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But Azza did a pretty good effort paddling around out on the phantom on a humongous, consistent, lumpy, late afternoon, raw day. It shattered Toddy, who was in, but bailed on the mission at the last moment. We watched Azza get rolled by some monster slobs, but he did well, and nearly caught some really good ones. Toddy was praying for him to get washed into a mega, quadrupleup reef drainer from hell, and he was close, but much to his horror, Azza survived. And he almost took the belt off shattered Toddster. Well, in a way he did. But then, Toddster had a Fuck buddy in padang from hell out there that I've described before, having to be tied onto his board, with leggies, at night, and be paddled Fuck buddy in padang to the beach miles away.
I thought he was paralyzed. Saving his life, keeping him alive, was the least I Singles sex party in timmiarmiut do for him. We often reminded him of it. The merryweather board riding champ except at blax was there too, teeth chattering and terrified eyes shining like spotlights. I've rescued other east coasters, but knowing that without me that Toddster is just, well without me he was just, well, its enough to I just saw your thing goofer. I don't really know, I couldn't see, I just pushed him into where everyone on the cliff was waving.
It was really shallow slamming on reef, low tide, and after he went over in one, I had to bolt out. Later up the top they told me he was really cut up but ok. Blowin commented Saturday, 29 Jul at 6: I followed Captain Cook's route after my leggy snapped during this unsuccessful sesh I used to like to chase tuna on a board, paddle out with a rod and a knife. One arvo at Broken head a massive tuna bustup out off the second island. Big S swell with a nor-west wind. Sun low in the hills and I launched an old surf ski that was under my mates house, one of those old goat boats you don't see anymore.
It was a dry hair paddle out in the lee of Broken head. Got out towards the end of the Islands and all hell was breaking loose. Mostly jellybean yellowfin in the pound range with the odd plus keg hitting gar and slimies. Water churned to foam. I hooked up straight away to a barrel with fins and was spooled in about one minute flat. Then I started getting towed out to sea and towards the North-east, towards Cape Byron. I had to put my feet in the water to stabilise the ski and pretty quickly, once out of the lee of Broken, the sea state got really ugly.
Big long period S swell running into a north wind. I thought at first I might have been able to get back to the beach and fight the fish from there with a tiny chance of landing it, if I could get some line back on the reel. Pretty soon I realised that plan was toast and I was heading north by north-east. Fantasising maybe I get could get around Cape Byron in the night and maybe Scorpion co stars dating at Wategoes. I could kill the fish, door knock and get a mate to pick me up.
It got dark pretty quick. The fish must have headed back towards a more parallel track, i was Sluts in reigate heath the lighthouse at Cape Byron as a bearing but didn't notice the change in direction without a point to triangulate off. At some point north of the Suffolk rivermouth a wild open ocean swell capped and hit me broadside. It knocked me off, took the ski, who knows where, I never saw it again and left me in the ocean at night with a big tuna still dragging me through the water. It took me about ten seconds to realise I had to jettison the rod and make a play for the beach.
I was probably metres off the beach in ft of surf in the night, and I didn't want to move a muscle. I felt if I so much as moved I was going to get munched. Slunk up the beach with my tail between my legs, walked home and went straight to the bottle-o. Gave up the idea of tuna fishing from a board. Could you see when the sets were coming once in the impact zone. Or just head down straight for the beach zenagain commented Saturday, 29 Jul at Watashi wa metabo oyagi desu. Herc commented Saturday, 29 Jul at And stewart, epic photo. As much as surfing, getting lots of waves under your belt, or catching a deluxe wave change your surfing, those types of experiences play a big part as well.
Coaster commented Saturday, 29 Jul at The idea of what you set out to do in the first place, the decisions and plans along the way, and then the outcome. There's a bit of the old man and the sea in that tale. Blowin commented Sunday, 30 Jul at 8: Unlike your photoStu. You weren't considering riding that largelumpyshitstorm pitching onto near - dry rock were you? Cool storyFreeride. Maybe get a boat? Easter Sunday to be precise. I was on the rocks about 2 hours before first light, my favourite time to fish. At the most deadly spot in the Northern Rivers, a proven killer.
