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strayyank · 7 years

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Deeper Still (NZ)

My barrel riding may best be described as timid, but I’ll go a step further and call it abismal. And I may occasionally ride what are considered by some to be large waves, but I am not, by any means, a big wave surfer. Yet there I was, at 5:00 AM driving south through New Zealand’s remote Catlins region to do exactly that; ride large, barreling waves.

I was journeying with my friend Isaac, an accomplished surfer who has traveled Indonesia extensively, spending the equivalent of 3 full years exploring remote surf spots across the Indonesian archipelago. He is comfortable surfing large, heavy waves, even though he lacks 95 percent of the vision in his left eye. He is a Dunedin local. He knows all the players and the surrounding waters well and has been my gateway to the Dunedin surf scene. Going on this mission to the Catlins was in some ways an initiation, as much as it was an opportunity to score waves. Though not explicitly said; if I could hold my own in large, heavy surf, it would open the door to further exploration and new waves.

Ahead of us was a 6 meter swell, arriving uninterrupted from the body of water so consistently tempestuous, it’s referred to as the Roaring 40’s. A raw South Westerly wind, blowing straight from Antarctica at 70 km/h, would hopefully groom 19 feet of moving water into emerald green, spitting cylinders, while seriously affecting the circulation of our extremities.

The night before, Isaac asked if I wanted to borrow a step-up, a board slightly larger than a shortboard built for large waves. Even though I wanted to, the chances of me snapping it and leaving me out $1000 was unreasonably high. So I politely declined, instead prepping my 6’1” rounded pin, a board that’s still larger than my usual, but one that I rarely surf. I put on a new coat of wax, attached a thicker gauge leash my brother gave me and tied the rail saver extra close so it wouldn’t knife through the foam in a wipe out. I analyzed the wide points and imagined where I’d position my feet for optimum speed and turning ability. I studied the concaves and rails, and imagined water flowing through and off them. Without much experience on this board I had to mentally prepare myself for the challenges of the coming day. At around 10 PM, I went to sleep.

I woke up at 4:30 AM, made a full plunger of coffee and headed out the door to pick up Isaac. The driving was challenging. Dark, narrow lanes with rain and bad wipers meant I had no way of gauging how fast I was going or where I was on the road. I relied on Isaac’s stories, my coffee, and the slow trickle of adrenaline starting to form in my system to keep me awake at the wheel. At some point, Isaac turned to me and said,

“How much interaction have you had with sea life?”

‘Sea life’ was a fairly vague term in this context I thought. ‘Sea life’ could be anything from a barnacle to a blue whale.

“Because we’re likely to have a few encounters.”

I knew what he was referring to. Sea lions. They are abundant in the south, huge in size and quick to show you who’s “alpha” in their waters. Sea lions will bark at you, nudge you and in extreme cases bump you off your board. All of that may sound benign but when you consider the animal weighs half a ton, is twice the size of you and has teeth, they become a little intimidating. I told Isaac about the seals we have back in Maine. I described playful encounters in the sea with curious, beady-eyed mammals. Isaac laughed. In the back of my mind I was relieved he didn’t mention an even greater apex predator with a much deadlier history. Great White’s are also numerous in the South. Dunedin has a well known history of shark attacks. In fact before moving here I was warned by a surfer in Christchurch who joked that I was, “Entering the food chain.” As you head south from Dunedin towards Bluff, their numbers increase. Only two weeks prior a French tourist had her holiday cut short when she was attacked close to our destination. Her assailer was a Seven Gill, which was lucky; as far as I know she still has her leg. I asked Isaac what to do when approached by a Sea Lion. “Just stay calm. Don’t look them in the eye.”

After nearly two hours of driving, the pavement turned to dirt and meandered through a gulley towards the coast. We reached a grassy overlook where we caught our first glimpse of the ocean. It was a moody, turbulent scene and a sliver of white light shone where grey sky met grey sea. Huge plumes of white spray erupted from shadows that stood and stretched like ghoulish yawns before violently collapsing. Waves, backwash, ripples, undertow and channels etched various patterns in the surface. A common surfer phrase would summarize simply; “There was a lot of water moving out there.”

