Thursday, May 16, 2013

Chapter 1 of many



            I was guilty of having something at my fingertips, only to let it disembark across the sea, across the horizon. Treasures have a tendency to sail, as winds have a tendency to blow. The key is not resigning ourselves to the 'such is life' mantra.

No amount of internal dialogue was going to solve these circulating problems, most of which were rather trivial issues in the world most people live in, but for some odd reason were causing major problems in mine. 

A person id once known was quite wise in issueing me with several ethical themes to try and complete my circular behaviour. I always felt that i was missing something that completed the circle. Never sure whether it was one thing or several, i would regularly spend days trying to conclude which little pieces of the puzzle were missing. It always turned out to be centred around this replacement i was searching for. Places id been and people id met all didn't matter when i imagined my circle being completed with the missing radial. 

One morning late in June, just after id turned 5, my father entered my bedroom with his hand on his belt. Nothing about the movements of the man were overly violent, and nothing about his rants indicated anything that would seem suspicious of a violent tenure, but once a day he removed his belt and hit me once for every year i was old. It was this reason that birthdays seemed an annoyance to me. I cried for several minutes, and then continued on with my day. I hardly spoke to people. I spent most of my time playing with a small camera i had found in my mothers box of belongings. Something about freezing moments of goodness seemed to offset the dark cloud forever following me after i woke up. I sat in the corner and looked at several of the pictures i had taken the day before; a bee, a sunset, some people playing on the swings down the road. Trivial things apparently.

They only mattered to me.

How i became the person i am now is a mystery. I hadnt truelly spoken to anyone since the day i found out the truth about my mother. 15 years without a word. What was communication when it had no meaning? Meaningless words...

This is a story of how i came to talk again.

Treasures



Its hard to establish, but everyone has a Treasure to search for. Trying to take it, it slips from our grasp; trying to look for it in front of us, it moves to our periphery; trying to run after it, it becomes a singular point of the horizon line. A treasure is something to imagine, enjoy in abstract. Very rare is it for a person to win their treasure. Most chase and reach it, to feel it at their finger tips, only to give up at the point of contact. Its is a humans greatest fear, to attain what they've always wanted. 

Some see what they want to see, others hear what they want to hear. Perception in a heartbeat, a sole shift to believe in our own thoughts. This is why we cannot find our treasures. They lie not in the abstract world that is full of dreams, but in the very real void we cannot fill completely. To follow an abstract so completely, yet to remain grounded in reality. This is our saviour, and yet will be our eternal dilemma.


Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Big Sunday

Wind of a major swell moving across the North pacific is always greeted with excitement and anxiety. Excitement for the potential endorphin rushes, anxiety for the potential beatings. Such a major storm started off as a tropical cyclone in the western pacific last week, morphing into a very intense storm west of the dateline; strong enough even that NOAA called it the strongest storm in 3 years for the north pacific. What transpired was a deep water, super long period swell sent filtering east through the ocean, destination: California.
Deepwater forerunners started hitting the 750mile buoy at around 1pm on friday afternoon. 4ft at 26seconds, which over the course of the next 24 hours jumped to a solid 10ft at 23seconds, though from the looks of the buoys it was very very lully, with multiple reading (done hourly) only showing around 5ft at 23seconds. Whilst this total height is nothing spectacular, the massive swell period equates to these waves heaving enough energy stored underwater to triple in height at select deepwater surf spots. Such was the case where i was heading.
Everything was aligning: winds were perfect, tides were perfect, swell was - although somewhat lully - PERFECT!
I started the drive up north at around 9am from San Diego, pulling out all the usual chat, starbucks coffee, heavy metal blaring at 140dB, and a beautiful 9'6 for company on the 6 hour drive. For those that have never driven the coast past Ventura, its a desolate, semi arid landscape filled with point breaks and long beaches, all looking heavenly under the Californian sun. Driving past the famous C-St right hand point in Ventura, i had timed it perfectly with what i later heard was the first set of the swell. Driving past the point at 80mph i saw 10-12 waves all stacked up perfectly down the point, catching everyone inside and each reeling (albeit a bit sectiony) for over half a mile! The heart went into double time and my right foot hit the floor!
Funnily enough, given the nature of the swell, the next hour along the coast saw absolutely NO waves, it was literally as flat as a lake. Amazing how oceanic energy works this way.
Arrival in morro bay 3 hours later i was feeling antsy and the heart was back to catatonic mode...whiling away the miles with the caffeine levels flat lining. I needed a source of joy, the only option was the ocean 10 miles away. What was over the hill?
Pulling into the national park at Montana de oro, i could see glassy conditions and unfathomably long swell lines. Heart rate jumped to 70.
Over the hills and far away, the park was packed with hippy bird watchers and college girls going for some Saturday afternoon exercise. Bar the hippy's, this place could be considered paradise. Never a dull moment in the park.
Driving over the last mound i sighted the wave i had come here for. A reef which stretches just over a half mile out to sea off of a point, a perfect big wave peak which at times is shifty, but can still deliver huge drops and short heavy sections before filtering into a deep water channel on either side. Though don't get this wrong, a heavy set in the head will see the unwitting man sent straight into the graveyard rocks on the inside, and a harrowing minute negotiating 20ft rocks whilst getting nailed by 10ft of whitewater.
No one was out, it was 10-12ft and glassy and perfect. After about 3 seconds consideration i was getting changed and running the mile through a beautiful shrub covered plateau to the cliff i had to scamper down to jump in the water. The paddle out is dry hair from inside the cove, all wave energy expelled on the outer reefs. After about a 20minute paddle (around a mile distance) I reached the line-up. It was flat as i approached the peak, and having never surfed the wave before i sat in the channel on the left, waiting for a set. I didn't have to wait long. Big boils and undulations in the surface prefaced the first sets arrival. The horizon went a beautiful shade of dark blue, and i sat steady waiting to see what these long period energies would do. 12-15 waves stood up perfectly as an A frame on the reef, all lined up out to sea waiting in queue for their chance at glory. Being out by myself i had no way of knowing how big it was, no frame of reference on the face. Because of this and not knowing the lineup, one wave that came through was bee-lining right for me. Id kind of paddled my way further into the line-up and one wave started to hit the second boil another 100m further out. A big green peak set against the oranges of the falling sun. I put my head down and powered out to sea, the 9'6" doing its magic through the line-up. I scratched over the wave to look down to my left at the peak pitch out onto the boil ridden flats in front of it, finally seeing the wave size for what it was. As the swell was only just starting to fill in, i was pretty excited for the next day, but today it was all about figuring out the line-up and which waves were the best to catch.

I waited over 40minutes for the next set, sitting out in the middle of the ocean and feeling about as calm as i had felt in the last few years. This truly was an amazing environment. My first set started stacking in from the north, feeling the other outer reef (which isn't a very good wave) about a mile north first. It was filling up the channel between the two reef and i had a feeling to paddle out a bit to the north to greet it. I was right, the first few waves bent in on the left right on top of me, i paddled over them to see a couple of smaller waves from my vantage point 20ft up, and was injected with a hit of adrenalin as i sighted a few very large ones behind them. Paddling at these waves, i spun under the second one and gunned it as hard as i could. The wave grabbed me and had me right on the top, but wouldn't let me in under the ledge. I paddled for two extra super deep strokes and felt the most unbelievable force jet me forward. I stood up and unconsciously heard myself say "holy fuck" to myself as i dropped straight down. Why my mind made me say that is beyond me, i certainly didn't commission it. Maybe it was my way of dealing with a situation i couldn't believe in was in. Bottom turning through the flats i looked up at a massive section about to land on me, i held on tight and powered through the whitewater, emerging into the channel and paddling back out to see 6 other wave do the exact same thing.


I spent the next 2 hours till sundown figuring out the boils and line-up markers, and trying to catch 2 waves in each 20 wave set that came through every 40minutes. In between the ocean was as flat as a lake. The duality of it was spellbinding.
I paddled in and got a ride back to my car from the park ranger who was carrying on about having not seen anyone paddle that reef for years. I too these pics almost on dark as a 25 wave set piled through, causing a huge plume of salt haze to drift along the coast.

