The dangers of the surf on the Gold Coast: the death of a young surf life saver at Kurrawa Beach

Looking towards Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast

I am filled with admiration for the members of Surf Life Saving Australia. Their member clubs do an amazing job keeping our beaches safe and protecting recreational swimmers of all levels from the dangers of an unpredictable surf. The clubs organise the vast majority of ocean swims as fundraisers and almost all are run in a professional manner by a team of dedicated volunteers who love what they do and have a passion for all things to do with the ocean.

They're also a competitive bunch who test their skills against each other in surf life saving competitions.

 But over the past two years the biggest competition of all, the national championships, has been marred by tragedy.

In 2010 accomplished surf life saver and ironman Saxon Bird, 19, drowned at the Australian Surf Life Saving Championships which are held annually at Kurrawa Beach on the Gold Goast.    

And just yesterday, 14-year-old Matthew Barclay, competing in the Under-15 board event at the 2012 championships, went missing in the surf on that same beach. His body was found this morning.

Here's a link to a recent story:

http://www.smh.com.au/queensland/heartbreak-and-inquiries-after-death-of--great-kid-20120328-1vyrc.html

At the inquest into Saxon Bird's death there were calls to move the championships away from Kurrawa Beach. This didn't happen.

Is it right to play the blame game with the loss of another young life? I don't know. And I don't know enough about the circumstances surrounding Matthew Barclay's death to make an informed comment.

I did an ocean swim at Burleigh Heads on the Gold Coast in late 2011 and was surprised at the 'sweep' or current that dragged swimmers north towards Kurrawa. The swim I did started at 7.30am before the swell picked up and conditions became hairy. Gold Coast beaches are, for the most part, one continuous stretch of coast fully exposed to the elements.

In the news story in the link, someone said: "The statistics show this is an extraordinary run of bad fortune."

Try to explain that to Matthew Barclay's family. 

North Steyne to Shelly Beach and back

Saturday night: Party party. I drink a cocktail and convince myself it's loaded with vitamins because somewhere mixed into a concoction of overproof spirits is a hint of passionfruit. Add to this a couple of glasses of fruity shiraz - more goodness in the form of antioxidants. 

Next, jam as many canapes down cake hole as is humanly possible (not humanely). Sausage rolls filled with real sausage, mini hamburgers, meat pies and small delicate pastries. And cake! Cream and jam-filled sponge with icing decorated with chocolate flowers. 

Fall into bed exhausted and bloated around midnight.

Sunday morning: Wake at 2.30am, guzzle down buckets of water. Fall asleep at 4.30am and wake at 8.30am.

Text Ms Fivestar: 'Am thinking of breakfast at North Steyne and maybe a swim. Wanna come?' 

Ms Fivestar says 'yes' so I drag myself into the car and pick her up. We head north over the Sydney Harbour Bridge. We are Manly-bound. 

I'm under the misguided impression the North Steyne to Shelly Beach swim starts at 10am and is 2.2 km long. "I'd love to do the swim but I reckon we'll be too late." Secretly hoping.

We arrive at the beach, find a two-hour parking space (because that's all you can get in Manly unless you live there) and stroll to South Steyne before I remember the swim is run by the North Steyne SLSC. We continue at a casual pace along the Norfolk Palm-lined promenade. I think about a hot flat white and tomatoes with salt and pepper on buttery toast.  Yum.

Turns out the swim starts at 10.30am so I have time to register. Bugger. Turns out the swim is 2.8 km and is to Shelly Beach and back. Double bugger. 

I bump into a couple of my swim squad friends and Ms Fivestar, who only ever paddles, points out that the surf break is tiny "like a pool". I am committed. 

As it turns out, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be though I was puffed by the time I turned around the yellow can at Shelly Beach. 

What's nice about this swim? 

1. It was a real community swim. It wasn't too crowded like many of the swims held at the peak of the season in January and February. 

