Ocean pools can be a bridge between Australia’s beach-going mythology and the dangerous reality of the surf
If I find myself at an open beach, I approach big surf the same way I would an unfamiliar, large dog: excited, but slow and wary, hands up as if to say “easy there”, quietly hoping the beautiful thing in front of me doesn’t try to kill me.
My pace usually slows as the foam begins to wash over my knees and I lose sight of my feet. If I am there with friends, at this point they usually stride ahead into the deep, confidently slipping under waves. I, on the other hand, become ever more hesitant, busy doing a mental taxonomy of the slimy blobs brushing past my legs.
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