Colton Sefton Essays (1222 words) - Sports, Recreation,

Colton Sefton Mr. Bancroft English Composition 111-3907 16 February 2017 Tour in Torquay At no time in my life has there ever been an event as surfing at Bells Beach, Australia.Electric excitement surrounded all of us was we watched in awe of surfers "rip up" massive waves, which shot up behind each surfer like salty spray foam. The contrast between the beautiful turquoise waters as they encircled the rocky, barren terrain kept our mouths agape.An ample horseshoe-shaped bay swept against the magnificent cliffs that rose a hundred feet high into the blue sky.In places, the sea had eroded those cliffs, and it was like an enormous sea monster had taken a bite out of the rock.The morning sun was beautiful as it pierced through the silky fog. On the beach, the sun's rays showed through the big waves, creating an emerald color.In the early mornings, I watched that sun and those surfers as they caught the first swells of the day.I listened to the colossal waves as they crashed and rolled against the shore while enjoying hot coffee: this was the very best way to begin my days i n Torquay. I found myself in a little town called Torquay far south in Australia. I fell in love with this place at first glance.The culture of this small place was evident; it was a surfer's paradise.Every house I passed in my car driving into town revealed a wetsuit hanging to dry alongside a battered surfboard. I could smell the salt in the air and hear the waves roaring against the shore. People from all over the world came to this town to do one thing and one thing only: to surf. The weather, despite its up and downs, with its cold bitter mornings and chilly days, did not stop the diehard surfers. The joint love of surfing created a soul that united the town.Everywhere I looked, I saw that passion.Surf shops were everywhere as they lined the streets sporting the most famous names in the sport. Torquay even had a shiny new museum dedicated to surfing. The locals were proud of this place they called home. First on my to-do list was to find a place to stay.This didn't take long because I came across a minute surf hostel, a place where many roaming surfers stayed.Everything about this hostel was pleasant, from the story-telling owner who hailed from Sweden and ran the hostel with an iron fist to my first cup of delicious warm coffee and conversation of the day.Where we were off to that day and what waves we wanted to surf and the new tricks we wanted to learn. Every night we'd return and tell of our accomplishments and our hard lessons, which part of the beach hit, and which part of the beach to avoid. As well, the hostel had life to it. The building seemed to be alive because of the people and the stories they brought with them: amazing stories about surfing in different countries or even just stories from down the road. Everyone had something to say, and everyone wanted to listen. Waking up in the morning was also the best time to surf. I took my coffee and enjoyed many beautiful sunrises as I listened to the ever-familiar thundering waves.Getting in the water and paddling, fighting my way through the waves, and diving under the first wave were always uniquely satisfying.Feeling my warm, dry body go completely under the cool wave as it rolled felt like a slowly moving cool embrace.As I opened my eyes underwater, I could see millions of bubbles as the salt stung my eyeballs. From underneath, I could see waves rolling above as I searched for a place surface. At times, I spit the salt water from my mouth, and from time to time, I swallowed the putrid slush, while occasionally, I simply lost my breakfast.Nevertheless, I couldn't get over the urge to get behind the breaking waves to catch next curl. I felt pure peace just sitting on my board, waiting for the ocean to slowly surge below.I felt so tiny as ten foot waves flowed under my body, like I was sitting on to p of a wild animal. The more I sat