There was one other car there. A teen from Dunedin, intent on “going pro”, who drove down the night before and slept in his car. Isaac exchanged greetings. The language kiwi surfers speak with each other is laden with turns of phrase so well worn they verge on cliche. One hears the same “banter” in car parks all around New Zealand. Same words, same rhythm, slight variation in accent. It’s assimilation. It’s identity. It’s almost coded. Best not to break the flow with an american accent.

We watched a large black figure crawl out of the water and slowly shimmy up the sand. “I’m glad he’s getting out now,” Isaac said of the sea lion.

Another car showed up and it was time to act. We battled the early morning cold and changed into our wetsuits; 5 millimeters thick with hoods and boots. The wind was strong as expected and the board felt a little foreign under my arm, but I was glad to have the extra paddle power of a bigger board.

We entered easily from a well defined channel, but once outside the break I realized the intensity of the wave. Walls of water marched in from the horizon, and as they moved over the sandbar stood tall, their faces elongating. The lip would feather, but where most waves would then break, this lip would stretch upwards even further, drawing water up from the troth to create a perfectly vertical 10 foot face. The lip would then project outwards, easily clearing the troth by another 10 feet creating a wide open tube. Perfectly cylindrical. Perfectly emerald. Very intense. There would be no turns that day, barrels were the currency of the session.

A set came through and a surfer 20 meters away took one. He waited for the wave to come to him, then, as he was drawn up the face he took two or three deep strokes into the belly of the wave and started to plane. He stayed mid face, never allowing himself to be pulled up into the lip. As soon as the face became vertical, he threw his board hard beneath him, caught it with his feet and used his rails to gain traction while the lip towered above him. In the next instant, the lip pitched over his head, fully enclosing him in a hollow tunnel of water. I’ve seen this technique times before in serious waves by expert level surfers. How they appear so relaxed and effortless on the deepest, steepest, most powerful part of a wave of consequence eludes me.

I turned back towards the horizon to find an appropriate warm up wave. A mid size wave appeared and I started paddling long before it reached me. The wave passed beneath me and marched onwards undisturbed until it finally broke some 30 meters in. I paddled back. Another mid size wave appeared. It looked promising so I dug hard into the water, stroking for shore. Once again the wave passed beneath me. I paddled back to Isaac who was laughing.

“Are you trying NOT to catch a wave?” He teased.

I was a little embarrassed but had to laugh. I didn’t realize how apparent my nerves were but he called me on it; choosing weaker, smaller waves. I realized his comment was meant to help. A gentle nudge to be smarter, patient, more selective.

Before long another set appeared and it was my turn to go. An overhead left swung towards me and morphed into a teepee with a tall center and gradual sloping shoulders.

“GO BEN! GO!!” Isaac yelled.

I turned and scratched hard. My eyes bugged and cheeks ballooned from quick, intense breaths. I tried to stay mid face and as soon as I felt my tail lift and the board plane I sprung, but truly stumbled, to my feet. I felt unsure for a moment as I became weightless over my board and dropped down the face, but as my weight compressed into the rails and fins at the troth I knew I had it. I looked over my shoulder to see the lip heaving down the line in front me. I dug into my heals and tried to hook under the canopy but my board felt stuck. A combination of poor foot placement and a board longer and wider than usual. In desperation I performed something akin to a back flop to avoid demolition from the lip. It was ugly, and I hoped no one saw it, but it was functional and I emerged safely behind the wave.

The waves were getting bigger. The swell was forecast to build throughout the day and each new set brought a glimpse of what was to come. Surfers would scramble when one appeared and paddle hard to position themselves amongst the shifting towers of water. I found myself paddling mostly to avoid waves. A sure sign I was out of my comfort zone.

