Yesterday was my first surf in about two weeks! My boogieboarding muscles are all out of shape. That, combined with a hefty in-shore current, kept me paddling in one place for a good long while, unable to fight past the breakers out to sea. All the schoolkids are back in school, but the waters were still filled with uni students—who like me, don’t go back for another two weeks—and people who had just gotten out of work. Waves were steady, but small, a good set of 3-footers maybe every five sets of small 2-footers and nonbreakers. But there were a few rogue 4 and 5 footers. One of them nearly got Darryl, who got through it and out the back just in time, but I was ten feet behind him and indecisive, so I got that great oh-shit moment when the wall rears up and the water turns white at the top. Thanks to lots of practice, I didn’t panic and try to follow Darryl through—I would have been hurled over backwards with the wave on top of me—but I also seized up a bit, just clutched my board to my chest, faced forward and prayed as that wall sucked me back up and then threw me down on my stomach, miraculously still holding that board and even more miraculously still on top of it, in a foamy, disorienting, white-walled blind rush.
So—I did one thing right by not panicking, and not getting chundered—but I also should have kept paddling, which might have saved me from the wave breaking over my back, and might even have gotten me the Ride of the Day, if I had been able to paddle in front and turn just enough to slide down the wave face. Then again, it was a messy wave and I was in the rip spot, so I might not have had time to get out in front. Oh well. Next time I’ll do better.
By the time I shook the water out of my eyes I had already passed most of the bodysurfers—it’s like playing Frogger, weaving between them, watching them dive out of the way—and was well in to shore. Darryl and I had already decided to give up for the day, thank goodness, so I spent a few fun frenetic minutes surfing the little remnants of the 3 footers, which break far out and huge, roll over the sandbar, build up again and crash finally on the sand. They’re not as scary as being way out, of course, but they are almost harder to surf because they are tiny, have a tiny face, and come rolling so quickly one after the other that you have to be in the perfect spot at the perfect time, otherwise you’ll just get thrown flat on your board on the sand—slam. Then all the sand and water goes over the top of you, which is not painful but is undignified. And it gets in your rasher.
Yesterday was also the final culmination of Darryl’s birthday cake. I have been planning this chocolate-mudcake for about three weeks now, fantasizing about it, building it ever-bigger in my dreams,buying ever more bars of dark chocolate, eating them, having to buy more to replace the ones I ate—and yesterday I finally made it. It took almost all day, because I made two layers and also underestimated the amount of frosting necessary. Everything was from scratch—the cake, chocolate ganache frosting, with whipped cream in between the layers and also piped on top, and finally, a few cherries—regular, not maraschino. Almost half a kilo of dark chocolate went into that cake, and fully half a litre of cream. Hey, I didn’t say it was going to be GOOD FOR YOU…I just said it was going to be GOOD. So here’s some pics!
TAA DAAAAA!
