As it formed, the tropical depression sitting in the Coral Sea barely rated a mention. Just another unsettled patch in this unstable area of the central Pacific. It was just a blob on the weather radar, a darkening patch of low pressure likely to dissipate back into the atmosphere in a day or so. But it hung on, pulling more and more moisture-laden warm air from the tropics into its heart as nature tried to equal things out. The warm air mixed with the colder air being dragged out of the southern Pacific, cooling it, making it denser lowering the barometric pressure and drawing in more warm air. The Blob was growing and getting angrier ... angrier and bolder. By the third day, the blob had begun a slow move southwest and it had also been given a name.

Tropical Cyclone Ira was classified as a Category 2 storm and warnings to shipping and island nations around the ring of fire were sounded. On the fourth day, Ira had built into a Category 3 and turned westerly headed toward the Barrier Reef islands and the North Queensland coast.

Communities along the northern coast braced for the first Cyclone of the season, preparing for it to unleash destruction. 2000 kilometres south, I had no idea just how destructive Ira would turn out to be.

The cyclone wasn’t even real to me. What mattered to me, well to us, wasn’t the wind up north. What mattered was what it was doing to the ocean.

It was sending lines. Proper lines. Long-period swell that travelled down the coast like a promise, stacking up on the Sunshine Coast points and beaches like they were made for it. The forecast was saying two to two and a half metres ... real metres, not “it’s shoulder high if you’re standing on the sandbank” metres. And the direction they were traveling meant the entire strip from Sunshine Beach all the way down to Coolum was going to light up. We’d all been watching it like addicts.

All week at the QAS Coolangatta station, between jobs and paperwork and government provided instant coffee, I had been checking the charts like they were scripture. My phone screen was full of wind arrows and wave periods. For the first time in my life, I actually paid for an App subscription. Windy® had all my attention. We were about to see the best surf, the biggest surf, seen on the South Queensland coast in 50 years.

Sam had rolled her eyes at me every time I opened the app, but she’d smiled, too. That was the thing about Sam ... she’d tease me, but I believed she loved how much I loved things. Surfing, the job, her, our friends. She’d call me obsessive and make sure I had sunscreen and a rashie and board wax like I was twelve.

Friday afternoon, I came home from a day shift and found her on the couch in her scrubs, hair in that messy bun with a pen sticking in it that made her look she had just stepped off the set of Grey’s Anatomy. Her feet were tucked under her and she was flicking through photos of a holiday house on her phone with this serious little frown.

“Look at this,” she said, turning the screen toward me.

It was a two-story place, pale timber, big glass windows, a pool, and behind it, dunes. Actual dunes. Like you could walk out the back and disappear into scrub and sand and come out on the beach.

“Mate,” I breathed, dropping my keys in the bowl by the door. “That’s ... that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” she said, but she was smiling. “It’s serious over the top ridiculous. The pool deck looks like it’s from a magazine spread.”

“It has three bedrooms upstairs,” she said, counting on her fingers. “Each with an ensuite. Huge open plan lounge dining and a massive kitchen. And it’s behind the dunes; only neighbours are across the road 300 metres away. So, we can just...” she made a vague waving motion... “exist there without being in everyone’s way and Tanya’s voice won’t annoy anyone but us.”

I leaned over the back of the couch and kissed the top of her head. I inhaled, she smelled like Sterillium® and hand cream and the beach.

“You excited?” I asked.

She hesitated. Not long, but long enough that I noticed her holding something back.

“I am,” she said carefully. “I am. I just ... I don’t want it to be one of those weekends where you disappear into the ocean and I’m just sitting there like a beach bag for three days.”

That hit me right in the gut. Because she wasn’t wrong. The boys and I could surf until our legs were rubber and our lips were blue and we’d still paddle back out if another set rolled through. Sam loved the ocean, but she didn’t love it the way we did. She would come for a surf with me on weekends, mostly, and she liked it ... she really did ... but she didn’t chase it like I did. I rated surfing right up there, above even my job, which I loved. Shit, four years of university doing paramedicine followed by six months of exams and selection panels just to get a start as an Ambo ... an Ambulance Officer ... a Paramedic with the Queensland Ambulance Service (QAS). Then another year as a Proby where any stupid mistake could mean the door. Now three years in as fully fledged Ambo, I still had to be dedicated, and I was, just not like I was with surfing.

