go with the large.  Those suits are tight.  In all areas.

As I mentioned earlier, it was pissing it down.  And as I struggled with my hangover on the coach, not for the first time, I wondered what the hell I was doing.  The last thing your brain tells you to do when you're hungover and it's raining hard is spend the day in the sea.  And the fact that I'd sucked so bad at surfing the day before was also on my mind.

So it was definitely a lesson learned at the end of the day when I finally left the sea.  Firstly, I had worked out how to stand on my board.  The problem was that I'd got my stance wrong.  There's two ways of standing, with your left foot forward (known as regular) or with your right foot forward (goofy).  It turns out I was actually goofy (I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere).  And once I'd changed this I found the going much easier.

 

Secondly, I'd learned that when it's pissing down with rain it's actually better to be in the sea than on land.  And thirdly, I'd worked out that sometimes you need to go against what your body and mind are telling you to do and screaming at you not to do.  And then there was the shark.

Most of us had finished our session when it turned up about 10 metres from the shore.  When surfing everyone reaches a point when they simply cannot carry on.  You need to hit the beach and recuperate.  And as we sat there looking out at those strong enough to continue we spotted a dolphin approaching where our group were.  We'd seen it earlier.  Itself a pretty magical experience.  But then we realized there were two things swimming in the water.  And that's when we saw the fin and tail of one big shark.

Immediately the guys started whistling and shouting at the surfers still practising.  And it would be fair to say that they didn't waste much time getting out of the water.  Once on safe and sound shoreline we all stood there and marveled as the shark cut in and out of the water.  Apparently it was feeding on the scraps of food that the dolphin was leaving.  Although some suggested the dolphin was ill (hence so close to the shore) and the shark was stalking it.  All I knew was that I was watching something you don't get to see every day.

I went to bed that evening sober (only 6 beers), tired and much happier.  When the lights went out in our dorm I attempted to convince my fellow surfers that I suffered from night terrors.  But I was asleep soon after I'd uttered my first tentative screams.

 

-------------------

 

And that's where I'm going to have to leave it.  The following two days ended up being just as much fun and I'll try and write about it in the next couple of days. 

Tom and I are on the way to Surfers Paradise tomorrow where I'll locate a internet cafe.  So, until then, I hope you've enjoyed this latest installement of my blog.