The biggest set I had seen yet appeared on the horizon and my heart started beating. I had been sitting the longest so it was my turn to go. But just then, I noticed a large dark figure slipping through the water behind two guys to our left. I indicated with my head so that everyone would see.

“Oh boy, here he comes,” Isaac said. The surfers to our left shared a quick word of warning then brought their legs out of the water and lay flat on their boards. Between them swam a giant sea lion. The surfers were five feet apart and the sea lion brushed both their boards as he swam between them. It lifted its giant head out of the water and spat out air, testing them.

“Holy shit,” I stammered.

“Just try not to look at it,” advised Isaac.

I pulled my feet up on my deck but looked forward to see the set on the horizon was now bearing down on us. In front of us loomed wall after wall of towering grey water, the ones in back easily reaching two and a half times overhead. Everyone started scratching for the horizon. My blood pressure was high. I had a thousand pound agitated sea lion swimming beneath me and a set of three 15 foot waves standing very, very tall, feathering twenty meters in front of me.

I scraped vertically over the first one, kept sprinting and dove mid face on the second one as it pitched over me. I surfaced and saw the mother of the set, upwards of 18 feet and already starting to pitch. As heroic as we all want to be when staring down an 18 foot wave, everyone has a threshold at which point board ditching seems far more sensible than a duck dive. However, Isaac was somewhere behind me, and somewhere below me lurked the sea lion, so there was no choice, I had to duck dive. I steered towards a section of the shoulder that would break after the peak. If I got there soon enough I could get under it. I got as much speed as possible, drove the nose into the water, kicked my tail down with it, and right as the wave bore down on me brought my body under water towards the deck. Silence. It was eerily calm. Seconds passed and I could feel the current of the wave pulling me upwards inside it but I stayed deep, letting the wave move over me. It is entirely possible that in that moment, the sea lion curiously surveyed the four wetsuit clad humans under water, our eyes closed and vulnerable. I felt a shudder. The water physically shook as the lip made impact with the sea. I slowly rose upwards and surfaced, unscathed. I looked behind me. There was Isaac, a slight smirk on his face acknowledging the weight of the situation, grateful I held on to my board.

The session resumed and I wish I could recall a perfect ride. One that resembled those of pros’ in the movies. One in which I chose the largest wave of the set, paddled deeper than anyone else and back-doored a hair raising vertical peak. That the lip projected over my head with guillotine sharpness yet I stood tall, even dared to tilt my neck back and blow a kiss to the roof of the barrel. But in reality, I struggled. I struggled with nerves, I struggled with fear and I struggled with equipment. But I stayed out. I watched others get deep tubes, took notes on their positioning and kept promising I’d do the same with every set. And while the waves I caught weren’t stand outs, each one pushed my comfort level. Edging me closer and closer to getting that big deep barrel, that elusive, canonizing experience every surfer seeks.

At the end of my session I felt relieved, not satisfied. Relieved I didn’t suffer a brutal wipeout, nearly drown or get nibbled by “Sea life.” Unsatisfied knowing my actual skill level far outweighed my performance. But such is surfing; in a sport of ever changing variables and conditions, consistency is nearly impossible to achieve. One day you are convinced you are one wave away from landing that blow-tail reverse, and the next, you earnestly struggle getting to your feet. It’s a frustrating truth of our sport, and its’ fickle nature keeps us coming back. To uncover the next secret that will unlock a greater understanding of wave riding and flow. Something that will transform wiggles and gesticulations into one ever flowing powerful expression. It is a dance, an art form and a mystery that only the best truly feel and very few can describe. Yet we persist, to uncover those mysteries, challenge our comfort zones and climb from each plateau, despite frustrations and the potential futility of our pursuit. There is joy in the simplest form of wave riding, drawing lines on the face of a wave, and there will no doubt be joy deep within the belly of a giant, emerald green barrel.

#surf travel #cold water surf #surf journalism #explore nz #getoutside #neverstopexploring #surfnz #south island #black point surf shop

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