Surfing week end
As my first surf day passed by, I couldn’t move myself the next morning. I felt dead stiff in the bed, my back was a stick, my shoulders heavy, and my palms red like tomatoes. They burned and I couldn’t touch anything, even my clothes or her body.
The day was great, no clouds, no rain, just pure sun over Raglan. Despite a cold breeze, we hoped to get back into the Tasmanian Sea as soon as possible, but after a hearty breakfast, the owner of the hostel told us, that the tide will arrive in late afternoon, so let’s wait and do something else.
This was a week end like I could love for ever. She was with me, we were at vacation, I had my first surfing triumph and the tide was sure to come, later or earlier. In the meantime, we decided to try fishing from a bridge, and an old Japanese man showed us how to fix the fishing rod. With two friends from the hostel we managed to catch a few, but very small fish that went all the way back into their element.
The weather changed a few times that day, stormy winds brought clouds and moved them away like fleeing birds. In between showers and sun shine we covered under trees or drank a cup of coffee on our brown sofa in the hostel – just a few meters from the water front. Inside warm and dry, outside cold and windy, I didn’t expect to go back to the beach this day.
But there was somebody who had a different imagination of a surfing week end. She wanted into the ocean, it didn’t matter what weather. Before the tide was high, she knocked at my shoulder – dressed in a wetsuit, equipped with a surf board. She was ready for her surfing week end, and I was the driver. I showed her my palms, said that it won’t work, but I would drive her right in front of her waves. She agreed immediately.
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