For The Love Of The Wave

I have, over the past year, discovered a new passion. Something that has me completely undone. Something that has me climbing the walls because it has gotten me so stoked I can't live without it. This sailor girl has moved onto a slightly smaller vessel than a yacht...a surfboard. It all started one cold grey day in July 2009 when my mate Chelle and I were in Raglan. Despite our better judgement and slightly hungover, we decided to go surfing. I had bronchitis and really shouldn't have been anywhere near the water but we thought, to hell with it, lets do it. Chelle was already a surfer and took me out to teach me on her 7"4 mal. We walked down the massive hill at Wainui Beach and after briefly going over the basics of surfing and safety we got in. The water was so cold it burned. Our lungs felt like they were on fire and our skin went bright red, with slight tinges of purple. After about 20 minutes of thrashing around in wild west coast surf and no longer able to feel our hands and feet, we decided it was probably time to see sense and get out. We trudged back up the massive hill, nauseated from the cold, quite possibly mildly hypothermic and still very much hungover. But I was hooked. I loved it. And it was a love affair that would only increase as I kept surfing.

After many surfs I still remember that first surf in Raglan, the first time a wave properly picked me up at Piha, the perfect crisp autumns day surfing back in Raglan where I somehow (god only knows how) managed to catch a wave sitting, yes sitting, on the board, and the many many times we have sat in silence just watching, gazing at the wild, wind blown waves of New Zealands west coast.

But most of all, I remember the surf in Omaha. Chelle had just got a new board, a 6"9 fish and we had driven to Piha to christen it, but Piha was an absolute shit fight. Lumpy custard. So we got in the car and drove to Omaha in an attempt to see if the east coast was a bit cleaner and more surfable. It was little, 2-3ft and breaking close. But we figured, why not - lets just get in and have some fun. We paddled out, caught a couple of small white wash waves and ended up just sitting on our boards at the back of the break under a perfect blue sky looking out at Great Barrier. We swapped boards and I had a go on the fish. We now had a small crowd of people watching us. Every now and then a bigger set would come through, breaking further out and I started getting amongst it. On my first east coast surf, my first time on a short board, I caught my first breaking wave. I will never forget the feeling of dropping down the face of that 3-4ft glassy wave at late afternoon in Omaha, thinking for a split second I was gonna die then realising I was still going - still on the board and flying. I was flying! The was white foam boiling around me, carrying me towards the shore. I was so stoked I was beside myself. I was yelling at Chelle as I paddled furiously back out - "Oh my god did you see that Chelle?! Did you see that?! Oh my god that was amazing! Did you see that?!" Chelle just laughed when I finally paddled back out to her and said "Yeh mate, you're surfing in the impact zone now". Wow.

I kept going, catching wave after wave as the sun began to set. In between each ride we'd sit on our boards at the back of the break buzzing out over the amazing view - golden sunset hues reflecting off a glassy mirror like sea with Great Barrier on the horizon. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. After 2 hours in the water in the middle of winter, we finally conceded defeat from the cold and got out. Nothing could wipe the smile off my face. I was surf stoked.




This image is googled.

At It Again...

Well after 3 months of being landbound and surviving on surfing alone, this Sailor Girl has finally gotten a skid in. Sunday 15th of August I raced on a Birdsall 37 up in Whangaparoa, a mere 2 days after having food poisoning. After a pleasant hours drive at a sparrows fart on a Sunday morning, and getting increasingly antsy along the way, I arrived at the Weiti Yacht Club in Whangaparoa. The boat is one that I am hoping (fingers, toes, eyes and ears crossed) I can do the White Island race on later this year and the skipper wanted me to come out for a race to check out the boat etc. It started off as an overcast morning with a light breeze as we motored down the river. The course we were racing was an olympic course set up in front of Gulf Harbour. An olympic course is like a big triangle, with a windward leg, leeward leg and a reaching leg. Which means you sail with the wind on the nose, the wind behind you and the wind on the side so that you get a bit of everything. There weren't very many boats out - probably due to the painfully early start of the race, and on a Sunday morning no less. The 4 main crew took care of the helm, mainsheet and grinding for the starting sequence and I happily sat on the rails scooting under the boom as we tacked and gybed precariously closely to other yachts all jostling for the best spot on the start. Being the only crew member not in the cockpit also meant I got to scoot around the foredeck skirting sails, releasing snagged headsails sheets, tightening the leech on the headsail and tightening the cunningham at the mast - all while the boat is leaning so far over that the railing is in the water, which makes none of that an easy task. Especially when where you are standing ends up underwater as you struggle with the leech cord inches from the railing whilst trying not to fall in the drink. What a rush!! We started the race with our number 1 headsail, which is the big one for lighter winds - but after tearing it as the wind increased we ended up finishing with the number 2. A smaller headsail more suitable for the 30 knot gusts we were getting. In our downwind legs we also cranked out the genniker and even got so daring as to fly the big spinnaker. The skipper wasn't playing it safe that day! I even got to do some bow work and help with the kite drops (pulling the big genniker and spinnaker down into the forward hatch), and even had to stand right on the bow where the anchor sits and lean right out over the railing to pull the spinnaker out from under the boat - all whilst the boat is ploughing through swell and heaving all over the place. For the second half of the race I got to winch and trim the headsail, which made me a very happy sailor. I've missed my winch =)
Apart from tearing the headsail it was a great race which I thoroughly enjoyed and very much needed. Despite the cluster of bruises, pulled muscles and aching limbs - it was SO worth it!! Can we go again? Please?