The Rift Rider Read Free Page B

break.
    Charlie smiled
at the view. Was there anything more beautiful than the sight of waves crashing
in the moonlight? He doubted it. Still, it was too cold to be stood outside in
the rain, so he turned, ready to climb into the warmth of his van. The moment
called for a nice cup of tea.
    But as he placed
his foot on the rear step, a scream shot out across the beach. He froze. The
wind howled. For a second it drowned out everything. It went still. Again, came
the scream.
    Yes, thought
Charlie, it's defiantly a scream. Someone's out there. He shuddered. Someone's
out there, alone in this monster swell. They don't have long.
    He scanned the
car park. But his was the only vehicle there.
    "Fuck."
He leapt inside the van.
    It took him two
minutes to get into his wetsuit, grab his board and race down to the water's
edge. The wetsuit had cost him valuable time, but then he doubted he would last
long out there in just his briefs.
    He scanned the
water. The rain stung at his eyes as he searched. His heart pounded as the
seconds ticked by, without a sighting.
    Then the scream
came again, and Charlie saw a flash of white in the water. He sprinted into the
water, throwing the board out in front of him. The wooden board skidded across
the water's surface and he dived on top of it. His momentum pushed him over the
first wall of white water.
    Head down, he pulled
his arms through the water, paddling as hard as he could towards the drowning
man or woman. Through gaps in the wind, the scream pierced the sky. Charlie
used it to guide him.
    As he got
further out, the waves came rushing at him, thick and heavy. He duck dived
through them, breaking out the back of each wave without slowing. Every dive
sent icicles through the back of his eyes and left his lungs singed cold. He
gritted his teeth against the pain and paddled on.
    And then in the
distance, he saw it, the bobbing whiteness that had caught his attention from
the beach. He slapped the water in disbelief. What a mug, he thought. What an
absolute bloody mug.
    For there before
him, rocking and back and forth as the waves rolled under it, floated the
bloated, decomposing body of a dead dolphin. What Charlie had taken for a
scream was in fact, the angry calls of the sea gulls fighting over the poor
animal's remains.
    Here I am, he
thought, freezing my arse off, risking my life, for a dead dolphin. Despite his
love for these kindred ocean spirits, he laughed out loud. Soon his whole body
shook with laughter. What a fucking day, he shouted, loud enough to scare away
some of the gulls.
    When the
laughing fit subsided, Charlie looked around. The wind had grown steadily
weaker and the waves were holding up nicely. He smiled, as it dawned on him
that he had all of these waves to himself, a first in this day and age of
British surfer kids.
    He took his
first wave perfectly. On the second, he mistimed his take off and tumbled down
the two-metre high face of the wave. The impact knocked the wind out of him and
left him rattled.
    He let the next
three waves pass, while he collected himself. Then he launched himself onto the
final and biggest wave of the set. He slid down the wave, a falling man atop a six-foot
plank of wood, smiling as the water rushed and rolled beneath him.
    The wave went on
and on, each time it looked like collapsing, it would change its mind and hold
up letting Charlie continue his charge down the line. Time seemed to stretch.
Charlie glided across the moonlit runway, deciding how best to finish his ride.
    In the end he
opted for an air. He had spent the last four surf sessions practising his
somersault boosts and the speed, and shape of this wave called for a gymnastic
close.
    To pick up
speed, he pumped his back leg, pushing the board faster and faster. When the
shoulder of the wave lay a few metres ahead, he executed a hard bottom turn.
Charlie shot up the face of the wave. The moment the board left the wave, he
twisted, bringing his feet and board over his head.
    As he