The Truth About Dawn Patrols

The early bird may catch the worm but I’d prefer to start the day with coffee and an orgasm

Dylan Longbottom rewarded for due deligence. Pic: Spencer Hornby

The early bird may catch the worm but I’d prefer to start the day with coffee and an orgasm. I read that somewhere recently and it resonated like a big African drum. It got me thinking about my strained relationship with one of surfing’s great traditions: the dawn patrol.

I know the waves are often better early and that a few kegs before brekkie is the best way to start the day but I’ve never been much of a dawn patroller. In part it’s because I’m lazy, shackled by small children and an aspiring night owl. But there are other reasons beyond my control.

Crowds is one. The dawn patrol is supposed to be the time when the cluey surfer is scoring waves with a cluster of like-minded go-getters. If only this were true. Often the 6-8am slot is the busiest time of the day – especially in these times of full employment, swell forecasting and super-charged lifestyles.

The sun is another problem. Here on the east coast you will have noticed it rises at the same place you stare at while waiting for a wave. It’s beautiful but blinding. Ever had a pterygium scraped off your eyeball? No fun.

Morning sickness – that weird, wonky ailment the ocean suffers  – is a well diagnosed problem in Indo but it can strike anywhere. There is a feeling of injustice if you leave the ocean just as its cleaning up and the sleepy heads are wondering down to the beach, ready to score. Morning sickness might be natures way of telling you to sleep in.

The super early can play havoc with your social life as well. It might lead you to rethinking your 12^th drink, it may stop you from hooking up with an inner city starlet, it will certainly clash with your rock star aspirations. In severe cases it may lead to you watching The Bill.

And what happens if you do set the alarm, pack the boards and get to the car park with your heart all a flutter and you squint into the half-dark and see it’s not happening. The forecasted swell is a day out, the wind has swung, a busload of tourists have taken over the only peak, the tides wrong, it’s 10 foot too big? What then? Do you got back to bed? Do you brave Sunrise with Kochie? Do you… jog!?

Don’t risk it, I say. Leave the worms to the birds.

Note: Entire story could be a selfish ploy to reduce dawn patrol crowds.

By Kirk Owers