Last Sunday, I found myself at one of my favorite surf spots, Rest Bay. The waves were solid—5 to 6 feet—under a good sky and with tolerable temps, all signs pointing toward a solid session. After suiting up and waxing my board, I made my way down from the car park, aware that high tide can leave little margin for error near the rocks. The tide had just turned, so I waited a while to let it drop a bit before heading in. Even then, the water still felt a touch too high for my liking.

A few advanced surfers were already out, handling the waves confidently while a crowd gathered on the tops, with a few photographers hoping to catch some action. Standing on the slipway, I wondered whether I should hold off a bit longer or just get in and see if I could make it past the break. The idea of turning back didn’t feel like an option—not with my wetsuit on, board in hand, and the ocean calling. So, I strapped on my leash and paddled out, aiming to fly under the radar in front of the crowd. Though I’m still relatively new to surfing, I’m confident in the water and ready to face whatever comes.

Paddling out, I could see a large set approaching, and a split-second decision was looming: either turtle roll or bail out completely. I tried to power through, but the wave came down hard, knocking me off balance. One moment I was paddling, the next, I was tossed, tangled in my leash, and pulled under, the impact feeling like a head-on collision. Dazed, I surfaced just in time to face the next wave in the set.

At this point, I had a choice: battle on and learn something from it or wait an extra 30 minutes for the tide to drop further. I decided to stay. Knowing the risks, I was careful to stay aware, but I wanted to push against the fear, to strengthen my skills and my confidence. I took a few more beatings but finally got myself positioned just beyond the break, catching moments between sets to adjust.

As the tide dropped, the conditions shifted, and suddenly I had more room between myself and the rocks. The worry over their proximity faded, replaced by excitement as my confidence grew with each wave I managed to ride. Soon, I wasn’t just surviving—I was surfing.

All in all, those three hours were challenging but deeply rewarding. The experience taught me a lot about timing, positioning, and reading the conditions more closely. Next time, I’ll wait a bit longer until the tide drops to avoid getting thrashed right out of the gate, but it’s these sessions that push me to be a better surfer. Every wave, whether it hits or I ride it, gets me closer to that goal.