There are a few stark differences between living in an apartment in Brunswick (within groaning distance of a train station) and a flat in Byron Bay (within yippee distance of the surf at Tallow Beach). The contrast deepens as each month of 2020 drags us further towards the ridiculous and unbelievable. There’s the obvious – Melbourne’s daily four seasons, brisk winters and blistering summers, and Byron’s year-round perfect 30-ish degrees summer. Byron’s complete lack of traffic lights and Melbourne’s determination to make traffic lights as confusing as possible, by hook-turn or crook. The best comparison came last winter with two very different animal encounters across two consecutive mornings – both bathed in the warmth of dawn’s golden light.

The morning of my flight to Melbourne, I surfed with a pod of dolphins. It’s quite a common occurrence around Byron but it’s always exciting – even after the shark-or-dolphin-fin adrenalin wears off. The next morning, after a short flight from Ballina to Melbourne, I was walking to get coffee with my partner. As we crossed Brunswick Street in Fitzroy, I pulled Jessie out of disaster’s way. In the gutter, a bedraggled and probably by now drunk pigeon was eating the vomit remains of too many pints and a poorly digested kebab. It felt like some ancient pessimistic maxim – today: dolphins, tomorrow: vomit pigeons. I checked my phone and the pigeon surfaced almost to the minute 24 hours after those shark dolphins reset my heartbeat.

I never thought I’d live close to the ocean. I dreamt about it, but the practicalities of moving seemed insurmountable. Then, a dream job offer came my way and it set off a chaotic and hugely rewarding move. We sold everything we could, leased out our apartment and put some momentos into storage with my brother. We hi-fived and hugged everyone we knew, piled seven surfboards on the roof and everything else we’d need into the car including our dog Sgt. Pepper. I left my job as a copywriter for an online business lender to join an early-stage camera accessories start-up to lead their marketing efforts. We were super fortunate to be in a position to say yes – Jessie was already working remotely, I had a job lined up and we both loved me surfing a lot. And now, I get to do outrageously indulgent things like go for a surf on my lunch break.

When I needed a mental reset while I was working in Melbourne, I meditated at the end of my lunch break, usually in high-rise foyers because they have the best couches, and sometimes in food courts because I didn’t have enough time to go foyer exploring. Last Tuesday, I was working from home and I needed a mental break, so I grabbed my board and ran down the beach towards Broken Head to go for a surf. It was a clear sky 20 degrees in late winter. The wind was blowing onshore but lightly, the swell was head-high and the waves were breaking like a Mexican point break into a closed river mouth with only two other people out.

I was riding a new board I shaped under the expert tutelage of Simon from A Mano Surfboards. It’s a pink twin fin mid-length board and I hadn’t surfed it in any decent waves yet, but it was looking perfect for it. I waded through the shallows out to the sandbar and as soon as I was away and paddling, the stress and worry from the morning was pushed from my mind.

There’s too much to take in when you’re surfing to worry about land stress. Surfing forces me into a state of mindfulness – my focus is absolutely on the present moment. Paddling out the back, getting in a few deep breaths before each duck-dive, watching how the waves are breaking, keeping an eye on the horizon for a bigger set, checking if I’m being pushed down the beach by the southerly swell direction, dodging other surfers, until I’m finally out the back in the calm water beyond the breaking waves. Heartbeat and breathing thumping in unison, I watch for the next set and enjoy a little respite.

After half an hour of super fun waves and having my mind blown by the new board (its speed, control and how much it loves a critical drop), I heard a strange noise out the back. It sounded like when an air bubble escapes a tap, or the noise sceptical teenagers make immediately before saying, ‘as if’, but played through a cafe’s mid-tier speaker system. I thought maybe it was a jet ski or a surf life saving dinghy.

A medium-sized set rolled through and as I was lifted up by the first wave, in my peripheral vision, I saw what my brain registered as a tall marble statue standing on the water about 70 metres away. Too big to be a fin and too tall to be a stand up paddle boarder. The wave rolled past me and the statue disappeared behind the second wave before I could whip my head around to get a good look at it. The next wave lifted me up and I couldn’t believe my eyes. My head swivelled to check if the other two surfers nearby were seeing what I was but neither seemed to notice or care. A humpback whale’s flipper was jutting up out of the clear blue sea like a white and grey speckled ghost.