Illegal reef
Sunday
Not much can be said for this, it was almost unspeakably magic. I surfed 6 hours with a friend of mine, amongst some of the biggest waves ive surfed to date. 4 hours in 3 tow teams turned up and ruined the tranquillity, noise pollution and a messy surface condition form all the ski wakes. However i did manage to get my biggest wave of the session during one set during this period. After waiting an hour and half for a big set out on the second boil, i monster came in from a more westerly direction. These were the ones which broke on the second boil and peeled along the left for longer, the section holding up for over  200metres.  A ski team was also eyeing up the left, but i started screaming at them and gesturing wildly, and the rider let go of the rope to give me right of way. I paddled hard against all instinct as this thing looked like it was going to break behind me, however just inside the boil it gave me a little chip in at the top and next thing i know i was faced with a massive green wall stretching FOREVER into the channel. I didn't think i was going to make it so i pulled up looking to pull through the back, however for some reason i turned at the top and wad fired out into the channel at about mach 8, my 9'6 positively humming with pride.


First sets of a beautiful day








A tow team who'd caught a wave previous was watching the whole thing and as i kicked out they all had smiles on their faces and were giving me shaka's. Even though the wave probably lasted a little under 10 seconds, it was probably the most intense experience of my life. SO much energy compacted into a seemingly fleeting moment of freedom, nothing else existing in the world except you and 3000 cubic metres of water chasing you down.




Its always hard calling wave sizes; a big scary wave is a big scary wave, that'll never change once over a certain size, which is different for everyone. During the drop and all of it, you don't really feel much in the way of emotions, your brain goes into tunnel vision mode and all other senses and feeling are vaulted whilst you deal with the situation at hand. In the end of the day, the smiles and shared energy from the boys in the channel was enough of a size indicator for me. I was happy.
I paddled out slowly and caught a few more waves, but it seemed the swell was dieing so i ordered one of the jetskis to drop me into the bay and i ended one of the sessions of my life. My mate had gone in about 2 hour previous, so i walked up the path alone and content, a perma-smile sketched on my face. At the car i had just pulled my wettie off, and in my towel turned around and snapped this set come through.
Tow boys on a small one
Big set - can you see the guy at the bottom?!
The last big set of the day as it turned out, and the cue for me to start the car and head for a beer.

This wave is magic, and ill definitely be returning.

The bombie

The right on north side of the bay

Monday, November 12, 2012

It begins...again

It begins...

The time bubble that exists around Encinitas still hasnt burst...no one grows up, moral development is at its lowest flow rate, the face of heaven is clearly present in every stunning blonde that walks past and all I'm left thinking is: 'never-never land is real'!
Here we go......

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Indifference to ones company

Indifference to ones company

Living in Los Angeles; home to invalids,, show-men, homosexuals, deviants, dero's, murderers and all other current and former peripheral members of society, the tangential concept encompassing this lovely neighborhood that it is also home to some of the most average and boring people on the planet is somewhat dividing of the mind. Armed with an exceptional grasp of statistical concepts and an abnormally high sperm count, it didnt take long for me to discover that most of the highly attractive females i was after were, in fact, very unintellectual and demure people. This inwardly led to a panic attack.

My earlier Socratic dialogue with myself concerning what i wanted out of female and the nature of love had no Socrates to keep me logical. It was just me, bouncing between the poles of intelligence and outward beauty. There was of course no one to correct me, as i am just myself, and consequently no thought necessarily implied the next, in fact, a thought would often contradict its predecessor. I thought perhaps some drugs would force clarity on my confused logical state, but this only further disturbed my demanding sense of order.

