In between sets, we had a chance to dunk under, swim a few strokes back and forth and then brace ourselves for the next lot. It took all one’s strength to stay upright as the waves relentlessly pounded the shore. The surge just grabbed us around the calves and pulled. We had no time to gasp at the water temperature, or even to back off. No further than the waist, wet ourselves down and then sit and watch the power of the sea. There were other folk we knew in the waist-height shore-wash so we decided to join them. As a spectacle it was breathtaking – beautiful aquamarine waves rising above the beach and with the light of diamonds and ivory shining through, to curve to an impossible arc and then bash down with white water arcing into the sunlight. The waves roared, a vicious assault crashing with such force that the wash rolled in and up to the sags. But being hot and bothered in the humidity and thinking we could just dampen ourselves down on the very edges of the water, and knowing we’re not getting any younger, a friend and I decided to visit this spot.
Only one beach was immune but it’s a surf beach and is the stuff of skull and crossbones for me. Last week we had a few days of steady rain and the rivers and creeks flowed into the sea, turning our regular swimming spots into dirty waterscapes. There one day and gone the next – but that’s perhaps a story for another time. Surf beaches have been forbidden to me since the Great Vestibular Event of 2015 when I permanently lost 95% of my right-side balance. With that in mind, I went to one of our surf beaches last Saturday. What we realised then is that we’re fast running out of second chances and that we must take our chances when we can.
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