The last shards of sunlight retreat beyond the horizon. Darkness gives chase and the few remaining surfers coast to the safety of dry sand. The nocturnal wompers begin to stir. Their playground is open for business. Some of them play in the leaked photons of pier spotlights. Others do the water dance under the light of the full moon. What is it that draws this subspecies of human into the Ocean in the vulnerable hours of darkness?
It could be the crowd. Even on days when the swell is perfectly shaped and sized the night shift remains a small-group affair. There simply aren’t that many takers. The night has the power to intimidate. Some claim that dark water leaves too much unknown. Active imagination can be a powerful deterrent. It has been our nature to create fears from dark places, but the wompers of the night embrace the chilling void.
Under the stale light of day, bodysurfers come to rely heavily on their vision when swimming to the spot. In the opaqueness of night, waves are seen mere moments before their full brunt is expressed. The night womper has to extend the power of touch to find the steady rhythm of a horizon-less sea, to smell the rising tide and taste the fading wind. If one manages to find the open corner and respond in kind, an iridescent moonlit tube ride is truly a thing to behold.
Another Night Womp Account:
“Moonriding” By Chris Robinson