I don't see anyone I used to know, except Slipper from the Angelus crew who's bald and paddles a surfski out at the Point some days. Sando and Eva's place is gone and the property has been subdivided. Lawyers and architects from the city have built ostentatious weekenders all over it.
The old Brewer is still in Dad's shed. It's not been ridden since the day I lost it at Old Smoky. Nowadays out there at the bommie, surfers have themselves towed into the wave with jetskis. You can only imagine the noise and the stink of petrol. Barney's is still surfed but not often. The resident great white seems to linger, and now he has protected status as an endangered species. As far as I know, the Nautilus remains undiscovered by the new generation.
I never actually get around to doing much to the house when I'm down in Sawyer. Time's too precious. I have an old ten-footer, a real clunker from the sixties, like something Gidget would ride. I shove it into the ute, drive down to the Point and paddle it out through the knots of scab-nosed bodyboarders to pick off a wave from every second set.
I'm not there to prove anything — I'm nearly fifty years old. I've got arthritis and a dud shoulder. But I can still maintain a bit of style. I slide down the long green walls into the bay to feel what I started out with, what I lost so quickly and for so long: the sweet momentum, the turning force underfoot, and those brief, rare moments of grace. I'm dancing, the way I saw blokes dance down the line forty years ago.
My girls stay with me now and then. Sometimes they bring their blokes; I don't mind so much. I tidy the house for a week before they arrive. They've seen chaos at first hand so they value order. My job reassures them, I think, lets them see I have a purpose in the world. The work and their interest help me manage myself. I toil at it. For them it's been important to know I'm not useless. I think they understand how tough the gig is, that I save lives and try to be kind. I've done my best to explain my troubles without resorting to indelicacy. They're adults now yet I'm still vigilant, careful not to startle, because there's been so much damage, too much shame.
My favourite time is when we're all at the Point, because when they see me out on the water I don't have to be cautious and I'm never ashamed. Out there I'm free. I don't require management. They probably don't understand this, but it's important for me to show them that their father is a man who dances — who saves lives and carries the wounded, yes, but who also does something completely pointless and beautiful, and in this at least he should need no explanation.