The term ‘lost at sea’ is a bit of a misunderstood saying. It was linked to Davy Jones’ locker in 1791, when an article in the newspaper called the Chester Chronicle said ‘to be within Davy Jones’s locker was to be lost at sea’. It was originally used to refer to the final resting place of drowned sailors and travellers. However, these days the term is more commonly used to infer a sense, rather than physicality, of being lost. Someone referred to as being ‘lost at sea’ is considered completely discombobulated, or more plainly put confused:
There should however be no confusion as to where I was today, and not by my own choosing. Needing to take a break from studying, I offered Craig the opportunity to get out on rock. It has been proven that disconnecting your brain, and body, from study will result in enhancing your ability to focus. The research I have found suggested breaks of up to an hour are good, but when I was studying I was a firm believer in taking a day out to truly reset the grey matter. Before he disconnected his brain I did however give Craig the choice of where we should go:
He picked Moses Rocks. Seeing I had unfinished business here, I was more than happy to come back so soon. After a couple of warm up routes I suggested he might want to jump on Nothing too Serious, a short but fun traverse that makes you feel like you are right over the ocean. There are however some big rock steps that take the energy out of the waves, and all you are left with is wash and spray. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful, and we watched for ages to check the wave patterns. Even then tying in when he went for it:
Craig understandably was taking his time, as I relished watching from my secure and importantly dry perch. Snapping images and taking videos of the dramatic situation. Seeing a good set come in I started the next video, and then it hit. Seemingly from nowhere a huge wave appeared lifting me a full meter into the air, and as it dropped me back down I felt the rope tighten. As I looked about Craig was still in the same position as before, and had watched my predicament. The wave had only glanced him, but fully took me out:
Fair to say I was a little discombobulated. But soon realised my camera and phone, both of which I had been using, were gone. With Craig secure I did a quick search, keeping a careful eye on the ocean. Somehow that one freak wave had taken the phone out of my hand, placing it on the rock where my camera had been. And taken the camera, which we assume is now lost at sea, or as I like to think swimming with the fish by itself. It took Craig a while to finish the climb, and then for me to follow:
The whole time it took to finish up we didn’t see another wave like it. This may seem like enough to put anyone off, such that they would pack up and head home. Not us, while what we do may seem a bit daft, we are safety conscious as we know that things can and do on occasion not go to plan. Yes, I may have lost a camera but neither of us were hurt, so we climbed on. How could I not, as I still had to have a bash at my new route. The one with the ‘adequate’ gear, which upon checking Craig said looked sketchy but was in fact reasonable:
Trying to think of a good name for the new route we decided on Hung out to Dry, with a play on words in a couple of ways. The route is a bit runout, so if anyone is game to try it they may feel like they have been put in a difficult situation. Hence I decided to give the climb what we call an R rating. This means you could get seriously hurt if you fall, but this would only happen if didn’t know how to place gear in tricky places. And of course I was thoroughly drenched when I climbed it, not that I was anywhere near drying after I finished the route:
Craig wrapped the session up with one more lead, before we returned to the scene of the crime. We poured a cuppa, sorted the sodden gear, and scanned the waters. Still no waves matched the beast. Back on the beach we spotted holes in the sand, likely to be the homes of Ghost Crabs (Ocypode), and a couple of Australian Pied Oystercatchers (Haematopus longirostris). These were the last photos I took on my phone. The wave may not have taken it, with the camera, to Davy Jones’ locker; but had inflicted water damage to seal its fate:
Sandbagged 