Spending the night at yet another strange tattoo'd girls house, she struck me with an interesting question early on. "You up?" she asked. Obviously i was left with a diametric situation: pretend to be asleep and hence avoid any unintelligent questioning, or wakeup with the usual eccentric charisma and throw her off balance, causing her chemically enhanced brainwaves to skip a beat and forget the aformentioned questions she was ready to impose. Obviously it was a risky situation, maybe one i shouldnt have placed on myself in my fragile state.
I chose the latter.
"Im way up!" i said, dropping my charade of sleep, which i instantly realized was a lie with no purpose.
Her centre parted hair, long and oddly brown, sat over her shoulders as her eyes flickered in a manner that showed she had remembered what she wanted to say, but suddenly felt a hint of regret at motioning me into this impromptu discussion. Her gaze changed again and she went on, oblivious to the last several seconds doubts.
"I cant get a job" she mumbled, her eyes beginning to water.
She was definately still in a drug reduced state, the come-down slowly sinking its claws into her mind. I wondered if maybe she wanted something chemical from me, but as i cant remember her or me paying for anything the night previous, i wasnt about to relent from this mongreled stance i had started.
Of course she was an actor, and traversed into an all-out discussion on her latest part as a bagel girl for a law firm show.
"I put my heart and soul into it. I wanted to be a great bagel girl, one thatd be remembered, someone memorable" This has been haphazardly paraphrashed as the entire speil lasted over 10 minutes and included quick 30seconds rants about her brother and his ex-girlfriend, her landlord, and the current status of the local subway shops construction, all topics met with the kind of childlike candor that attracted me to her in the first place.

She kept talking, but id stopped listening, preferring to think about where id left my orange juice in the fridge, so i could grab it without looking whilst i read the LA weekly. She didnt even finish her last sentence; it just trailed off. I think the subject had changed in her head again while her mouth had continued on the old topic, not realizing it was out of supplies. She asked me how old i was. It wasnt long till i left and got into the Montero sport to head home.

I subsequently met up with a homie from NZ (blake) and we travelled past several disturbingly similiar industrial neighbourhoods and stamp-like outdoor malls to arrive in San Diego. Surf, booze, coke and other assorted derivations of the previous 3 set the tone. I had now picked out an odd habit of doing a two foot shuffle into any bar we walked, somewhat to amuse myself at peoples vacant stares as they witnessed what they could only classify as quirky, and secondly to show the bouncers i wasnt inebriated to the point that such a maneuver couldn't be accommodated by my rapidly depreciating body. As there were only 4 people in the bar, i decided that there was to much ice in my whiskey and threw a cube at the guy behind me. He turned out to be gay, and a rapidly flaring argument and heated debate about gay-bashing and foreign civility was high on the agenda for the next 5 minutes before we got kicked out and someone kicked the dukebox. Megadeth was playing. Happy days.

I can say with all certainty that is the last thing i remember from the 5 days down south. 24hours sleep straight.

When i awoke a vibrant image filled my head. I am always amazed by what lies buried in the mind until one day for no particular reason it rears its head. That afternoon in bed, a vision of the tattoo girls face entered my consciousness, and i saw clearly that she had grey blue eyes, really amazing grey blue eyes. It was a small fact i hadnt realized id known, and one that will undoubtedly shape my life in the future.

Vadar

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

A life to be led

Indonesia. A broken melody of hydrodynamics, arak, endorphins, hammocks, half-sunken boats, sunken ferries and the ephemerally enjoyable act of wave riding. What stalwarts to this gloriously appointed blog will quickly notice is how there is no mention of the opposite sex and physical non-plutonic acts. I apologize in advance, or in retrospect, whichever you decide is more fitting for the way you react to these things.

Cue 52 hours of travel.

Leaving America in such a state was mind-numbing enough. A good friend of mine happened to drop into my sensory perspective via skype during this mindless session. His conversation was comforting and got me through my hard time. Of course, he said very little, nothing in fact, and the entire dialogue was selfishly one-sided; which has left me wondering whether the whole episode was in fact a figment of my imagination. I think the increased security presence in my immediate area was just a statistical anomaly in walking routes, but the harsh sideways glances from fellow travellers had me debating this rather trivial matter for several minutes (hours).

