new surf dialogue

Left Urenui and spent a few days south of New Plymouth, surfing a right hander until it went away. While laying in the van, parked under a pohutukawa tree and reading about the post WWII surf boom in southern California I heard engines revving and horns honking out on the highway. Carin Crawford, in her self published master thesis, “Waves of Transformation” explains how the aircraft technologies and rapidly developing highway infrastructure up and down the California coast where major factors in surfings rapid popularity development in the Golden State. People like Bob Simmons, a surfer and aircraft enginner, used the new military technologies and design theories to build lighter and incredibly higher performing surfboards that were also much easier and faster to build. Board shapers like DaleVelzy and Hobie Alter were then able to meet the post-Gidget and The Endless Summer surf craze board demand numbers and the beaches blew up into mass crowds and beach boy surf safari madness. Surfers, who came from the post war, white middle class affluent car crazed suburban  sprawland hit the roads in their woodies and studebakers and all other Detroit city metal mobiles in search of less crowded waves and that idyllic Endless Summer paradiso on earth. So I’m reading all this history, and the car engines are getting louder, and the honks are driving me crazy and a cover band strikes up down below me at the beach – playing some Creedence – and I look out the window at hundreds and hundreds of pontiacs, mustangs, camaros, falcons, the cream of the post war crop – some with Velzy boards strapped to their hoods, all flowing past me on the street! And American flags and confederate flags flapping  from their side view mirrors! Oh god, I’ve lost my mind. One toke over the line. Oh lord, I’m stuck in Lodi again…

Nope, Americarna was rolling into town. A New Zealand round the islands car show, celebrating America’s finest. Christine came back from the library and we walked down to the beach front campground and checked out the scene. A real kiwi melting pot of grease monkies, yuppie car freaks, bikers, rednecks, surfers, farmers and the curious tourists like the two of us. Real American hot dogs and burgers. Ass cheaks spilling out of Daisy Dukes. Beer cozies and Skynard. Oh say can you see…

A few days later we   point the van south, needing to be in Wellington for a Cook Strait crossing to the south island. In Opunake, where we witnessed Americarnage, the surf is rolling in. Big overhead sets A-framing at the creek mouth. Offshore winds and friendly locals. Mt. Taranaki sits there and watches as a small group of us get wave after wave. I meet Harry Larry out there, a local  organic dairy farmer who invites Christine and I to stay at his place. He has ragwort that needs to be pulled from his cow pastures, and philosophies to share. We take him up on his offer. Recently off the drink, he’s been searching out new mind and body cleansing ideas and methods. Digs some of L.Ron Hubbards Dianetics, thinks Tom Cruise gets a bad rap – who incidently filmed The Last Samurai right down the road from here. Katie Holmes is his dream girl. We talk and he talks and talks and talks. We have interesting discussions on surf tourism ideas. He owns undeveloped beach front property here, with grand ideas of surf lodges, massage parlors, cafes and beach cams. “Wouldn’t it be awesome mate! Oh just like in Bali, coke and toasties under thatch roof palm treed tea rooms. Locals bringing your boards down the hill. Its already coming man. I might as well do it right, get my share right?”

Stella and Ebony at CheeLoo, their little piece of magic land...

After a morning surf yesterday, he and I spend a few hours out in the paddocks pulling up the ragwort and solving the worlds problems, with both of us having some similar and very different ways of how to bring about those solutions. But whatever our differences, we both agree on the power of surfing and the healing waters that we soak ourselves in, letting the stoke flood our pores, endorphins running high and grins permanently affixed to our skull covers. Christine was running around with the daughters, Ebbie and Sara May. The Five of us headed down for a low tide Paua and green lipped Mussel harvest and feasted on the sea meat for dinner.

And now, after another morning overhead surf bonanza, we are heading for Wellington to make that crossing. The next week will be spent with nose in the books and hand to pen to paper, outlining this thesis thing into a reality. Going underground. The east coast south island hermit holiday. I heard about Moridor, it lurks down there somewheres around the bends and up in the hills.

More pictures to comes. Hope all is well with you the reader. Mine the stoke…