I decided to take up surfing in my mid-30s. I had been invited to join friends at Gunnamatta, a stretch of beach on the Mornington peninsula in Victoria. I didn’t know it was the kind of beach that attracted major Southern Ocean swells – beloved by more experienced surfers.
It was one of those hot and still early summer days, the Eastern freeway busy as cars flowed out of the city. When I arrived, I stood at the top of the car park steps and gawped as surfers carved along the huge waves. It was too late to back out; I had already made the drive. As I tugged on my wetsuit, I looked around and marvelled at how surfers freely stripped off in the car park, totally unbothered if they flashed an incandescent bum.
