The Art of Surfing in the Rain

I don’t mind surfer girls.

Yeah! Yeah! Surfer girls!

I don’t mind shooting the curl!

Yeah! Yeah! Shooting the curl!

I don’t mind sitting on the beach!

Yeah! Yeah! On the beach!

I don’t mind it – ain’t it neat?

Ain’t it neat?

I don’t mind. I don’t mind.

Surfer Girls by Hitman.

The sky above me darkened quickly, shifting from bright blue to charcoal black as the summer sun disappeared. Dark clouds rolled in from behind, carrying raindrops that tinkled upon hitting the water along the shoreline: Ding! Ding! A dance of vanishing circles in the shallow water in front of me, the beach covered with small craters formed by the rain hitting the soft sand.

Sitting there in the warm summer rain, I watched my family trying to catch a wave. The endless cycle of pushing their boards against the incoming surf, slowly making their way out into the deeper end until that perfect wave started to form. Quickly (more or less) turning around, hopping on the board, and paddling, paddling, paddling until it felt right to POP! and stand up on their boards. At least, that was the goal – after all, this was our first time out, attempting to master the art of surfing… in the rain!

Twelve days of Christmas with my family. In Australia. My Christmas wish coming true. If you were to ask me about my favourite part, this is what I could say (and I might break out into song, just like they do in the movies):

On the first day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

their arrival in Sydney and Christmas dinner in Fresh-ie.

On the second day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

a proper hot Christmas at the beach and a walk to Man-ly!

On the third day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

Boxing Day at Warringah Mall, and contortionists at the Sydney Opera House to see.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

wetsuits and surf lessons with Queen G.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

the Taronga Zoo!

On the sixth day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

a guided kayak tour in Sydney Harbour and a win for the Sydney FC!

On the seventh day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

a walk from Spit Bridge to Manly and a meal of expensive French brie.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

New Year’s Eve in the city (that was cra-zy!)

On the ninth day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

the Barrenjoey Lighthouse and the chase for the rucksack forgotten on the B!

On the tenth day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

a visit to various museum gift shops and a Schnitty with a Stein-i!

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my loved ones shared with me

four red apples, half a bottle of wine, left-over sunscreen and a large bag of laun-dry!

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my loved ones left with me

a ton of memories, lots of laughter, and enough love to last me until Ju-li!

My Twelve Days of Christmas. Gisela

Yet, my favourite memory will be that moment when sitting at the beach in the rain, exhausted from giving surfing a try, loving every moment of it, and watching my family in the waves, each one of them giving their best effort! They weren’t concerned about the heavy clouds rolling overhead or the rain that intensified by the minute. Their expressions. Their posture. Their success in standing up on that darn board. They were simply creating their own conditions and making the best of it. And there I was, experiencing that goosebumpy feeling of happiness, awe, and wonder. Everything was perfect at that moment.

I have an irrational fear of waves. It even has a name, as I read on the computer: cymophobia, the fear of waves. I fear anything wavy—waves, sea swells, wave-like motions, my hair. I could try to explain this fear by recalling childhood memories of being wiped out by a wave, pulled under and completely disoriented, ending up with a mouth full of sand and vowing to never catch a wave again.

But the truth is, I’ve learned quite a bit from observing the waves and how others approach them.

There are those, who try to evade them by standing on their tiptoes, arms raised, squealing from the sensation of the cold water touching them. Or simply run away from the incoming waves, screaming (not me!). Others turn their backs to the incoming wave altogether, trying to avoid eye contact as if ignoring it would change anything. I’ve learned to duck the most frightening ones, hands firmly pressed together before diving under, eyes tightly closed, feeling the water wash over me—please make it quick! And finally, those who dare to open their eyes underwater, captivated by the water’s violent game with the light, shifting from light to dark to light again. Oh, and then there are the body surfers, patiently waiting for the right moment to catch that wave and let it carry them ashore.

The same could be said about how we approach life. Running away from it. Attempting to avoid it. Turning our backs to it. Closing our eyes and getting through it as quickly as possible. Or enjoying it and allowing it to propel us forward. However, there’s no need to run from it, attempt to control it, or be overwhelmed by it if you learn to read the surf and your surroundings.

On the day of our first (and only!) surf lesson, the circumstances for going into the water were less than ideal. A heavy thunderstorm followed by hail, ominous grey skies, and drizzle. We called the Surf Club, assuming the lesson would be cancelled. Yet, they simply asked us to come down to the beach and wait out the thunder and lightning. Alongside thirty other tourists who had received the same advice. When the skies finally cleared, and we managed to struggle into our wet wetsuits (which, as it turns out, is almost as challenging as surfing itself), our surf instructor Simone imparted another lesson:

When you want to go surfing, you can check the tides, surf reports, weather channel, and thunderstorm warnings. But ultimately, you have to come down to the beach and sit with the surf for a while. Observe it. Understand it. Be prepared. But then, you have to go out there and give it a try. Ride the waves.

We never know what our life is going to look like. We can dream and imagine it, but we don’t really know what it’s going to be until we’re in it, right when it’s happening. You can prepare, but you can’t plan for these things until they happen.

The Art of Racing in the Rain. Garth Stein

So, if you were to ask me what the best part of my family’s visit was, I would say that perfect little moment of sitting at the beach, watching them surf in the rain. Knowing that the rain would eventually arrive, but not knowing exactly when. And until then, just enjoying the moment!

Cheers!