PEAK SUMMER 2020

Oh God. It was ghastly.

I put my surfboards under the deck the other day having removed them from their rightful summertime resting place under the hedge on the front lawn. It was traumatic. PTSD for sure. With nothing on the maps to indicate we’ll be getting any decent waves any time soon, I might as well stash them out of the way. Ugh.

Summer seems to have peaked. Specifically, on the 15th and 16th of February, when the North West Swell generated by Cyclone Uesi, which had hovered close to the East Coast of Australia and pumped killer surf into Noosa, Snapper Rocks and Kirra to name a few, arrived on the West Coast of Tamaki Makaurau. It was big, brutal and quick for the Aussies, but 2000 miles away a few days later, it was exquisite.

A North West swell is quite unusual for our West Coast, most of the swells arrive having been generated in the Southern Ocean. Uesi popped out of the Coral Sea, into the South Pacific for a bit and then down into the Tasman way above Aotearoa. The East Coast Aussies were frothing, they hadn’t had any decent swell for months. Shit went nuts.

 

 

The swell hit Piha in perfect symphony with offshore wind and sandbanks that were in all the right places. It looked, and very much was, amazing. The characteristics of the swell coming into any beach define how the water moves. I’ve been in the water at South Piha in an ungroomed raw North West Swell and its frankly, fucking awful. The water flowing into the beach, full of energy and power and well, water, swirls around in a different way than it does if the swell is wrapping in from the South West, which is the default. North West swell doesnt wrap, it just comes in. It’s like it’s not sure what to do on the way out of the bay and the rips are horrendous.

But groomed by the wind and shaped by the sandbanks, it’s a different story. It felt perfect. As if all the elements that are required to create perfect surf were in unison. Speed of swell, size of swell, direction of swell. Wind. Sand. These were crafted waves, like some kind of artisan thing made by hipsters you’d buy in a converted workshop.

The fact that it was the weekend didn’t even sully the event. For reasons unknown the crowds were relatively light. Particularly given the quality.

I surfed South Piha because I have this weird thing were I like to surf in the crowd on summers days. I like the vibe with the kids. But that vibe wasn’t really happening. What was happening was dredging right hand barrels, with not much water between the wave and the sand. It was a pretty full-on scene for an oldish fulla on a 9 foot plus board. Got a couple. One of them, if I had changed my line a little I may have pulled into one of the epic tubes, but I recall I was thinking more along the lines of “Gee. This is shallow. I’m going fast” And “Wow. All I can see is a wall of water.” I wasn’t quick enough. Survived the drop to below sea level, the high speed line and headed in to the beach and along to ‘Caves’ at North Piha, right down the end, as pre-arranged with my Piha-living buddy who had spoken of these amazing North West swells in the past.

The Caves at North Piha is one of the nicest places on the whole West Coast. It’s actually called Kohunui Bay, which translates to Big Mist. Look towards the caves from down the beach and you’ll see why. I was a lifeguard at North Piha for many years and this part of the beach caused us no end of trouble. Tons of rescues and more than a couple of tragedies. We used to sit in the tower in the middle of the beach wondering what would possess someone to swim there – this was before I started actually using the beach more than patrolling it, and realised it was, in fact, one of the nicest places on the whole West Coast. But like the whole West Coast, as dangerous as a very dangerous thing indeed. Lots of moving water. It’s nick-name is for the caves on the beach, but there’s actually some more caves at the very front of the point. Back in Surf Club, on really small days we used to swim into them. Freaky as. Kelp. Darkness. Potential discovery of a missing person.

This recent February weekend in question, that North West swell was lining up onto a series of sand banks that as I will no doubt overstate, were perfect. I surfed with a few of the regulars that I see out there often, floated into a couple of old work colleagues and got my share, as most did, of these beautiful waves. Every now and then the offshore wind would pick up to about 25 knots and add some atmosphere, a bit of spray and noise and impossible to drop in take offs. Then it would just stop, and the water, which was the colour of faded Levis, would smooth off. It had a Fijian quality, you’d get a nice drop with the spray and then just rise and fall gently along the wall, which retained it’s nice vertical qualities for what seemed like 100 metres. Then, on a longboard especially, you’d cut back to the power when it fattened out a bit and stay with it until it walled up on the inside and went all fast and steep again for another long stretch. Knees slightly bent. Front of the board. Exagerrating the arch in your back. There was hooting and cheering and “Yeeeeoow!” for everyone and from everyone. It’s so wonderful out there when everyone knows they’re part of something extra special. You paddle back out through a really clearly defined deeper channel, the rip that’s help shape these sandbanks.

An en masse stoking. Grinning like the English lining streets for a Royal Wedding, sharing the absolute joy that is our sport and our remarkable coast, the one that’s 50 minutes from where I live on the other coast. I surfed for 3 hours. My left shoulder is still a little annoyed about it.

I’ve been back to Raglan, as I promised, twice. One of the days was OK, nothing epic, but still, you know, Raglan. The other return trip was surf wise, really bloody average, but the rock and roll at The Yot Club and camping with my daughter was excellent.

And so now, even though in 2019 it was March that provided two weeks of epic West Coast surf, I’ve stashed the boards under the deck. It’s a tiny bit symbolic. Conceivably they could come out again as soon as tomorrow. It’ll be a lot less tidy than the perfection of 15 and 16 of February, a bit of sea breeze and wobble in the swell. But the tide is favourable, there is swell and the work situation is managable. The only issue is this nagging feeling that we’ve had as good as we’re going to get for a while, which I figure is what the whole moving the boards thing is really all about. An underscore. An exclamation mark. A pause for a bit to reflect on being part of something pretty damn close to perfect.