Nigel is a ratbag. There are only two places where I am likely to run into Nigel – the beach or the soccer ground where he goes to see his daughter play. The rumour is that Nigel is a hard-working, successful businessman who travels extensively between his home in Byron Bay and his office in Melbourne. I am not convinced. I think he just surfs and watches soccer. Whether the businessman thing is a front or not, Nigel is entertaining. There are very few people in the town where I live that can make me stop whatever I am doing so I can just spend a few minutes shooting the breeze with them.
I reckon if Nigel were a bird, he would be a kookaburra. You know. Good looking… but handsome in a knockabout and roughhouse kind of way. Not huge… but chunky and strong looking. A cool and stylish dresser but by no means showy. Like I said. A kookaburra. Not a peacock. And like a kookaburra, even if he doesn’t speak out all that often, when he has something to say, it’s always worth listening to.
I suspect that the reverse is also true. If a kookaburra were a human, it would be like Nigel – a dedicated surfer and one hundred percent committed to watching its daughter play soccer.
I was passing by the beach in my old Ford the other day and there was Nigel loading his board into the back of his fancy ute. I pulled up to say g’day. After discussing how the Cape was breaking at its gnarliest best I put it to him that he still owed me a story from his surfing past for my “Waves of Pain” series.
“Nah – bugger off!”
“Come on Nig. What was your worst experience in the surf? There must be something. Anything. The days your Great Uncle Bertie beat you in a Boardriders competition heat when surfing on a sixties log?” I prodded.
“Nah. Bugger off. You’re not going to get me drudging through my murky surfing past!” he responded. “And who told you about Great Uncle Bertie?”
Just as I was trying to come up with some logical and appealing argument as to why he should reconsider, relent, and help me out, he let loose with this story. It wasn’t exactly an example of how the goddess of fortune turned against him one day while surfing but it is a glorious example of how strange the culture of surfing can be, so I am thrilled to retell his yarn here. It’s not quite a typical “Waves of Pain” yarn, but it’s a cracker, so it will do.
Our town has a pretty terrific combination of excellent hardcore (advanced surfers only) breaks, soft cock (for backpackers and beginners) breaks, places that can be one or the other (depending on the conditions) and there are even places that can be both things at the same time (whether the wave breaks hard or soft depends on where you are sitting in the line-up.)
We are lucky like that. Our surfing places have something of prime quality for every kind of surfer.
Not long ago, Nigel was surfing at a local place that comes into the “can be seriously gnarly when the surf gets big but can also be mellow” category. On this day, it was (to any one with half a brain) one of those days that beginners should stay well clear of the water. It was breaking at around four feet on the regular waves and quite a bit bigger on the sets. The pulses were wrapping around the point and roaring across shallow sand banks creating uber-fast slabby barrels.
Struggling in the impact zone!
While Nigel was paddling out, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a young woman struggling in the impact zone. She didn’t have a surfboard. Nigel assumed that her leash had popped while she was receiving a caning from one of the bigger sets.
Initially, Nigel looked around the crew who were in the line up to see who might volunteer to be hero-for-the-moment and help the woman get back to the beach. Many of the people in the water were fit, gun surfers and most were a good ten years younger than he was. Nigel is healthy, strong, and capable in decent-sized surf for a bloke of his age, but he was surprised that it looked like acts of heroism were being left to him on this occasion. Not one other person in the line-up seemed remotely interested in the woman’s plight. Bloody great walls of white water were smashing into the boardless surfer… one after another. She would tread water for a few moments then disappear for seconds as each wall of foam smashed into her. By this time Nigel was sure that she was about to go down and not come back up again.
He urgently paddled to where she was struggling. He grabbed the almost unconscious, gurgling young surfer and man-handled her onto the deck of his board. According to Nigel, it felt like ages before he was able to get her to the shore. They kept being smashed by the large broken waves and tugged away from the beach by the rips
The most exhausting aspect for Nigel was his having to physically keep her on top of his board while the stormy ocean was trying to rip her free from his hold. The problem was that she was so far gone that she didn’t have the strength to hang on by herself.
Coughing and vomiting
Finally, Nigel, his board, and his patient made it to the shore. While he was spent, he was a picture of health in comparison to the young woman who was coughing and vomiting up sea water. Realizing that their mate was in trouble, a group of young men and women ran down the beach to find out what had happened to their friend. Nigel, only being proficient in English, had no idea what the group of friends were saying to their rescued mate. The rescued mate, who was probably in shock, but just starting to recover from her ordeal, started answering their questions about the predicament she had been in whatever language the group spoke.
The group then picked up their bedraggled mate off the sand and, arm-in-arm, they all walked up the beach together, presumably to their car. Nigel was left standing on the sand, next to his surfboard, all by himself. Not a word had been said to him by the friends of the rescued girl. Not a single question about what had happened and about how they had managed to get to shore was asked. Not a word had been said to him by the rescued girl herself. In fact, Nigel wasn’t even sure if they were aware that he had been there.
Nigel hadn’t saved the woman’s life so that he could be publicly declared a hero. But it felt weird that no one had even wanted to talk to him. Not a “Hi”. Not a “Thanks”. Not an “Are you okay?” Not even a “Seeya later”.
What the fuck?” he thought. “People are weird!”
So, he picked up his surfboard, paddled out and finally got the surfing session that had been so rudely interrupted.
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