There was a long range, super inconsistent E groundswell in the water: I'd had a long, long look at it on dark the night before after a surf. Checked the buoys upon waking. What had happened in the night is a slug of sand had built up in front of the rock pinnacle which protrudes right out in the Pacific ocean. Straight away I had a couple of good tailor, which meant I was covered in tailor blood and slime. Then I started getting spooky and decided I'd head in and sip coffee from a thermos and profit take the tailor until first light.
I had one long look into the darkness before turning landward to make sure I wasn't going to get tagged by a set walking back. And then the pit of my stomach dropped out. It was a very, very long slow sense of horror as I realised I was about to get thumped and there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. But I had no idea how badly I was about to get hammered. Instead of just getting mildly smashed the first wave of the set drew off the sandbar in front of the rock shelf and stood up and threw out a top to bottom thick lipped tube. The lip of this tube landed on me. You've seen swells smash into rocky headlands and you've seen that explosion.
I was now in that explosion. There was a long, long moment of weightlessness as i was in the air, it felt like I was 8, 10feet in the air. Then a massive thump as I backslammed back onto the rock, luckily my fishing bag broke the fall and I landed on my arse. If I was knocked out, I obviously wouldn't be here sharing this tale. A massive weight of water pressed down on me then rolled me off the rock into the drink, my fishing bag caught under a ledge and pulled me underwater and I shrugged it off and got free. The next whitewater now hit me and smashed me into the rocks, I got into the survival position and pinballed off a few rocks, pushing off with my legs.
As the whitewater drained off I had a futile attempt to grab hold of a vertical wall of barnacles and cunji. Then the next white water smashed me. I was still in shock, not really believing it was happening. Then I came to and realised it was Plan B, swim away from this nightmare and around to the keyhole. A metre swim. Swam away from the rocks incidentally, quite obviously, if lifejackets were mandatory I would be dead because I wouldn't have been able to swim under the whitewater to safety got the old fish slime covered jumper off and started swimming, very slowly around to the keyhole. I swam for about 10 minutes before I realised I wasn't getting anywhere.
The East australian current was flowing strongly and pushing me back against the rocks. Swimming with the current meant a K swim against a cliff line to the next safe exit point. I went out wider, to get away from the strong current. Swam out into the deep and into the bay. Then cut in and got to the keyhole just as the sky was turning purple. Family was still asleep when I got home. I didn't tell my wife for a while. Went back in the afternoon and got back out there. Not ready to quit. Rockfishing is a problem in search of a solution and the solution is a boat. I sorta remembercatching these never ending lefts that got smaller and smallerand then a huge paddle over a big stretch of waterand somehow ended up at Kuta on darkwith everybody freaking out that Ulu's had claimed another!
There's been some horrific rock fishing incidents, drownings. Here's a fish related one. More ludicrous than anything. We all had some pretty wild theories about why we didn't have to worry about sharks. There were some radical stories back then, most didn't get reported. Streaky had the worst I reckon, one local ledge getting used as a toy by a huge pointer, at a remote spot for an hour or so. He cracked and left town. Anyway a medium sized whale had washed in to the tiny beach where we paddle out. Everyone was freaking on the cliff, the surf was deluxe, sun shining. I had my rostered day off, and the weekend, so was spewing. At that time, through the week I usually had to surf early and late, and was hating it.
So somehow I came up with the ludicrous theory that any shark wouldn't be remotely interested in us, it was actually a kind of blessing, they would only be focused on the whale. No one was keen, I can still remember Roger pleading with me, as I decided to demonstrate how safe it was. Once out there, I was stoked, the surf was pumping, all to myself. Its ridiculous what the mind can concoct. I was laughing at how everyone was missing out, what wimps they were, and couldn't believe that they wouldn't come out. This went on through the weekend. On the last surf, the tide really filled in, and as I paddled in, a horrendous stench filled the air.
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