Back in the day there wasn't a lot of woman in the water - you could count them with a scant handful of seaweed beads plucked from the reef. These days some line ups are only woman. It's a different energy for sure, mostly more forgiving and friendly, though there's those that won't look at you and surf aggressively and sit deep on the inside to steal your waves.

I love the early, early mornings with the girls the best. There's a handful of us - yes, you could count them with a scant handful of seaweed beads - that rise well before dawn to suit up and paddle out by moonlight. We long for the early low tides. On Saturday morning I arrived in third place - Alisha (let's assume I'm not using their real names) is already out in the dark with her pink railed board and pixie stance against dark waves, Dina is mid pulling on her suit, and then there's me, that still manages to beat Dina out there as I'm fast to her slow.

We sit out waiting for the slow sets, thrilled with the reddest of sunrises on what's meant to be a really hot day. It's small and slightly bumpy, and our boards throw us off when we hit the sand holes where the waves thicken and fatten and slow, and little ripples on their surface knock us off balance. I'd surfed bigger waves the day before so it's nice to chill out - my arms ache. Sometimes we 'party wave', the three of us taking off together, with agreement of course, because a party wave without permission is not a party, it's an annoyed crowd.

Dina's on the left, I'm on the right.

Alisha is off to Nicaragua to teach in a school there. There's no tiny waves where she is but she expects she'll drive 40 minutes to Costa Rica to surf the micro-waves she likes. Her boyfriend's angling for two new boards to take - later at the cafe he makes the big error of saying that he should get them before he's 40 and can't surf. I'm in my early 50's and Dina's a few years off 60 and we punch each of his arms. 'I mean, surf well', he backpedals, earning another hefty punch as we all squeal with laughter. Post surf coffees on weekends with savoury muffins and almond croissants are joyful.

Dina's got joint pain and she scrambles to her knees before her feet but she gets waves on her high volume longboard and is out at every opportunity like a grommit (that's a young surfer by the way). I'm the same, though I don't have any major pains at the moment.

Dina.

In fact, I just feel better in the water. On the Sunday, we surf again. This time it's overcast - it's been raining all night, a minor miracle after months and months of dry. The rain washes our sleepy faces awake. The water is still warm - it's hit a high of 20 degrees, but we're all in 3x2 longer wetsuits as the air is a little chilly. The surf is bigger this morning - solid three foot sets roll through. Due to the wind direction limiting the breaks people can surf, there's more people out, but there's more waves to go around as well.

We chat with other woman we know, our conversations interrupted when sets come. Sometimes we don't see each other for ages because one of us has got a ride all the way down to the boat ramp and has to walk back along the beach. My arms are killing me, particularly my upper arms, but I keep going because I am just so in the moment and there's no place I'd rather be. I've been in the ocean pretty much non stop since December so I should be getting fit. Usually I count 25 strokes and rest, 25 strokes and rest, but this time I test myself and get 100 strokes in before my arms are burning so much I have to stop.

All I want to do is surf, all the fucking time.

I'm on the right, Alisha on the left, photo by Dina

After two hours the waves have slowed down and the tide has changed, and we are all, as we confess happily to each other 'utterly cooked'. We get changes and check the weather on our phones. Tomorrow will be too windy and big, and the break won't handle it. Tuesday maybe, or Wednesday, we agree.

Seeya then! we call, going home to partners and husbands and domestics, salty, gills truly soaked, and feeling tired and happy.