2. My age group didn't start last. Yay. We were in the second of three waves. 

3. The surf was gentle so it was a lovely swim to the first can, which wasn't placed too far away. 

4. It involved a journey, of sorts, even though it was a circuit. We swam down the beach to South Steyne and then in to Shelly Beach before heading back.

5. If the water had been clearer, we would have been able to see the huge numbers and variety of fish that hang out in Cabbage Tree Bay.

6. I could see to the sea's sandy bottom (!) as I swam out of Cabbage Tree Bay, so even though I was a long way from the shore, it was still shallow. 

7. Because I breathe on the left I had a view of the promenade on the way back - right-side breathers would have enjoyed this picture postcard on the first half of the swim. 

8. On the way back in to shore I saw silver bream darting in the shallows. 

9. Getting out wasn't too hard and the run up the beach was reasonably short. 

10. Breakfast! There's hundreds of cafes to choose from in Manly. 

Sounds like my life is just one long hedonistic binge! Woo hoo! Tonight I am off to see The Cranberries with sister-in-law, Nurse Nice. Turns out the show was cancelled last Thursday and her hubby, who was going to go, can't make it tonight. 

I'm cramming it in! 

PS: I will write more about Precious Princess's 21st in my next post. More specifically I will focus on the gift she received from her male work colleagues. Hooley Dooley.  

PPS: Thanks to Ms Fivestar for photos taken on her iPhone. I'll load a few more later when I have a spare moment.

21 Candles

This is the speech I would have made:

Outside, it was a tumultous nine months. Inside, you retreated from the chaos to float in your own little amniotic world - a free spirit then as you are now. 

Despite the odds being stacked against you, you were born with a sweet disposition. 

People are drawn to you because of your generous heart, your dry and wry sense of humour, your kindness and your ability to make everyone feel good about themselves. You are fun to be around.

 

There's still stuff you do - and don't do - that drives me crazy and sometimes I could scream; sometimes I do. 

But I know deep down that I've been blessed. It's a privilege to be able to tell people you're my daughter. 

My only regrets are that I didn't treasure the precious moments more, shouted too much and too often and failed to notice how time was flying. 

And here we are. Twenty one.  

No whims, no swims - just running around in my undies like a headless chook

CYC at Rushcutters Bay in Sydney

No swimming yesterday as I had to drive The Hiss to sailing at Rushcutters Bay where she tried out for the fancy schmancy 'Advanced squad'. I predict that all hell will break loose if she doesn't make the cut and we (Spanner, Precious Princess and I) will be sucked into her unforgiving vortex. 

On the bright side, at least we have another week of relative calm before she finds out. It's a worry.

The Hiss did me a favour by dragging me away from the ocean yesterday. I heard via the grapevine at squad this morning that the Shark Island swim at Cronulla was "horrible".

My guess is the surf was a wild beast keen to toss a few unsuspecting swimmers into its foaming gob. How's that for metaphor? Whatever. If bad writing like 50 Shades of Grey can go viral, why can't my blog? I need to get BDSM (no, it's not a clothing label) into it somewhere.

In the meantime, I'm having paranoid dreams where I'm running around in my undies (no bra), hiding from people while I try to find some clothes to wear so I can get to work on time. In my dreams I'm usually running late for work, often half naked (I'm a prude - I always have my undies on and my hands over my boobs as I careen from pillar to post). 

Another good/bad one is where I'm on a plane that lands in another country and I don't have my passport so I can't get off. Oh, and the best is where I have to get up and deliver a speech in front of a huge audience in a massive auditorium but have nothing prepared - usually the microphone doesn't work, people start to boo or shout abuse. And I'm in my undies*.

Not hot enough?

Make of it what you will. 

Have a week. 

PS: We secretly hope The Hiss will meet a mega-rich yachting type who will take her off our hands. Otherwise, it's a flat full of cats...

*There's always a beach somewhere in my dreams where the surf is massive, much like the wild beast analogy but in slow motion. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?