When you see me pointing the camera at buildings and doors around Bondi, it’s usually a sign the beach ain’t doing much. Well… correction—there is a lot happening out there, just not the good kind. It’s wild, rogue, and downright moody. Not a single surfer in sight this morning. Not one. Just a few brave swimmers doing their thing in the grey gloom while the sand sat empty—like Bondi ghosted.
Cold and cloudy. Max of 17, min of 14, but the wind made it feel more like 9. You’ll want that extra layer.
Tomorrow looks more promising—those double head-high mutants are expected to calm down into something manageable. Could be decent early if the winds behave.
And yep, it’s that time again—I’m migrating north, chasing warm barrels and boardshort bliss. Don’t worry, you’re coming too (through the lens). Posts might get a little patchy while I’m off-grid, but I’ll keep you fed with palm tree dreams when I can.
Adios,
:: ugios
