If you’re in New Zealand, particularly Auckland, and there’s a surfer in your life, you may have noticed a change in the last couple of days. They’ll be around for a start.
I’m hoping this will be the case, selfishly, for no more than a week.
But here we are, with some respite from the Ocean, both sides, there’s finally no real surf to speak of.
The swell has died on the West Coast. And the East Coast is a bit of a mess.
But prior to this there hasn’t just been surf, there’s been very, very good surf.
On both Coasts, in all sorts of nooks and crannies as well as the more obvious places.
The easterlies that keep coming have been grooming the West Coast, smaller swells have allowed the sand banks to take shape favourably and there was Cyclone Cody, or as most surfers have been calling him just Cody. Cody was a bro.
Old Codes came down relatively close to the East Coast, didn’t bring much in the way of cyclonic downpours and pumped some serious swell into Te Ika O Maui as well as Te Wai Pounamu.
As well as the usual forecasting, you could track the swell on social media.
Surfers all over the country, from the top at first, posting photos of magical waves. Some of them very big, others utterly perfect breaking in spots that only light up on occasions like this. It must have been exciting for the Southern crew scrolling the socials, seeing what was happening up north and knowing it was heading their way.
It’s one of the wonderful things about surfing is the knowing something is on it’s way and that if every thing plays ball, you might get your moment.
Because there were moments going off all over the place.
The news headlines did their best to insight peril about the swell.
Evidently, the gnarliest barrel ever ridden in New Zealand went down.https://www.facebook.com/nzsurfingmagazine/videos/258945429688281
There were waves, good ones, on the inner Hauraki Gulf reefs like Long Bay and Takapuna. Hundreds of surfers couldn’t sleep at night. Cody was a bro to all of them.
I bro’d down with Codes on the Tutukaka Coast. I was there by good fortune rather than any deliberate action. At Matapouri (now there’s a Māori placename that gets butchered – please, for a start there’s no ‘a’ sound like in ‘cat’ anywhere in Te Reo.)
The swell around the corner at Sandy Bay was huge. Rideable if you were up for the paddle or had a mate with a jet ski, but unridden when I saw it. Evidently some travelling Brazillians got amongst it and were a joy to watch. On the big days, the first couple, when the whitewater was breaking on every point and reef you could see in the distance, you could surf at the usually benign Matapouri river mouth. It wasn’t epic, but it was unusually big for the bay and good fun. Almost a novelty wave the way it lumbers around the corner like a big oaf before peeling off along the horseshoe curve of the bay.
I love the energy that a big swell brings to the whole environment. Even the non surfers get a buzz from it. Actual legit surf towns like Noosa are noticeably different when there’s a swell in town. It’s electrifying. The life surging through the ocean wakes everyone up. And they all come down to stare at the sea.
The killer day for me up North was actually after Cody had split. There was a day without any real swell, and then another little kick from a different storm system.
But the big swell had gouged the sand out of Sandy Bay.
The sand there is really loose. Your feet sink down into it even in the water, it moves around a lot and as a result, the banks at Sandy Bay are really fickle. They come and go overnight. Good surf needs something to break off – these are the banks. Underwater hills and valleys that create the shape of the wave. On the 22nd of January, particularly at 3.30 in the afternoon, mid tide, outgoing, the banks were very, very good. Best waves I’ve seen (In person) on the East Coast. That’s why remembered the date. Perfectly groomed, punchy over the shallow banks, hollow, fast and long. If you know Sandy Bay, I’m talking a right hand ride from the rocks at the southern end to the creek in the middle. Everything was lined up perfectly. Size, tide, direction, wind and banks.
A few of us saw it coming. Surfing the mid tide first thing in the morning, you could see something special taking shape. A few, no more than a dozen, went back for the same tide as it went back out in the afternoon at half past three and it was delivering everything I’d been complaining Sandy Bay didn’t have in the way of energy and shape, 3rd surf of that day was the mid tide coming back in again just before dark. During the afternoon, the handful in the water knew they were part of a special moment. By evening, it was still very good, but the magic had gone. We’d had our moment. I’d surfed three times in one day. Unheard of. Yoga ensued.
This was going on all over New Zealand. Hectic.
The proper committed wave chasers must have done hundreds of miles chasing it down the country. Let’s hope a few of them at least had EVs.
Within a few days, the west coast of Auckland starts having it’s moments.
The Easterlies hang around, there’s good sized swell and our little underwater hills and valleys are in all the right places and not going anywhere.
There was one day at North Piha when the water was oil slick smooth, a strange cloud cover giving it a wierd evening feel in the morning and the sand bank was behaving more like a reef; long, long waves with steep sections after a reasonably critical take off. Shit it was good. And so was the day after and the day after that. Even if the offshores did add a little texture after ‘Magic Monday’.
More Yoga. Day time sleeps. Having the “Where did you score?” conversation with every other excited surfer you meet. Going out of your way to bump into other surfers so you can have that conversation. Only talking to other surfers at parties.
In the middle of all this, at pretty much 50, Kelly wins at Pipeline in what they were calling the best surf ever for a contest there. Another moment, exclusive to surfing.
It’s such a joy to be part of these moments in time, to know it’s only other surfers that are participating in them. Weather patterns, moving sand and shifting tides dictating that it’s time to drop everything to make sure you’re there because you don’t know when it will come again.
But now we rest. Your surfers are home. They’ve contained themselves. And they’re waiting for the next one. Cherish this special time.
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