As we enter into the Easter long weekend in a way none of us have experienced before – at least, not as an entire nation – I wonder, how do the commandments of surfing play out over these Covid-19 times? Are we, as surfers, selfish? To those who seem to use me as a priority buoy to get their ten waves to my every none I say yes, yes you are. Without targeted research, it’s impossible to know if the CV19 is hitching a ride on every droplet of ocean that latches onto us as we enter paddle battles, plunge into duckdives or – as happened to me twice this week – are run over by some doolie whose face I certainly have never seen before their beach was likely shut down. Or, perhaps the ocean is the only safe haven, where raw bat-borne cooties scurry away from the sea screaming, ‘I regret nothing…’. We’ve been offered a privilege in that some of our beaches remain open. But there’s no doubt some surfers are sadly to draw a short straw here. From whichever side you’re waxing up on, I feel we all need to unite in an unspoken agreement, and here are a few ideas to at least start the scroll.

1: Stick to your local surf spot

It’s going to be torture for those whose beaches are closed, but in these weird times the safety of others are paramount. Most beaches won’t have the capacity to host the displaced, and while I loathe the narrow-mindedness of localism, we shouldn’t be driving far, if at all, and the few line-up spots we have should be reserved for those who’ve spent time supporting their local community and businesses. If your beach is closed, practise your pop-ups at home.

2: Wear a leggie

Seriously, I can’t believe the ignorance. I have no desire to avoid your board that’s flapping towards me in the whitewater like a wobbly-legged toddler who has momentarily escaped parental grip in the park, only this kid has three big fangs that can rip through flesh. No. The hospital is not somewhere we can be at the moment, so just strap it on.

3: Assess your skills

If you swing around to take a late drop and someone’s underneath you on their paddle back out, unless you’re one hundred freakin’ per cent sure you’re gonna make it, don’t go. And if you don’t know how to duckdive, then you have no place on a main peak. It’s not worth it, see point 2.

4: Don’t share wax

It’s not worth the risk of transmission. Just grip those toes a bit tighter, y’all.

5: Veto violence

If crowds are getting hectic with unfamiliar faces, then address it like a good human. Let’s not revert back to the brutality of old localism lore, and instead treat everyone with kindness. Remember, there are young, impressionable ears all around absorbing, you have to see it, to be it. Communicate, educate, respectfully ask if they think they really should be here. If that doesn’t work, then ignore point 4 but offer soap instead.

6: Don’t stroke your ego

Now’s not the time to be attempting airs over people’s heads or doing dangerous fades. The other day a grommet attempted a cutback spray as I paddled over the shoulder, only he mistimed and smashed straight into my ankles. Luckily I also loathe grommet abuse.

7: Show respect

For those ignoring point 1, then don’t rock up to surf a beach you don’t frequent and scavenge waves from women, girls and groms, (wrongly) believing them to be the weakest link. Go on, target the grumpy grown men and see how far you get.

8: Free the greed

Limit your session to 45minutes to give other people a go. A self-scoring heat, even. Three-to-five to the beach and go home. And be observant; if you notice someone (okay, me) is struggling to get a ride, how about giving the next one away, eh? The faster surfers can reach their quota, the quicker we can move on for others.

9: Visitors day

What if every Wednesday was purely for those short straw drawers to visit their closest open beach, and the locals take a step back? Whether it’s pumping or onshore poo, either side of the scenario, we have to suck it up. And while this might be controversial, perhaps there’s a registration process with the local boardriders to cap the amount of surfers the spot can handle – such as, 20 for the morning sesh, 20 for the arvo.

10: Keep the blade away

No foils on the waves in a people-peppered line-up, please. I don’t think this needs an explanation, but if you want one: a sea of jugulars and metre-long blades seem like a terrible combination.

BONUS ENTRY: Draft a schedule

This is going to sound completely Covid cray-cray, but, stuff it, I’m throwing it out there. If all else is failing, and we’re still getting Bondi blow-ins with each south easterly, or people are packing a peak tighter than a sardine backpackers on lockdown, then what about this system that not only assembles a sense of order, but also allows us, and those we come in contact with, to be traceable?:

• Each beach forms a committee of respected locals – a boardrider club president, a lifeguard, a non-club member regular surfer. People register with the committee to prove themselves as local surfers – I’m not talking, you weren’t born here, you ain’t a freakin’ local mentality, I mean being open-minded, acknowledging the people they know surf regularly and know live in the area and who contribute to the community.
• A spreadsheet is drafted to allocate 45-minute time slots, and capped at the number of surfers a break can safely handle at one time. You nominate a time with others in mind – if your work is flexible, choose the middle of the day, if you don’t mind getting up at the sparrow’s fart, choose the dawny.
• Don’t stray from your time slot – if you sleep in, too bad so sad. If it’s low tide, suck it up, Sunshine. Everyone will eventually get their win.

As surfers still holding onto the open beaches dream, we are probably the most privileged people in the world right now. Let’s look after each other and not eff it up, eh?

 

Kate McMahon is the author of surf fiction series, The Bikini Collective – 1: Ocean Rules, 2: Lost in LA, 3: Sea of Gratitude.
katemcmahonmyword.com @thebikinicollectivebook

Tags: beach closed, coronavirus, covid19, surfers, surfing