26/06/2012 | 1 comments
We gots fucken talkin’ Loch Ness monsters with Board Buyer’s Guide written on their bodies, we got Italy, we got Gony, we got anarchy in the UK, we got Pepe in Hawaii, we got stuff to win and also advice for every man on street towards being a better him!
I’ll be honest, the surf has been fairly… uncooperative.
Well, mine has.
Everyone else has been having a good time.
Every time I go it’s the other kind.
If I don’t go… you get the picture.
Trod on a weaver. Finned my big toe. Banged my chin on the stringer.
Ran over the magic Gracey. Literally, put the Bora in reverse and drove over my own surfboard on my own drive. They said it was 1700kg of Bora vs a 4 and 6 oz patch of glass. It was only ever going to go one way, they said.
The west wind came up, from glass to gale in exactly the amount of time it took me to bike home, get changed, bike back, walk to water’s edge (17 and a half minutes) boo hoo.
Left my wetsuit on a fence. When I went back there, it wasn’t.
Every time I surf Capb closeouts, I hear Seignosse was all triangles.
Every time I fight the Seignosse rip (lose), I hear Capb was all A-frame.
Didn’t go Mundak and heard it was like Desert Point painted steely blue. The very next swell I went Mundak and it was South Point, painted brown.
Heard about this long right. You couldn’t go wrong at the right. We got there and it looked damn fun. Got changed. Looked like it’d get good when it came in a bit more. It came in a lot more. It must be better lower. We paddled in.
Drove up the road a ways. 45 minutes to be precise. Didn’t even take my board. Just a walk on the beach with the missus, sunny day and all. She said ‘You’ve given up.’ ‘What would you know?’ I said. Would you believe me if I told you about forest Kirra? Probably not. My board and wetsuit were an hour and half round trip away. Front estimated at 1 hour 25. As sure as the nose on your face.
Made an appointment for something or other for the following week. She said, ‘We’ve got 10.30am or 4pm.’ Shit shit shit… think man! Did a mega rapid tide guestimation for ten day’s time. Then wind. Play it safe, man. Take 4pm, you’ll have the morning glass. The appointment went well. I remember the day, it was one of those days when, curiously, the wind was onshore all morning and then went offshore in the afternoon, around, ooh, about 3.30 if I recall. As I left, we made our next appointment… you’ll guess the rest…
Yesterday I knew there were waves, but couldn’t take any more. No more! ‘I’ll go and watch, eat a sandwich’ I thought, even though I’d just had breakfast. ‘Why ruin a good day?’ Had the sandwich and a banana, and a cake, and a can of Fanta. Ahhh. Burp. Watched surfers of all ages and abilities revel in shimmering pockets. I broke sometime between the last swig of pop and licking the remnants of cake from out between my molars. Drove home not changing up until at least 5000 revs. Was out there before the next set broke. Waves were really fine, and got better. While I was in the lineup. Me!
‘That looked really good,’ she said, visibly pleased I’d finally scored (I might have mentioned my poor run, in passing). ‘Did you get some good ones?’
‘Couldn’t even paddle. Too full.’
- P E