Benjamin B.
Yelp
Got a long-haired surfer mate that lives right on the promenade, a veritable stone's throw from the foam. Nay, less than a stone's throw. Here, then, is a morning spent in his company courtesy of Dee Why.
Up at 5am. De-zombify as much as is practical at that hour. At his place by half fivey. Say good morning to his attractive flattie as she wipes the sleep from her eyes and stretches like a cat. Wettie top on, pick up our sticks, trot over to the south end of the beach. Wait 5 mins while mate hits the crapper (nobody likes an aquabog). Wait 5 mins more. What is he doing in there. Pick our way across the rocks to the end of the point, time our jump between sets and spend an hour surfing classy right-handers with a handful of like-minded souls. Follow the swell and paddle across to the beach. Sun is up now, everything's gold. Half the board riders in the drink disappear to get to work. It's all ours for another precious hour.
Finishe with a giant brekkie -- acai with seasonal fruit or full clacker with a side of potato rosti -- at one of the dozen beachfront cafes, take your pick, throw down an Earl Grey, fist bump, chest bump, high five, draw the line at an ass slap, and start the day proper.
Perfsies brah. Yay Dee Why.