My head was pounding but I sped up to a run nonetheless. Well not really running, more jogging awkwardly, trying to shake out stiff muscles from sleeping on a roll-mat and super keen to check the surf.
We’d driven from Bryon Bay to Yamba the day before. Stopping for the requisite beer at the pub on the point before looping back down to Angourie Point. The swell was wind affected and shifty but we paddled out nonetheless, just to get wet. We knew we’d be drinking that night so we felt we needed to earn it.
We had a camp-site behind one of the back beaches. It wasn’t a sanctioned camp-site but it was an excellent spot to pitch a tent, cook dinner and drink rum. Another two cars pulled up and more tents were erected and eskys and beers were dragged onto the grass.
The birthday boy was drunk on arrival, we laughed because we knew he’d have no choice but to get up at dawn. So we pitched our tent, we cooked dinner and we drank rum.
I was up before the sun, shaking my bleary head as I dashed awkwardly up to the point. I could have walked, there was no rush, but there’s something about that first glimpse of Angourie. There’s so much potential for amazing waves that it’s hard to contain your stoke.
Even without waves the view at dawn is a thrill.
There were only a few clouds and there were solid lines rolling in; the wind was cold and it soothed my heavy head. I was the only one on the point. There were two surfers in the water but they were having a tough time of it. The swell was coming in a little straight and it was too big for the banks. I only saw them get a couple of rides, it wasn’t enough to temp me into my wetsuit.
Jaime appeared, he’s a bartender, he’s rarely up at dawn and unfortunately for him this is when I tend to get photos of him. He didn’t say much, his eyes were locked on the new day’s sun.
I could hear the birthday boy getting roused from his van. He looked the worst of the lot, but he was smiling.