Holly Beck

&nbsp Standing in line at the Air New Zealand check-in area at Los Angeles International Airport, I looked down at the huge rolling duffel bag resting at my feet and the massive board-bag completely blocking the aisle behind me, and wondered if maybe I’d brought too much stuff. I always find it difficult packing for a trip to a new destination, and asking Greg Browning, the Body Glove team manager who would be capturing all the exciting moments of the trip on film, what to bring ended up being about as useless as taking a straight guy shopping. “I’m bringing one pair of pants, one pair of shorts and three t-shirts,” he said, then added sarcastically, “and of course ten pairs of shoes to match all my outfits!” Thanks a lot, Greg! So I neatly folded nearly everything from the new Body Glove line into my bag, along with four wetsuits and four surfboards, and figured I was ready for anything. If anyone gave me a hard time about bringing my entire closet with me I would just remind them, “hey, I am a girl after all.” What Greg failed to mention until I had already checked in and we were awaiting our flight in the VIP lounge, was that we would be traveling all over New Zealand in a campervan! At that point I was sure I had brought too much stuff.

&nbsp A little over ten years ago, when I was first learning to surf, my mom tried everything to discourage me, insisting that I should be “sitting on the beach looking cute in a bikini, not out surfing with the boys”. She was of the opinion that I would never get a boyfriend that way, which to her was very important. If she knew then that surfing would take me all over the world and plant me in a relatively small camper van, the only girl amongst 8 good-looking guys for a week, she might have thought differently. Not that I am in the market, my longtime boyfriend was waiting patiently at home. Still there’s nothing wrong with admiring the sights around me, right? I can assure you that the sights were great, both inside and beyond the camper windows.

The boys

&nbsp After an all-night flight from Los Angeles, a strenuous shoulder-burning board-bag haul from the international to the domestic terminal in Auckland, and another quick flight, we officially began the trip in Christchurch. Craig Sheriff, Body Glove representative and our tour guide for the trip scooped us up from the airport, tossed the detailed itinerary into the backseat for us to peruse, and off we went. A few hours later we were washing off the stale airplane air in small but rip-able waist-high beach break. It reminded me a bit of the waves I first learned to surf at home except for the fact that it was offshore, clean, and un-crowded. The boys immediately began impressing me with their above-the-lip agility. Australian Dion Agius was particularly worthy of watching. I was suffering from a mild case of jelly-legs from all the traveling but despite the mushy waves Dion was flying through the air every time I happened to look in his direction.

&nbsp We showered off, indulged in a big delicious meal, then stopped in at the local surf club to hang out with the groms and sign some autographs. My hair had hardly dried from the previous session and I was definitely still digesting, but when the groms asked if we would go surfing with them we quickly suited up once more. The tide had dropped and the waves were dumping all at once on the shallow sandbar, but every kid was grinning.

Alex and I

&nbsp I’ve known Alex Gray since he was about ten years old and first learning to surf. He is now 20, a surf magazine cover boy, and one of the most entertaining guys I’ve ever met. Before changing into his wetsuit he had been wearing a disgusting denim zip-up shirt with a big 80s neon design on the back that said “Surf Club” and a brown wide-rimmed Australian hat that screamed, “young girls keep your distance, I’m very strange”,

and yet he is the type that can utter any cheesy pick-up line with a smile and end up with a pack of twelve year old girls following his every move. Running down the beach, he offered to trade boards with a shy kid toting a foam longboard who eagerly accepted the proposition. I followed his lead and my trading partner kept saying “this is such a cool board!” over and over again. I guess he didn’t mind the hot pink stripes and light pink leash. He was comfortable in his young masculinity. Alex and I then focused our attention on the mini-groms in the shorebreak, taking turns pushing them into waves. For me, one of the most renewing aspects of surfing is in helping a novice surfer to get a good ride. The ecstatic look on their faces while being propelled shoreward by the power of the ocean always reminds me why I started in the first place. There really is nothing more fun.

&nbsp The next morning at 5am we loaded ourselves and all of our luggage into the campervan and drove a few hours North to Kaikoura. The piers and paved sidewalks quickly gave way to the rolling green hills of the New Zealand I had imagined. We drove up an unmarked, steep and rocky road into what seemed like a secret paradise. There was a wide open, lush grass field lined with artfully decorated cozy cabins and aesthetically pleasing gardens, dotted by a plethora of fruit trees, all set against a stunning backdrop of movie-quality snow-capped mountains. The cliff top view of a momentarily dormant right-hand pointbreak just below and a fun cobblestone beachbreak up the way only added to the ambiance. Taking a look around, I decided I could stop traveling and live right there.