I’ve seen whales out surfing before, but this thing was close. It was about 50 meters further out and 30 metres to my left swimming to the right. I had to try and get closer, I put my head down and paddled out towards the horizon to try and get a closer look before they swam back to deeper water to get around Broken Head on their way south.

I couldn’t see it for the longest time, and then two whales surfaced touching side-by-side and both let out a startling exhale, ‘PFFFFFFF, as if’. They were so close, probably 30 meters away now and just past me to the right. I stopped and sat on my board to watch. A flash of white beneath the surface of the water to my left kicked me in the heart and reminded me that Great White Sharks are fond of following whales. I looked over my shoulder and the shore had shrunk to a thin line – no use to anyone at this point. I looked closer and the white was a stark glacial blue – the white underside of a whale tinted blue by the water.

There were at least three humpback whales and the upside down one was about 20 metres away. Maybe it was the remnants of the shark revelation wanting to keep the fear torch alight, maybe it was common sense, maybe it was my brain going into meltdown, whatever the case it dawned on me how enormous these prehistoric animals were and how ridiculously small I was.

The whales had turned around and looped back and were now swimming between me and the beach. I was floating on six foot of fibreglass, a hundred metres from the shore being circled by four humpback whales. One swam right underneath me and I got off my board and stuck my head underwater to see how close it was. A huge flipper glided past me and its tail came sweeping up towards me. So this is how I would learn to fly.

I felt the thumping of adrenalin in my veins as fear swept over me. No more than two meters away from me, the upward kick of its tail turned down, sending me clambering back onto the false safety of my board. I was surrounded by four humpback whales – completely at their mercy and, aside from nearly getting kicked in the face, I felt perfectly safe. They seemed playful and curious about what I was and what I was doing out there.

I have no idea how big they were – I think not fully grown but big enough to boggle my mind. Maybe 15 or 20 meters long and so very fat. They were covered in scars and bumps, and barnacles and had the most intense colours. Summer-storm-cloud grey on their backs and a matte white patch on the underside of their chins and flippers. Seeing the flippers and tail up close was so special, they were in no rush to be anywhere but the power in their movements was stunning.

A dull ache cut through the dreamlike disbelief – my cheeks hurt. I’d been smiling like a dropped watermelon from the moment I got out there. I realised I’d been saying, ‘Oh my god’ over and again with increasing childish excitement each time the whales surfaces or twirled around below me. I jumped off my board again as they swam a little further away to catch one last glimpse of them underwater. They cruised along the beach towards Broken Head before disappearing. I paddled back in towards the breaking waves, my heart was still thumping with excitement. I usually have the words to express myself in most situations and I mumbled to myself, ‘That was fucked.’ Nailed it.

I caught a wave in and started running back along the beach. I looked over my shoulder out to sea to check if I’d imagined the whole thing. I couldn’t see any whales but little snippets and details flickered through my head. A hundred metres down the beach a couple walked down to me from the dunes. They'd seen the whole encounter and thought the whale was sick because it was so close to shore. I was out of breath and my heart and mind were still recovering from the experience. I talked in excited fits and bursts like a cordial-fuelled child. I didn’t think they were sick, just curious. I told them they swam back out to deep water afterwards. They seemed to be as excited as I was about what had happened.

I made it home and blurted out the story in a blur of missing details and pure excitement to Jessie. She was as excited as I was and couldn’t believe my luck. It was a longer than usual lunch break, but time had stretched into a long, slow, prehistoric exhale, ‘PFFFFFFF, as if.’ I told everyone at work the next day about my ridiculous lunch break. ‘You know that’s a super rare experience, right?’ Maria said. I’m new to Byron and I guess I assumed it was a common occurrence, or at least not uncommon. Apparently not – call me lucky. It is an experience that will stay with me forever and even now, weeks later, it still snaps me back to the embracing calm and euphoria of the moment. If nothing else, it’s certainly a change of pace from meditating in a food court.

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