Perched atop of this headland, high beams blazing, the heater thaws out our frozen frames, the windscreen wipers lash back and forth clearing the light drizzle which impairs our vision.
Had we broken the golden rules of the sea and left our mates out there, up the coast chasing rainbows, or had they broken the rules? The rules of common sense. Instead they were driven on by the need for one more wave. The tide had bottomed out and knowing this would close the river bar over and make our return from the open ocean next to impossible, combined with the fact that the waves were less than average, a crew of us had decided to head on back. Now we sat upon this headland, lighting the way home for our brothers, in an hour it would be dark, and a thick nasty sea mist had set in, dropping visibility to only a couple of hundred metres. If they came down the coast and missed our makeshift lighthouse it was a couple of hundred k’s of coastline where they could not beach themselves. Every so often we would toot the horn to provide another sense of direction. The river entrance below was no more than a dry sand bar now, with only two inches of water rolling over it at times. Even if they made it back they would become dry docked and end up with a long push across dry sand back to access the trailer. The famous last words of “just one more” were passed to us when we left, so they should have only been half an hour behind us, now it had been two hours and things were getting serious. These guys are not cowboys, and have been doing missions like this for years. With that in mind, we worried even more! Then a faint outline began to appear in the mist, somehow as they approached the entrance the biggest set of the day rolled through, putting a shallow layer of water across the bar and in they came, not slowing down or stopping for our toots and flashing of the lights. Something was up! They looked rushed and without the other ski, following worry set in. Seconds later Damon Gunness appeared running up the hill before attempting to explain in between gasps for oxygen, that the ski had gone over the falls and split in half. Initially we thought, now we have a full rescue on our hands, it’s dark in half an hour and there is no way we can launch the skis to get them. Then after some explanation it turned out the split ski was the one they drove back. After witnessing a few waves start to break on an outer reef, the lads had gone out, and before watching the conditions, rushed themselves, threw out the rope and towed into their first wave. Then upon pickup were caught unawares by a sly double up wave courtesy of a new building swell. Damon screamed to Joe Palmer to “Go go go.” And according to Maz when Joe hit the wave he was projected 15 feet into the air, before bailing out just before landing. The next wave then picked up the ski and threw it back over the falls barely missing Damon below. Somehow the ski managed to be recovered, yet the hull was full of water, so with some quick thinking they removed the
bungs and were surprised it started and took off at full speed attempting to drain the water. During all of this both of the tow boards had been lost and with those costing a hefty $1500 Joe was intent on redeeming himself, feeling somewhat responsible for his mates loss. As they say it’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when something like this will happen in tow surfing. There are associated risks and at times things will go wrong, it’s what you do to recover the situation and remain safe that matters. But right now Joe felt like shit and no matter what anyone said, he was certain he was going to get Damon’s board back and was last seen by the lads that had just returned, swimming in over a jagged rock shelf amongst giant surges of whitewater to search and recover the board. With marine radios on board we attempted to contact Clint Reid on the other ski. Clint is a commercial fisho, so he is more than capable in the ocean, but with the noise of the engine Clint could not hear us calling. It then occurred, Clint had his phone around his neck, we’d call that. So ran to the top of the hill, only to call the phone and have Damon who was standing 200 metres away pick up. Turns out they had agreed that before the ski sunk, they should keep going and get as far back to us as possible and call us if anything had gone
wrong. In amongst the drama Damon had totally forgotten he had the phone. With light fading two men came riding through the mist like a bucking bronco and after negotiating the heavy shorebreak ditched the ski on the bar, allowing it to wash through as each surge hit, the rest of us all headed down, to pack down a scrum, and the tight five engaged and slid that ski down into the inside lagoon. The team was reunited, yet the look on Joe’s face said it all, he had been unable to locate the board. The 18 hour drive of our Primo Roady all looked to have come to a dead end just as the swell began to build. Most importantly everyone was safe and well, although the sense of JAMMA was strong. Against expectations the ski had run fairly well on the way back in and now that we had it back on the trailer the damage was evident, yet surprisingly not as bad as first thought. If we could stop the water leaking into hull via the two giant splits in the top half, just maybe we could salvage the roady and get what we came for, some decent waves. With the overnight storm abating and the mist clearing from the surrounding valleys, the offshore wind began to puff, the swell had filled in overnight as
well. With a bit of kiwi-style ingenuity we walked out of the local gas station armed with a couple of rolls of duct tape and with a block of surf wax, and patched that crack up to the point where we felt the ski would not sink! The plan was to use the ski to gain access to the break but not to stress it anymore than that and take turns towing with the other skis. Joe was adamant he wasn’t surfing today and would instead get dropped in to scour the coast for Damon’s number one board. Maz was up on the first wave of the morning, and immediately wiped away the horrors of the day before with a nice barrel, which lifted everyone’s spirits and a few smiles were starting to be seen again. The morning was slow going with a dropping swell, having peaked during the night. Yet every now and then just when we thought the show was over, a nugget would rear its head and thunder off. Joe reappeared from his foray still boardless, so we talked him into forgetting about it and having fun. Damon made out the board was a pig anyway to try and take the sting away. Only minutes later and on the wave of the day Damon whipped Joe into a screamer, Joe stood tall in a gigantic barrel and was blown out, the Jamma was over and the smile returned. On the very next wave Clint jumped airborne off the step and rode the bowels of the beast like a man possessed. The action was fast and furious, as if the swell gods had said, “Hey guys you’ve had a bad time, here’s some goodies to cheer ya up.” Everyone nailed at least one epic wave, before the swell was exhausted and that last flurry came to an end. What had looked like a total write-off only 20 hours ago, had now come full circle and while a few things hadn’t gone our way, we had achieved what we hit the road in search of. Another all time Primo Roady was half complete and now for the 18 hours back home. But until that moment it was time to kick back and sip on some brews with the lads that had all come from far and wide, talk story and listen to those barrels get bigger and bigger with each skull of nectar. Then a moment that will be remembered forever, with all in attendance sitting out on the deck basking in the sun. This local guy pulls up, waves out, and walks to the back of his truck and pulls out a surfboard. Wait, doesn’t that look like Damon’s board, what’s that guy doing with Damon’s board? He then pipes up, “Is this any of youse fullas board?” To which we all raised a beer and yelled “Cheers to you my bro!” Turns out he had found the board laying on the beach while out gathering seafood. Joe looked at Damon and then the two fell into each others arms and had a man moment, and apart from a split in half ski, the relationship was saved. Until the next Primo Roady.