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Paddling Out Again The waves slap rhythmically on the bottom of my board. My own breath echoes inside my head, and I shake it to clear the water from my ears. All the other surfers have headed for the sandy shore as the waves have shrunk to nearly nothing. I dip my hands in the cool water and slowly paddle back out. I refuse to let my session end with a dump and tumble. Few things make me panic, but being thrashed by the power of the ocean, not knowing which way to go for air, or how much longer it’ll take to get there flashes real fear through me. Fear like I haven’t felt since I booked a one way ticket to the other side of the world with no plan or preparation. My limbs are limp with exhaustion as I lay on my belly atop my longboard. I call her ‘The Lady Hulk’ because she’s a big green beast, but she’s soft, squishy, pink foam on the inside. She’s been my travel companion since my return to New Zealand hadn’t gone as planned. I thought I was returning to a place that would be my forever home and a future with a man I loved, but like the waves, life sent me reeling. “Are you still going back?” friends and family had asked. I was incredulous. Not going back had never crossed my mind. Of course I was going back; it would just be a different kind of adventure. I’ve put together a new crew, and we’re quite a trio: me with my skin constantly covered in bug bite welts and a perpetually sunburned nose, my long board with the faded and gouged green foam, and the rusty, dented, old Honda that houses us both. Strange this affection I feel for the things that have become constant and reliable in my life. We’ve gone hundreds of thousands of kilometres together and overcome every washed out road and wicked wave in our path. The beauty of this country still shocks me at every turn. Resting my head on my board, I marvel at the expanse of turquoise blue cradled between jade green mountains. Suddenly I am not alone in the calm waters. Three fins pop up and disappear as quickly and silently as they came. My head snapped up. I recognized those rounded dorsal fins and eagerly paddled toward where they had surfaced. I had yet to experience a close encounter with Hector Dolphins in my NZ travels, though everyone told me they were all over the east coast. I scanned the water disappointed not to find my three porpoise friends, but with a little spray of breath, they surprised me on the opposite side. Again they swam away, but I paddled as quickly as I could in their sleek, silvery wake. Soon I was lying on my board in the midst of a whole pod of playful dolphins zooming under and all around me. I reached out and touched the wet, leathery skin of one as it glided past. I could hear the rolling water before I saw it, and positioned myself on the board. It came billowing towards us as I watched over my shoulder, waiting to paddle. There’s such a rush that comes from deep within your gut when you feel that wave take you. I’m always in awe as I pop up and realize I’m riding the power of the ocean, but this time was special. I wasn’t the only one who had caught this wave. Looking down from my surfboard perch I saw half a dozen dolphins swimming down through the wave on either side of me. They glided much more gracefully than I into the shallows, and then disappeared again. I walked out of the salty water into the golden light of sunset thinking “I can die happy now.” All because I paddled back out.