I came around the couch and sat beside her, took her phone and scrolled the pictures again. The house looked ... peaceful. Like somewhere you could actually breathe.

“I promise,” I said. “I’m not going to ditch you.”

She gave me the look. Sam had this look ... half amused, half like she could see straight through me.

“You can surf,” she said. “I’m not asking you not to surf. I just want ... I don’t know. I want you there with me, too.”

“I’ll be there,” I said. “I’ll surf the mornings. We’ll do lunch together. Afternoon we can chill. Pool, wine, whatever. And I’ll do a sunset surf with you if you want.”

“Sunset surf,” she repeated, and her eyes softened. “Okay.”

I nudged her shoulder with mine. “And you know Tanya’s keen to paddle out any time. She’ll go with us.”

“Tanya is a freak,” Sam said affectionately. “She can be so hard core. She surfs like she’s got something to prove.”

“She does,” I said. “To Tom. He’s always going on with his ... girls don’t surf ... shit, calls her a Gidget, even though she’s what... 180cms. I think he’s just pissed that she’s better than he is ... Way better.”

Sam snorted. “Tom’s a wuss ... he’s terrified of her.”

“Everyone’s terrified of her,” I said.

Sam laughed and the tension in her shoulders dropped a little. It was such a small thing but it mattered. With Sam, you could always feel when her mind was crowded. She’d carry other people’s pain around like it was her responsibility. A post-op ward wasn’t glamorous. It was suction drains and vitals and wound care and explaining to people in pain why they couldn’t have any more meds for another hour. She came home full of stories she couldn’t tell me because of privacy and because some of them were too heavy to speak out loud, so they just sat in her eyes.

I watched her for a second and thought, I’m going to make sure she relaxes and enjoys herself ... This weekend is going to be good for her.

I needed it too. The job had been ... a lot lately. QAS in summer on the Gold Coast was a special kind of chaos ... heat, tourists, booze, the whole coast acting like it was invincible, until it wasn’t. I loved what I did, I did, but sometimes it felt like I was living in a loop of other people’s worst moments.

The Gold Coast is a strange place; It’s actually Australia’s fifth largest City with a regular population of 800,000 ... regular. It’s infrastructure and services are built for that. Unfortunately for those of us in the business of servicing the public, the Gold Coast is host to 21.5 million tourists every year. So, at any point during the summer, it’s actual population can be as high as 3.5 million. All spread along the 57 kilometres of beaches that make the city attractive.

A weekend where the loudest thing was the ocean sounded like exactly what we needed.

That night, we had the group chat going like it was a command centre.

Mike sent screenshots of the swell chart with emojis that made it look like he was having a breakdown.

Tom sent a voice message that was basically just him yelling, “MAAAATE IT’S GONNA BE PUMPINNNN.”

Christana ... Chrissy, everyone called her Chrissy ... sent, “I just want everyone to know I will not be judged for doing nothing ... and day drinking.”

Sam replied with, “You will be celebrated.”

Tanya sent, “If anyone complains about the paddle out, I will personally drown you.”

I stared at that message for a long second, then typed, “Fair enough.”

Sam looked over at me. “She’s joking.”

“No ... she’s not,” I laughed.

Sam laughed again, and I felt something warm in my chest. We’d known these people for years ... five years for me, basically our whole relationship. The others had all known each other most of their lives. They weren’t just friends. They were the scaffolding around our lives. The ones who turned up with food when someone was sick, who dragged you out of your head when you were spiralling, who knew exactly how to push your buttons and exactly how to soften it when they went too far.

Mike and I worked similar rosters sometimes ... he wasn’t a paramedic, he worked in the communications centre, but we had that same early-morning discipline from surfing. Chrissy was a teacher and somehow always seemed to be more controlled than anyone I’d ever met. I always got the feeling she was playing chess when the rest of us were playing Uno. Always just a little aloof, but maybe that was just me.

