This column is being used to mourn the loss of my morning daylight (for a while).
September was amazing for me. I surfed before and after work a few times a week.
The 6am paddle outs into empty line-ups to watch the sun crack the horizon are one of life's pleasures I never get bored of.
The backdrop above the cliffs as I look toward shore is an amazing shade of orange; I am awestruck again.
I spot another wave, I paddle, I bottom turn, I pull into my fifth barrel of the morning only to paddle back out watching empty waves break over the reef. I am mind blown despite doing the same thing 100 times before.
It is now 6.15am and I have had more good waves in 15 minutes than my Adelaide friends get in a year.
I stay for another hour, trading waves with dolphins and seals before I paddle in and run up the cliff like a madman and pull on my work shirt.
I send the mandatory "I'm ok, scored great waves again" text to my partner before I drive to work hoping not to get stuck behind a slow car or caravan that will have me run late.
At work it seems surreal, my morning is a far stretch from reality to those who I work with but for the 100th time the girls all listen to my story of sunrise and perfect waves as if it was the first time they have heard it.
The students I see in the day must question the sanity of their middle aged support worker.
My work day usually goes quickly after I have surfed.
The beauty of this time of year is that I am usually able to head straight to back to the beach at 4pm in time for an afternoon glass off.
I paddle back out (this time with friends) and look out to sea to watch the sunset and through the glare I try to spot incoming sets.
As I look to the shore in those final moments of daylight the cliff gets painted an amazing orange as I slide into yet another back-lit barrel.
What a day, what a week, what a month.
September, I loved you!