Stuart Nettle January 25th, 2010 Years ago I had a girlfriend who lived her life by the horoscopes. It shitted me no end. We'd catch the morning train and read the paper together. Every single day she'd turn straight to the stars and get the lowdown from Athena Starwoman. Every single day I'd turn straight to the weather and scan the little synoptic pressure map. While we went about it in different ways the thing we had in common was that we were both trying to ascertain what the immediate future had in store for us. She relied on hocus pocus, I relied on science. She wanted to see if it was a good time to buy shoes, I wanted to know if it was a good time to wax the 6'8". Divining the future based upon star signs is so positively medieaval. Your personality defined by the month your parents had sex. The wilful ignorance of people scared by science. Not that the science was exact back when I was catching the morning train, being before the internet gave access to wave models and long range charts. Without those tools, knowing how to read a weather map was crucial for a surfer, and even those of us who could read them were still stumped by the occasional phantom swell. Older surfers will know the feeling of anxiety that came when rounding the last bend, or cresting the last hill before the beach, not knowing if it was gonna be two foot or twenty. Was it gonna be the day of your life, or were you gonna turn and go home? Those days are passed, and while a part of me longs for serendipity and leaving things to chance, the argument for accurate forecasts always wins out. After all, the years of trying to make sense of the weather map in the paper was so I wouldn't be leaving things to chance. I wanted then what the internet swell forecasters provide now. And, funnily enough, I work for one of them now. I sit and talk shit with the bright sparks that make the big calls. Not that I have anything to do with the clever stuff mind you, they provide the words and I conjugate the verbs and make sure the commas are in the right, place. It's literary polish...literally. Which makes me a glorified shoeshine boy. I am, however, close to the calls. Last Wednesday Swellnet's call for Sydney - made by Craig Brokensha - was three foot plus in the morning increasing to five foot plus by lunch. Other internet operators gave similar forecasts. I awoke at 4:30 am on Wednesday to see the Sydney buoys shooting north at a great rate. At first light I saw a ten foot set pour through a local south swell magnet - much bigger than the predicted size. I ended up surfing two spots that morning and got some great waves. The crew that I was surfing with were all astounded by how hard the swell had come on. They were thrilled by the unexpected size of the swell and excited by how big it could get. When I got to work on Wednesday the energy was different. Excitement definitely, but also much gnashing of teeth and scratching of heads by Craig and Ben: how could they get it wrong? And then much furrowing of brows as they analysed the charts and sought to learn from the experience. Just quietly though, I was stoked that one got under the radar. That a swell caught me unawares and I had to scramble at the last minute to get boards and get into a suitable headspace. Damn it was exciting! Of course if I was on the train to work thinking it was three foot I'd have less reason to be cheerful. But despite the momentary bliss brought on by the misdiagnosis I'm gonna keep checking the forecasts. After all, I still want to know what the future has in store for me and, despite the odd fuck-up, Craig is a hell of a lot more accurate than Athena Starwoman.