Reminiscing and indulging in sweet memories

When growing up in Australia, the beach really became my second home. Every opportunity that we would get me and my friends would make sure we were there. Catching the bus bare footed and carrying our surf boards and back packs with us we were magnetically drawn to it. Getting off the bus and walking through Manly on the north shore of Sydney in the very early morning, I can so vividly remember the feeling of suspense and uncertainty, anticipating what the surf might be like that specific day. The same feeling dwelled within us if we perhaps were lucky enough to catch a ride with one of our older brothers to the more remote beaches. Once the ocean finally opened up before us, the sun just rising and one finally got to inhale the salty ocean air, a feeling of tranquility mixed with excitement at the same time took over. If one had the luxury of a car the scenario was usually that you'd pass one beach after the other, assessing the surf of each of them and deciding to check the next one out to see if it might be even better before finally deciding on one of them.

Once the wet suit was on and the board was freshly waxed, the next step in the ritual was analyzing the way the ocean was moving with the tide, where the best break on the beach was and identify in connection to it the best spot to paddle out to it.

Walking out in the water, resting your right hand loosely on top of the board pushing it with you. The morning air still crisp and cool. Feeling the water warming up the suit as one throws oneself onto the board and begin to paddle. Duck diving the waves coming at you. Paddling further out until you finally find yourself on the outside of the break. Sitting up on the board. commenting and discussing the conditions with your friends and concluding that there is not one single place on the planet that you would rather be at. Concluding that there are no other people on the planet that you would rather be with. That is as close to complete satisfaction and peace with oneself that is almost possible to experience.

And that is just the very beginning of the day. The prequel to what is to come.

Sitting there waiting. Paddling backwards and forwards. Hustling with the others in the line up for a better position. Witnessing the magic of the the flat waters further out in the ocean that when moving towards the shoreline begin to change shape. Start to rise in long rolling mounds and finally as these mounds get closer to where one is luring in the waters begin to rise up dramatically forming a wave. Looking back one last time before setting all focus in the direction of the beach, paddling at full force and with great effort. Then all of a sudden a most surreal feeling of being weightless in the water as the wave begins to carry you with its immense force making it unnecessary to paddle any more. Pushing down on the board with both hands and finally standing up, going down for the bottom turn, heading left or right depending on which way the wave breaks, going up on the wave again, cutting back, turning down at the bottom again and then continuing to follow the lead of the wave. The first wave of a day that does not end until the sun sets and the swell gradually goes to sleep for the night.

I was inspired to write this post as I stumbled across the photography of Bryce Johnson. A surfer himself, he depicts and encapsulates what I've just described above in a very emotional manner. His imagery is not of pros riding 20 - 40 foot waves, nor exceptional performances on smaller waves that are hard to believe how it can be done. Rather his imagery is very easy to relate to, capturing the emotions felt in all of those moments that I've reminisced. He really allowed me to indulge in and relive those memories like it was yesterday and once again I am reminded that my next big trip should be to a beach somewhere, catching those first rays of light as I'm paddling out on the velvet like water the morning after my arrival at that destination.

But I have to plan it now though, because as the french writer Antoine de Saint-Exupery once said; "A goal without a plan is just a wish".