FRENCH NOTES:Out on the ocean you learn quickly to be instinctive to survive. Welcome to my favourite surfing spot on the planet, although I'm not telling you where it is . . .writes MATT WILLIAMS

THE SUN is glowing desert red below the lip of the South Pacific. The East coast dawn is still half an hour away. I walk along a finger of rock about one metre wide that juts out in to the waters of this point. I have dived off these rocks as both boy and man to surf the waves that break only a few metres away. It saves a long paddle from the beach.

My deepest love was rugby but I simply can’t play any more, I am too old. I don’t really like golf, too many rules for me. My family have always been part of the ocean and surfing has been a passion since I was an infant.

Surfing is a calculated risk. In 2008 I lost concentration on these rocks and was hit by a wave and fell. My feet were so badly lacerated I couldn’t walk for two weeks. My ego was more deeply damaged. The sea is like that, it will kill you quickly. You have to respect its power and authority. To become instinctive about the water is essential to survival.

The term for the waves that come in groups of five or six, is “sets”. Between each set there is a lull. That is when you dive off the rocks on to your board and paddle like crazy. Like most things in life, timing is crucial.

The water is warm, 24 degrees. It is clear, fresh and wonderful.

Rugby has taken me all over the world and at most places I have been fortunate enough to surf. France, South Africa, the USA, Scotland Spain, Fiji, Portugal and the big, powerful cold waves of Ireland.

But of all these great places, this is my favourite spot on the planet. This point is famous for excellent long-boarding. I am not telling you the name of the point. I don’t want 5,000 Irish backpackers here. This is my little slice of heaven and it’s crowded enough at Christmas, which is why I am up so early and into the water before the great unwashed arrive. This is my retreat, my haven from the real world.

The swell I plan to ride was created thousands of kilometres north, in the Coral Sea. The heat from the sun, electromagnetism and gravity all combined to produce a great storm that grew into a tropical cyclone that raged over Christmas. It’s short life produced a powerful ocean swell that closed beaches along the east coast of Australia and whose last, much smaller gasps, will hurl their energy on to my rocky headland.

Surfers have learned to tap into the energy of the swell. The ancient Hawaiian royals were the first to discover it. In the 1960s my eldest brother, John, was part of the first modern generation to travel the east coast of Australia chasing waves. He passed his hard won knowledge on to me.

I live by the maxim that growing old is unavoidable but growing up is optional. Surfing is my play time. I am not giving it up because I am over 50. I am not alone in this. My generation of surfers are known as ‘the silver surfers’. Older but no wiser.

Tim Barker in his excellent book High Surf points out that while sailors use the wind to travel over the sea, surfers actually become part of the ocean’s energy and experience its power. Surfing takes nothing from the ocean. It leaves behind no waste product or pollution. It produces nothing but personal exhilaration.

I am at the take off point. Here the ocean’s bottom is rock, not sand. That means the wave will always break in this exact spot year after year, millennium after millennium.

I sit on my board and wait for the next set.

I have seen wild animals right on this spot. Pods of dolphins feed and surf here. They are the original surfers. I have caught waves and been accompanied by a dolphin as it glided by my side, buried deep inside the swell.

I have watched green sea turtles stick there scrawny necks above water into the air, before sagely disappearing back into the other world.

Last winter a giant male humpback whale surfaced less than 20 metres from where I now sit. A group of us sitting waiting for a wave jumped in surprise and awe as we heard its giant blow of exhaled breath. We could see its nostril breathe in the life-sustaining air then close, water-tight, as it rolled.

Its black back seemed to take a lifetime to pass before our disbelieving eyes. The dorsal fin so ridiculously tiny, placed atop such an enormous body and, then, as its giant tail flukes silently submerged the leviathan was gone. Vanished. There was silence. The few witnesses present looked at each other in bewilderment. How could that massive mammal get so close to us? It was only when the spray of breath was spotted 200 metres further on we knew it was real and not imagined.

If there is beauty in nature, there is also the horror. Sharks are in these waters. Big buggers. Not seeing them does not mean they don’t exist. The seen shark is less dangerous than the unseen shark. Sharks are here. They choose not to be seen or to not attack us and attacks in Australia are on the increase.

Surfing is one of the only sports in the world were you can be eaten by a wild animal. The fact remains that annually more people die from bee stings in Australia than shark attacks. The trouble is, sitting in the ocean on my board I don’t think about bees.

My board is a nine foot six McTavish. It is a long-board. It is like an old girlfriend of mine. Much loved, beautiful, broad across the beam and very forgiving of my many weaknesses. Short fast boards are a thing of the past for me.

My swell is not enormous, about one and a half, maybe two metres high and produces a wave face of about two and a half metres. The unbroken smooth face of the wave is what a surfer craves. The higher and steeper the better. I turn and paddle.

There is an instant where the wave’s energy, your board and you become one. It is a second of exhilaration and childlike fun. Surfers call this ‘the point of take-off’. My take-offs are not a thing of beauty, but they are functional. I am on my feet, crouched low. My left foot is leading and I am facing the wave. I feel the energy of the sea in my board.

The hiss of the rails of the board as it cuts the green of the wall is sliding into my ears. The speed created by both gravity and the power of the falling water slap air into my face. I watch as the ocean lifts to stand vertical as I slice through it, only to feel its spray on my neck as it falls behind me. I let the fingers of my right hand trail and touch the face of the wave that is curling behind me.

It is a long, sensual ride. The wonderful shape of the wave allows me to tap into its power. I don’t want to shred the wave. I want to become part of it, to act in unison with the wave. The ride is as much about the spiritual as it is about the physical.

Tim Winton, the great Australian writer and surfer said: “It’s as though the ocean is this vast, salty poultice that sucks the poison out of your system”.

After a surf I feel like the ocean has washed my mind and spirit clean. When I am in rugby mode I am the most competitive animal alive. Winning is everything and I will do whatever it takes to win. In the ocean on a wave I don’t compete, I am content to ride. It is simply fun.

The wave is almost done, its short life about to end. It will fall on itself and wash harmlessly and gently on to the sandy beach. My exit is not witnessed by anyone. Like surfing itself it is for me alone. I simply fire my board as fast and as high as I can into the air at the instant the wave is about to finally break.

The good surfers can fly vertically for many metres. I am not that good. I get air but not a lot. Yet for an instant I am above it all, above the sea, the land, contracts, sponsorships, mortgages, bills, failing banks, the failing euro, school reports, business deals and crappy relationships; above it all and free, if only for a few seconds.

I jackknife my body and drop back into the ocean, gather my board and wade into the beach and begin the long walk back to the rocks at the point.

I am thinking to myself, I want some more of that.