I’m a dreadful swimmer with pale skin that practically burns next to a fridge door light, let alone under the bright sun. I was never a naturally beachy kid, but I was always excited when our school camps were held by the sea.
Like tens of thousands of other West Australians, I bunked down in dorms and chalets everywhere from Rottnest Island and Augusta to Point Peron and Kalbarri, mucking around with my friends as our teachers watched on—amused and exasperated.
Under vast skies we body-surfed, played hard-fought ball games on the shore, and shared in the ambivalences of friendships being forged and tested over long days and tired evenings.
Yet if the sea could have spoken to our young souls then, the tides would have told a story of their loss and sorrow. We youngsters took the sea as we found it; like every generation assuming that what we saw was simply normal. But the stark truth is that for decades, our oceans have been, and remain, depleted and polluted.