The British championships were on, finally, this weekend (18th June). And, as expected, the God of surf didn't play us a good hand. Howling 28mph wind and small, rubbish surf. Giving us the best contest ever. Confused? Well, it's a bit like a Chuck Norris movie. They are utter crap, just awful. You wouldn't watch one on your own. But if you had a group of mates over, and a few beers, you'd all watch it and laugh your asses off.
8am - there were waves out there. Miles out there |
The howling wind, had everyone hunched under the tent and everyone just goofed, told tales and laughed. My abs are killing me and I don't know if it's from trying to paddle out countless times or from laughing. Pete Kane was on form. We all laughed at his tale of not remembering the location of the secret hiding please for the key to his brothers house. So they all had to sleep in their vans… But at 4am Pete woke up and remembered where it was!. We all laughed as I skewered my thumb trying to fix a quad belt. I laughed too as I tried to stem the bleeding. We even laughed as I found out it wasn't rain that made my jacket wet, Sam Jone's Jack Russell had pissed on it.
You see, when the surf is good, people get competitive. Isolate themselves from the group, put headphones on and get into 'heat' mode. Groups of people who know each other break off into little splinter groups and it can feel team vs team. Sort of South vs North vs Wales. Performances begin to matter. Saturday, we all just hung out and it was brilliant. Spending time and enjoying the company of people you realise you've only facebooked with, Such as Shaun Holmes. What a first rate dude.
Aside from the good company, there was a lot to be proud of. The quality of the ski's was brilliant. I know it sounds snobby, but in years gone by, contests were held with only a handful turning up, and often tatty old ski's that looked like it could have been Jesus's first ski. If anyone happened to turn up from TV, sports council or even the ASP, we'd be able to puff our chests out with pride. Jem's Ski's with intricate artwork as beautiful as ever. Pete's uber-cool Barbarit RTM. Stunning finished Pro-designs and a flete of spectacular weapons from the Scientist, James Hawker at future Waveski's. So many different shapes, rockers, widths, designs. No one could say we were the poor cousin of any sport.
Quality and quantity |
As for the performance. It was savage out there. Beatings a plenty. For the first time in 30 years of waveski surfing, I actually got flipped… by the wind! Not a wave - the wind just flipped me over. The good thing was, we all got into the spirit. Taking the piss, laughing at each other. I even said to James Hawker that if he managed to get out the back I'd eat a shit. As in a dog shit. Now, I was supposed to bring 2 or 3 ski's with me. As my car was broken, the rental the garage gave me I could only fit one ski in. I had agreed to bring the big wave ski as it'd be easy to paddle out on, and James wanted to use it if it was windy. Was it windy… yes. Did I bring it? No. I brought a tiny 19" wide ski. James had his tiny 19" wide ski. Much to my utter disappointment, james did make it out the back, and after his heat, Elaine told me he was off to find a shit for me to eat!