Yesterday after I got home, I hit the beach with a couple of mates. The wind was up and the waves were a bit choppy, but we went out to the sandbar, about 40 metres from shore.

The beach is an ocean beach, complete with breaking waves, surfers, swimmers, sometimes lifeguards and rips.

We were trolling around on the sandbar, quite aware of being sucked this way or that, and doing the usual 'playing in the waves' routine. The water, between waves was around shoulder height.

I felt the current sucking us to the left, and we'd seen the rip there from the shore. I waved to the other guys and we swam a good thirty metres to our right, back in line with the lifeguard tower that marked where our stuff was.

Now, as you might have guessed, I'm pretty freaking blind. As in, my glasses are strong. Most people don't need to mark where they've left their stuff with a thirty-foot high tower. Since glasses and surf beaches don't mix, I leave mine up on the sand, placed inside my shoe, (that safest fo beach hideaways).

On the flipside, I'm a strong swimmer. I played several years as a waterpolo goalie, did some semi-competitive swimming and lifesaving and that sort of thing. I've been ocean swimming blind for quite a while, including bodysurfing. I still remember my Mum teaching me to "Never turn my back on the ocean", aged about three.

Last night, though, the current was strong. It sucked and pulled this way and that. The waves got a bit bigger, and the three of us got a bit uncomfortable. The light was fading for the day, and the wind picked up.

We were being sucked right. Then the sandbar stopped, dropped and disappeared. All three of us were caught out of our depths. We put in a few hard strokes, and the Leprachaun made it back in. The two of us remaining were quite a bit further into the rip.

As taught, we both tried to swim out the side, despite the strong current getting stronger. After a few minutes of hardg swimming, Sgt. TriN managed to stand up at waist deep. I was about five meters behind him, still in the current.

Six brisk strokes. Can I feel the bottom? Yes.... wait. I can't hold it... damn.

Ten strong strokes. There's the bottom. Whooops. The current's got me again.

Ten more strong strokes. "Little help dude!" Sgt. TriN's big mitt comes out and hauls the last meter to the sandbar and my feet. The sand feels sliding and loose, but my feet hold fast and knees buckle only slightly.

We trudge back in, breathing deeply. Contemplating. Not talking. We can still feel the suck around our knees, then around our ankles, then around our toes. We were exhausted, but we were safe.

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The whole experience scared the hell out of me. I've always been respectful of the ocean's power, and I'm not one to go diving into a surf beach without sussing out where's safe and where's not. What really caught me out was how quickly the channels chopped and changesd and, I guess, the small margin for error the surf affords. It also unveiled some harsh differences between swimming whilst feeling fresh as a daisy on a Saturday morning versus clagging around in the surf after a stupidly intense working week. I found myself a few more tips on Beach Safety, too.