So, I hit J-Bay over the weekend. It's only my third time there and my first to get macking Supers. Woo-hoo! I'm also not a guy who is used to crowds, and Supers with it's hardcore crew of locals and even more tension ratcheted up with the weekend blow-ins like yours truly, was always going to be a challenge.
So, I paddled out on my first session on Saturday evening. It was shoulder high. Not all time, but still very good. This is Supertubes, after all. I sat down the point and tried to pick up a few scraps with limited success. It got later, the crowd thinned, I got a bit frustrated and eventually decided to go sit higher up and wait until something came my way. The crowd thinned some more, the sun set, and eventually, I was sitting in position as a good one swung in. I scratched and got to my feet and turned around the foam that was already racing away as another surfer dropped in. I shouted loud enough to hear, but not too loud to be overly aggressive - you never know who you're talking to out there. Either way, he didn't react and just carried on. Partly because, I was still out on the foam ball and not quite guaranteed making it to the face, and partly because I didn't know if he was a local there, and admittedly, partly because he was helluva good and I was in an awesome position to just watch, I didn't open my mouth again. Eventually, I popped round the foam and onto the face just as he was arcing back. He saw me and kicked off immediately. I carried on down for a few more sections - this is Supers, I remind you again - and kicked out eventually after what was still a very good wave, even if only half ridden by my poor standards. One good wave still makes a session.
I paddled in, got changed and drove up to Ubuntu backpackers to check in. As I was putting my boards in the racks, another dripping, suited surfer arrived and racked his. I recognised the black rails, and three hexagons as the same board I had watched so closely tear that last wave apart most of the way down the point. Two Merrick Black Beautys out there so late? Too much coincidence. "Hey, bru," I say with a smile "were you the guy who dropped in on me on that last wave?" He returns the smile, claps a wet hand on shoulder and apologises with a French accent. He didn't think I'd make it round. Neither did I, I reply. We both literally laugh it off.
Not too much later, chinging lagers, swaaiing zol, swapping war stories.and deriding Bayern Munich's lack of closing. We're mates. Bonded by coincidence and misjudgement. I think how different the situation may have been if I'd behaved dickishly. I could have been pissed off, tuned him in the water, or made a tit of myself. It would have immediately backfired, as I would then have been the outsider, the dick, the poes here at Ubuntu - the name showing it's significance.
The next morning I'm back out there. It's picked up, easily overhead and the 50 strong crew is frothing. I'm trying the same tactic as yesterday. Sit almost at the top. And wait patiently. Something will come my way and as yesterday proved again - it only takes one wave. Eventually it comes and I fly down the wall for ever and ever. Legs burning as I drive and swoop across the legendary shoulder. I kick out and wonder if I can get another one as good today. I take the long paddle back up.
I'm sitting there again when an older guy, grey haired and goateed sitting a bit further up bellows to no-one in particular, but for everyone in general "The next fucker to paddle past here is going to get FUCKED UP!" OK... well if that's how he feels. I don't know - I surf to have a good time. If I find myself getting worked up, I know its going to ruin everything about my surf from then on.. But, hey, whatever. Not too much later, a guy - who happens to be the only black guy in the line-up - takes off just ahead of the old grump and gets to his feet to an enraged "Fuck off!" as he glides away.
As he's paddling back, raging bull is waiting for him. He seems to know this. They start have a full go at each other from about 30 metres away. It's one of those really productive arguments that is more fuck you's than any real insults, let alone anyone trying to get their point across. It's done at the top of their voices for everyone to hear. Guys around me are trying not to stare, there's much murmuring about how pathetic and ugly it all is. Then Cass Collier - the rasta legend - weighs in to defend the only other man of colour out there. I couldn't hear who played the race card first, but just when you think it couldn't get worse, it got racial. It was awful.
And it just carried on. Full volume for five minutes. Raging egos clashing against each other. All sides butting their heads against a wall, solving nothing, hurting only themselves. Adrenaline spent on conflict, rather than stoke. It was shameful. I couldn't say who was right or wrong, whose wave it was meant to be that sparked the shouting match, but all sides came off looking the fool.
A mate paddled up to me. "So, everyone having a good time?" That summed it up perfectly.
I didnt get any more rides like that one, but it didnt matter. I still managed to leave the water with a smile on my face and an awesome memory to keep me going on the long ride home. Those guys - who were both local it turns out - probably went home with a scowl. They have to live with each other and everytime they meet at the backline, flashes of hate will pass between them. What a way to ruin the paradise you live in.
