The UK winter is normally Western Australia’s prime time windsurfing season, but not this year. Paul McGill ponders on a strange and strained summer down under.
Words & Photos Paul McGill
The wait
When you have saved your money for a year, planned and planned again, dreamed the dream a hundred times and the expectation is killing you, six weeks is a long time. After exhaustive searches for the right van, long slow drives along empty highways over vast distances to find the right locations (required rather than desired), six weeks is a long time. Sleeping cramped amongst your gear, the only shade is the crowded cabana on the beach, and the red dust getting in everything is almost too much to bear. Energy turns to lethargy and the baking surface of your van is hot enough to fry eggs. You swear another day of sun will peel your skin from your flesh and the next fly that you swallow will send you over the edge; six weeks is a long time. Your fellow travellers have the same cravings, the jokes flow around the campsite and everyone has a story to tell. A United Nations style mix of people, all with one main focus, converge on the same location and the vibe is cool if not a little depressed. Six weeks is still a long time.
The traditional weather pattern of the famously windy spot has run off with the fairies, broken by El Nino and left you with no idea of what the days will offer. Will the ‘wind gods’ smile today and provide relief from the constant confusion or do you gamble with your addiction and take a punt at driving somewhere else with the odds of another day of waste. The surf boards that were brought just in case of no wind can’t be used as there are, of course, no waves. Six weeks is a long time. The worst season in Western Australia’s windsurfing history coincides with your once in a lifetime trip. Should have stayed at home, should have stayed in South Africa where it’s firing. Then one morning as you wipe the salt and sleep from your eyes, brush the dust from your crusty hair and stretch out the largely unused muscles, sore only from the weird sleeping position crushed against your also unused boom, there is a faint and unusual smell wafting past your nostrils.
Action
It is the unusually rare whiff of a light southeast wind, cooler than normal and bringing with it the promise of action. Around the campsite rare movement begins. The preparation of kit almost forgotten begins with a flurry of activity. The lazy lethargic morning wanderings turn to energetic anticipation. Mastfeet are hiding under piles of food, fins missing down the side of the mattress and where on earth did the harness go. The cool breeze calms the nerves, eases the tension and starts to restore faith in your destination of choice. It’s going to be an early one today. That means no need to rig the big gear. Simply save the time and effort by going small to start with. What is that strange colour you can see out on the water? It looks almost shiny, brighter to you than the once scorching sun and raising a lump to the throat in joy. It’s a wave, the purest white of frothing foam doing its best to smash the once sedate reef to pieces; a welcome view at last.
The gift
After six long weeks of sporadic unsettled wind, the real conditions return with a vengeance. Waves are torn apart and the sky is the limit. Jump after jump, loop after loop. Muscles begin to ache for all the right reasons. The mind is filled with images of action lived and not dreamt. Smiles are beaming with the glow of satisfaction once again, this is windsurfing. The confined spaces of a rented van in the Australian summer are almost forgotten as you refill your mind and body with stoke. Six weeks is a long time. However, golden memories last forever.
About the Author
Paul McGill, originally from a coal mining town, has been windsurfing for 30 years and now lives in Perth where he mines for compliments and lists his greatest achievement as a blink and you’ll miss it appearance in the Proffit Training Diaries as a background extra. ‘’I was thinking about writing this piece on the long drive back from Geraldton. While up there I’d met a German guy, Max Droge, who was camping with his girlfriend. He was impressing everyone with his sailing and had a great attitude to match his mega back loops and doubles! It’s been a strange summer in Western Australia but as ever in windsurfing, the physical and mental highs cancel out the weather lows!’’
PHOTO Max Droge goes large for the lens of Paul McGill in Geraldton.. Photo Paul Mcgill