Both the towel and I spread clumsily across the sand, I sat for as long as I could stand to feel the sun searing my skin. I waited and waited. Much longer than I thought I would be able to bear. Until finally I could cope no more.
I skipped over the burning sand, not out of joy but necessity as the soles of my feet burned with each step. I ran faster and faster until suddenly there was relief as my feet and then my knees splashed through the water. I ran as far as I could and when the water became too high to run, I finally dived as far forward and as deep as I could manage, seeking out the water not warmed from the sun’s rays.
The shock of the cold had me gasping for breath after my first dive, but within a minute I was already acclimatised to the temperature and jumping under, over and through the waves or allowing them to push and pull my deliberately limp body through the water.
I had sat on the shore long enough watching the waves to have seen there were more than a couple of dumping waves, churning up the sand and turning the water into whitewash, but the lure of the water had been too strong for me to resist.
As I splashed about, I saw the wave building well out the back of the break. Experience had taught me I should easily be able to climb on to the wave as it came through and confidently ride it all the way to shore.
When the wave was close enough, I turned and started swimming quickly, hoping momentum would carry me on to the wave with enough force to catch a ride.
Within seconds I knew I had miscalculated as the pull of the water was stronger than I expected. The wave kept growing more powerful as it pushed forward taking me with it until it had me firmly in her embrace, completely unable to swim out of it.
Suddenly the wave jerked me violently, throwing me like a rag doll onto the ocean floor. I could feel the top of my bathers pulled down by the water, my breasts exposed to nobody but the water. Another tumble and the bottom of my bathers lodged themselves into my arse, along with a large deposit of sand.
My eyes seek daylight but its orientation keeps changing.
I tumble a third time, I think. Maybe it’s a fourth. I lose count. I am being tossed like a small shell, but one with flailing limbs. My knees crash across the sand and are dragged, peeling the skin back.
I had been able to hold my breath until now, forcing air out of my nose and keeping my mouth firmly shut, but as I bounce along the ocean floor yet again, this time my elbows exfoliating as they drag, I involuntarily gasp.
Water floods into my mouth and up my nose. The reflex to catch my breath means I suck in more water and the need to escape this wave becomes more urgent.
Again I search for daylight but the churn of the water makes it impossible to see anything.
Finally, I am dumped one last time, and find myself in shallow water, much closer to the shore than I expected to be. The wave has gone and I am sitting there, hair strewn across my face, blood trickling from places too numerous to count.
I pull my top up as I contemplate whether I should “get back on the horse now” by diving straight back into the ocean, lest my experience and injuries foster a new fear.
A little more gingerly than when I first entered the water, and the salt water stinging open wounds on my knees, elbows and feet and maybe my face, I wade out a little further into deeper water. Diving under I look at the bottom of the ocean, at the shells and seaweed and despite the pain, feel at home.
I spy a plastic drink bottle lying to my left and dive to grab it so I can remove at least one piece of human debris from the sea. Holding the bottle, I stand at the shore for a while longer, giving it time for the bleeding to stop, and hop across the burning sand back to my towel.
It’s been a good swim I tell myself as I skip across the rest of the sand to the carpark. I’ll be back tomorrow.
Angie Kay's travels 
hreat descriptions. I wish I lived near the ocean
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We are very lucky to enjoy her healing power and energy.
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