On the other hand, I got some waves, made some friends, had kick-ass jol and left with fond memories. But, then I tend to be quite awesome like that. Feel free to point out me being a dick anytime. That's what the comments section is for.
So, I paddled out on my first session on Saturday evening. It was shoulder high. Not all time, but still very good. This is Supertubes, after all. I sat down the point and tried to pick up a few scraps with limited success. It got later, the crowd thinned, I got a bit frustrated and eventually decided to go sit higher up and wait until something came my way. The crowd thinned some more, the sun set, and eventually, I was sitting in position as a good one swung in. I scratched and got to my feet and turned around the foam that was already racing away as another surfer dropped in. I shouted loud enough to hear, but not too loud to be overly aggressive - you never know who you're talking to out there. Either way, he didn't react and just carried on. Partly because, I was still out on the foam ball and not quite guaranteed making it to the face, and partly because I didn't know if he was a local there, and admittedly, partly because he was helluva good and I was in an awesome position to just watch, I didn't open my mouth again. Eventually, I popped round the foam and onto the face just as he was arcing back. He saw me and kicked off immediately. I carried on down for a few more sections - this is Supers, I remind you again - and kicked out eventually after what was still a very good wave, even if only half ridden by my poor standards. One good wave still makes a session.
I paddled in, got changed and drove up to Ubuntu backpackers to check in. As I was putting my boards in the racks, another dripping, suited surfer arrived and racked his. I recognised the black rails, and three hexagons as the same board I had watched so closely tear that last wave apart most of the way down the point. Two Merrick Black Beautys out there so late? Too much coincidence. "Hey, bru," I say with a smile "were you the guy who dropped in on me on that last wave?" He returns the smile, claps a wet hand on shoulder and apologises with a French accent. He didn't think I'd make it round. Neither did I, I reply. We both literally laugh it off.
Not too much later, chinging lagers, swaaiing zol, swapping war stories.and deriding Bayern Munich's lack of closing. We're mates. Bonded by coincidence and misjudgement. I think how different the situation may have been if I'd behaved dickishly. I could have been pissed off, tuned him in the water, or made a tit of myself. It would have immediately backfired, as I would then have been the outsider, the dick, the poes here at Ubuntu - the name showing it's significance.
 |
| Another board clogs the early morning line-up |
I'm sitting there again when an older guy, grey haired and goateed sitting a bit further up bellows to no-one in particular, but for everyone in general "The next fucker to paddle past here is going to get FUCKED UP!" OK... well if that's how he feels. I don't know - I surf to have a good time. If I find myself getting worked up, I know its going to ruin everything about my surf from then on.. But, hey, whatever. Not too much later, a guy - who happens to be the only black guy in the line-up - takes off just ahead of the old grump and gets to his feet to an enraged "Fuck off!" as he glides away.
As he's paddling back, raging bull is waiting for him. He seems to know this. They start have a full go at each other from about 30 metres away. It's one of those really productive arguments that is more fuck you's than any real insults, let alone anyone trying to get their point across. It's done at the top of their voices for everyone to hear. Guys around me are trying not to stare, there's much murmuring about how pathetic and ugly it all is. Then Cass Collier - the rasta legend - weighs in to defend the only other man of colour out there. I couldn't hear who played the race card first, but just when you think it couldn't get worse, it got racial. It was awful.
And it just carried on. Full volume for five minutes. Raging egos clashing against each other. All sides butting their heads against a wall, solving nothing, hurting only themselves. Adrenaline spent on conflict, rather than stoke. It was shameful. I couldn't say who was right or wrong, whose wave it was meant to be that sparked the shouting match, but all sides came off looking the fool.
A mate paddled up to me. "So, everyone having a good time?" That summed it up perfectly.
I didnt get any more rides like that one, but it didnt matter. I still managed to leave the water with a smile on my face and an awesome memory to keep me going on the long ride home. Those guys - who were both local it turns out - probably went home with a scowl. They have to live with each other and everytime they meet at the backline, flashes of hate will pass between them. What a way to ruin the paradise you live in.
On the other hand, I got some waves, made some friends, had kick-ass jol and left with fond memories. But, then I tend to be quite awesome like that. Feel free to point out me being a dick anytime. That's what the comments section is for.
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