By Mitch Thunder Lees.
For those that dared to dwell on the cliff-faced frontiers of wave riding in Port Stephens the forecast of an infamous East Coast Low set minds ticking over to the possibilities that awaited them.
Powerful storm celled systems brought dangerous conditions to your average Port fairing punter, but for the creatures that craved the comfort of the deep blue it was their calling to divinity.
The safe sheltered coastal nooks were transformed as the Antarctic cold collided and crashed its way up the Eastern flank of Australia.
Flatwater fantasies evolved into a roaring scene of violence as water was drawn from the shallows and boats were washed from their moorings.
Shoal Bay and its scenic white sand gave way to a monster that for a moment could produce pure beauty as wave riders skimmed over ledges and scraped along the bottom.
This wave was almost as if it was a metaphor for life itself.
The fear inducing struggle of positioning oneself through the most impossible of scenarios all for a split-second of euphoria before being ground within the mortar and pestle of their own making.
Images burnt into minds as if infinitely paused in the shatter of sound and the occasional bone.
Why do they do it?
Simple, why do anything at all…