Tom was a tradie ... a plumber ... and a bit of an odd one. I could never get a real handle on him. But he surfed like an addict and was always there if Sam or I needed something. Tanya ... Tanya could have been an Amazon Warrior in another life. She was one of those people that dominated a space just being there. She worked as a paralegal and was studying Law part time. She moved like she belonged in the ocean. Tanya was the only one who could consistently out-surf me when it got heavy, and I hated her for it in the most affectionate way possible. She also had a protective streak in her a mile wide. No one was ever going to hurt any of us if Tanya was around. She, apart from Sam was the one I was closest to. She had introduced Sam and I and almost pushed us together.

The long weekend was set. The House at Marcus Beach was paid for and mother nature was sending the waves.

Chrissy had planned the schedule like a military operation: depart at six. Four-hour drive from Coolangatta up to Marcus Beach if the traffic on the M1 and the Bruce Highway behaved itself. Couples in their own cars because Chrissy refused to ride with Tom for “that long” and there was no way anyone, apart from someone that loved him, was going to put up with Mike’s farts for 4 hours. Mike viewed farting as artistic expression ... fucking bogan.

Friday evening and Sam was already packing.

“You’re bringing four bikinis,” I said, staring into her open bag.

“Three,” she corrected. “The green one is a one-piece.”

“That’s still four sets of togs.”

“It’s a long weekend.”

“It’s two nights.”

“Still a long weekend,” she said, and zipped the bag indicating the conversation was over.

I lifted my hands in surrender. “Yes, boss.”

She smirked. “Good boy.”

God, I loved her. I loved the way she could be tired and still bossy. I loved the way she’d take charge when she needed to. I loved the way she’d soften immediately if she thought she’d hurt me.

Coolangatta was home. We rented a small house there ... nothing fancy. It had been built sometime during the 70’s when Coolangatta was just the last beach stop before the border. Now, with the housing prices along the coast strip, owning something in Coolangatta without a lottery win would be impossible. Our castle was a two-bedroom weatherboard box, creaky floors and a back veranda that always seemed to be covered with sand no matter how much we swept. The ocean was everywhere and touched everything. The sound of the waves was constant and ceaseless under the noise of the busy suburb between us and the water.

We went to bed early, but neither of us really slept. I could feel her shifting beside me. Kept awake by the restless energy she seemed to have when she knew she had to be up early. I lay staring at the ceiling as I felt her begin to settle.

I rolled onto my side and watched her silhouette.

“You awake?” I whispered.

“Mmm ... Yeh,” she murmured.

“You nervous about the drive?” I asked. She hated long drives. She’d never admit it, but I could tell by how she’d grip the door handle when someone else was driving.

“No.”

I smiled into the dark. “Liar.”

“Shut up,” she murmured.

I reached out and brushed my fingers over her arm. She shifted closer automatically.

Then she rolled over, pressing against me, silent for a moment, then: “I can’t sleep ... let’s fuck!”

An hour later neither of us had trouble sleeping.

At 5:10am, my alarm went off and I wanted to throw my phone through the wall.

Sam groaned. “Why are we doing this?”

“Because the swell will be epic and the others are already frothing,” I said, sitting up.

She made a noise that could’ve been a laugh or a complaint. “I hate you.”

“You do not.”

She slapped my thigh lazily. “I do right now. Why didn’t you let me sleep.”

“You started it”, I replied.

“Well ... You could have been the responsible one and said no.” she said, with a snide grin.

“Right ... Responsible ... Remind me, when was the last time I said no ... actually ... name one guy that would say no when you lay those blue eyes on them and say “Lets Fuck”

We moved around the house in that early-morning haze, showering, making coffee, stuffing last-minute things into bags, trying to find chargers and cables. I loaded boards onto the roof racks, tightening the straps twice because I had this irrational fear of losing a board on the highway and killing someone with it.

Sam stood in the driveway in an oversized hoodie, hair still damp from her shower, watching me with that expression she got when she was half amused and half tender.

“Don’t forget the straps ... again,” she said. A wide smile taunting me.

“They’re fine,” I lied.

“They’re fine ... again,” she echoed, with a giggle.

I yanked on the strap hard enough to make the car rock. “Now they’re fine.”

Sam laughed quietly and stepped closer, slipping her arms around my waist from behind. Her cheek pressed into my back.