52 hours of travel. Partitioned as follows: 12 hour flight to Singapore, 10 hour layover, 2 hour flight to Kuala Lumpur, 5 hour layover, 1 hour flight to Padang, Hang out for the day till 6pm, 10hour ferry ride, 2 hour speed boat ride. Arrival here




The ferry ride needs to be mentioned. In biggish seas and in a wooden boat it was obvious I had entered something very different from your usual trip on the Lynx across Cook straight. The ferry would literally creak open going up swells and then compress going down them. I could see a mans entire big toe (normal human size, not possum size) in between flooring above me, only to have the gap quickly clamped shut upon descent into another trough of hydro. Waves are an amazing diametry in motion, bringing joy and fear in the same beautiful form.

It was my first time in a rural village in indonesia. The people are the usual story that you hear about in any form of travel media; perennial clove cigarette smiles , vertically challenged adults and 'hey mista!!'s greet the senses. For any transient its a breath of fresh and welcoming air.

I found a man to take me out to my new home for 2 months using the broken indonesian id practised on the ferry. Obviously i didnt sleep a wink given the omnipresent sinking-anxiety attacks episodes finely timed to the rising and falling of the bow. My new friends name was Ade and he was a champ. Cruising out of the small harbour of Muarasiberut with two german lads allong for the ride, i felt somewhat safe and pleased with the roll of events. Everything was going so smoothly i felt as if Indo is perhaps this mans home on earth, such is the vibe of the place. I guess everyone who comes here suffers the same joy. Suffering because we never want to leave, the expiry date on the visas looming like the proverbial monkey on the back.

I was here to meet my friend Blake, a mate i hadnt seen for a year. Yet emails and phone calls had conspired to sending me out of the great USA within 2 weeks, to arrive 52 hours in the middle of an Indonesia island group, isolated 12hours from any form of useable civilization. I hadnt spoken to Blake for over 2 weeks, as he was out of contact in the jungle. I was on a whim, hoping to make the connection in time and space.

The surf was pumping when i arrived, but sunburn and sleep deprivation couldnt stop me from making the paddle around the fringe reef to the lineup. The locals had not seen a large nosed, AcDc tattoed dero stalking the village, and this had me a bit sad. I needed barrel therapy. As i cavalierly stroked my way through emerald green water, against the sun in the distance i could see a 'super-saiyan' style haircut paddling down the reef towards me. It had an almost Victorian elegance to it, the long lost mates meeting up in a random lineup halfway around the world. We just sat on our boards 50m separated, laughing.

A firm handshake was all that needed to be said.





The following two months were a mixture of amazing waves. Esoteric living in a jungle, surfing, smoking, drinking and eating very little in the way of a sustainable diet. It was a surfing nomads dream. Like all dreams that are worthwhile to your consciousness, i dont remember much of the trip in detail; it now just exists as a floating bubble in the middle of a twisted mind.
One thing i DO remember in great detail though is the chicken slaughter. Pictures can back up the sheer violence. Two chickens delivered by an old mate, once in our possession were quickly stripped of their souls. However i had a bit of mind blank and couldnt snap my ones neck, so the poor little thing had a bit of a rough 30seconds. I do feel sad in retrospect, as a machete shouldve been the ending tool. Cest La Vie.



Chicken had never tasted so bad. But as 3 men and a lucky Swedish girl huddled around the table eating grey chicken legs covered in the Indonesian spicy T-sauce known as Sambal, we couldnt wipe the grin off of our faces. A protein fix to quick cure the weeks of emaciation and craving. I was 8 kg lighter by the time i took my first step on NZ soil after 2 months; amazing waves, solo sessions with friends, translucent water, warm water fatigue, soul searching, soul finding, soul losing, finding again, bush hikes, DEET addiction, clove tobacco addiction, never ending long boat rides, high seas, sinkings, camping, fights with locals, machetes, coconuts, transients met, guitars played, songs made, songs forgotten, and of course the heart of the culture we partook in.

All to be experienced again every year from now till i go stiff. Not long at my rate.