TE WAI POUNAMU
The cold wind blows through the two hooded sweatshirts I’m wearing, chilling my kidneys. I hold a brown paper bag up to my mouth. A blistering hot mince and cheese pie is inside it. I part my lips wide and bow my head forward, slicing through the meat filled pastry until the crunch of my teeth. My tongue burns, as does the roof of my mouth and I drop the bag and pie on the pavement. I look up to see the ocean white capping, the wind blowing onto the shore and the waves knee high. Dane, Craig, Dion and Conner stare at me with unimpressed eyebrows. I call six of my Dunedin friends and they shoot my optimistic visions down.
The waves were shit and it was cold. So it was time to drink Speights. Bottle after bottle, we sipped the south’s finest nectar. Voices slurred and rumours of Uni night tempt us to venture into the Octagon, Dunedin’s city centre.
We find the bar and yes, it was Uni night. The crowds gathered around the travelling idols and Dane cuts some hair off a young mans head. There is no doubting that the intoxicated students were happy to be sharing drinks with this bunch. What was odd was they were all of male gender. The following day we woke to much the same conditions but feeling much worse. So we slept some more, drove some hours searching for a miraculous wave but to no avail. When we got back to our abode, we watched a zombie movie and talked physics. Then we drunk some more Speights and skated in the esplanade carpark with the locals, all dressed in woollen beanies and socks. The wind dropped overnight and we awoke to some waves. Blackhead was fun and the crowd came to watch. The boys did some gangsta spins and frontside shnarps on a cute little right reeling into the severed Quarry Beach cliff-face. Then who would arrive at the beach as we walked up the gravel hill? A Speights representative and he had beer for us. So we drank Speights again and again and laughed and laughed and lived. Although the Speights drinking and out of water male bonding was awesome, we needed to find some goodlooking water. A film had to be made and the pressure as guide was mounting. I made a huge call and skilfully acted my confidence in it.
We drove to the Caitlins and found peace and rain. The rolling hills were green and littered with fluffy sheep. Patches of bush hid within the landscapes crevices and the ocean was a deep blue, cold looking. A small bach was to be our accommodations for the night and like a marae, we all slept on the floor. The following morning we drove to a bay of pure beauty. The cliffs looked like giant gods turned to stone and they bounced waves into the middle of the bay. This wedge filled cove was the perfect arena for the boys to show off their tricks. The surfing that took place this day was nothing short of phenomenal and the team moral was high. We found a Christian camp and booked it for the remainder of our trip. It had creepy vibes and had three extra rooms and seven extra beds. We drunk red wine and reviewed footage, vibing. The following two days were exactly the same, absolutely pumping. A coupla local legends joined us, the Dickson Brothers, Aidan and Felix. Felix talked moons and Aidan dove the outer reef, feeding us with fire-cooked lemon Paua. Chur to them. On the afternoon of the final day, the wind blew onshore and Dane did two of the best airs I have ever seen with my eyes. I was wowed. Afterwards, we collected up some dry driftwood and lit a bonfire on the sand dune. We cooked a pie and some baked beans and drunk lots more Speights. We went home and watched the footage from the entire trip. (GROM FROTH!!!) It was sooo fucken sick to watch and be a part of. I was more excited on surfing than ever before. The camaraderie of these surfers and their view to push surfing to the next level was inspirational. It was positive and creative and that’s what life’s all about right? The only problem now is that for me, grovelling in a contest vest seems somewhat hollow. I’m even unsure if that is a problem. Hmmmm confusion. Life.