&nbsp Surfing has taken me all over the world, to some of the most beautiful places imaginable. There is something to be said for the sight of crystal clear water and white sand beaches adorned with palms, however growing up in California makes me identify so much more with grass, mountains, and wetsuit worthy water temperatures. New Zealand felt like home, which immediately resonated within established pleasure pathways in my brain. The weather is similar. The waves felt familiar. Yet sitting in the water, the sight towards land was so much more pure than the vistas to which I’ve grown accustomed. While most of the California coast is covered with million dollar homes or millions of condos, New Zealand is raw and green.

Maybe the open space and fresh air helps the people to be more relaxed as well. Showing up to a quiet beach with a logo encrusted campervan, multiple cameramen, and more than a handful of eager pro surfers in California would usually elicit at least a moderate degree of opposition from local surfers. To my surprise the locals in New Zealand were very welcoming. That first night in Kaikoura, the whole town seemed to show up to have a barbeque. One of the local boys named Levi who joined our crew at this point, had taken Greg and Alex diving for dinner. The two Californians, established lobster divers back home, were bewildered by the thick nets of kelp and came up empty. Levi however scored fish after fish with the same eager and humorous approach that he applied to everything else he did.

Levi, being himself
That night we feasted on freshly caught fish, lobster, and paua, courtesy of Levi and his father. The paua was a particular treat for us Californians since Abalone (as we call it) has been so over harvested along our coast that it is illegal to fish and rare to find.

&nbsp An hour before sunset, just as the tide was dropping enough to make the waves more appealing, the entire cast of characters from the barbeque relocated down to the beach to catch a few more waves. To us, it still seemed much less crowded than home, but I overheard a local girl claiming she had never seen so many people in the lineup. I waited to hear her continue into a complaining rant along the lines of “who are all these people and what are they doing at our spot?” Instead she turned to me with a smile, asked where we were from, and then said, “it’s so cool to watch you all surfing, I’d love to go to California someday!”

&nbsp The following day we spent mostly in the water, enjoying exceptionally fun waves with the local crew and ending up sun-burnt and surf satisfied while trying to pack up the campervan for another long haul further up the coast. On the ten pm ferry between islands, we crowded together in front of a laptop to laugh and exclaim over the day’s footage. In my mind, Mike Losness was the star, and over the course of the trip he would become my new favorite surfer. While Dion’s airs were probably more radical, Mike flowed from turn to turn with the type of style I dream of displaying. He was definitely inspiring to watch.

Mike airing, photos courtesy Jonny Wardrop

Alex, throwing in a turn of his own

&nbsp Around midnight, we accepted another member into our group. Australian super model and WCT pro surfer, Luke Stedman crammed himself and his boardbag into the already overly packed campervan. Welcome to the group, Luke, now snuggle up! That first night we spent all sleeping inside the camper together was literally a little too close for comfort. I crammed in the back next to Alex and Dion and woke up to Alex breathing heavily about five inches away from my ear. The smell of so many guys in such a confined space was atrocious! Fortunately, we only had a few hours to spend until sunrise signaled it was time to hit the road once again.

Luke and Alex

&nbsp After another day’s drive, we pulled up to a left point that looked like a lot of work especially to our sleep deprived eyes and road rumbled bodies, but as the tide filled in it turned into another magical session and Luke settled into the crew with a few fins-out turns of his own. Despite the fact that I felt exhausted even before paddling out, that session turned out to be one of my best. The wave reminded me of a favorite surf spot back home, yet it was longer, more powerful, and significantly less crowded. I felt giddy paddling out to get another wave with sets marching in and only a small group of friends in line to catch them. For the second time in a week, I decided I could easily travel no further and set up a new home right there.

&nbsp After surfing past sunset, we cruised into Gisbourne passing numerous “No Vacancy” signs and nearly emptied a pizza shop of their stock. By the time we had eaten and actually processed the fact that every motel was full, it was clear we would be spending a second night without a shower, all piled into the campervan. Since the weather was warm and the sky full of stars, a few of the crew decided to sleep out in the open. That sounded good to me! Jonny Wardrop, a Body Glove team rider from Christchurch, and I theorized over the best way to set up the outside sleeping area while Craig stashed boards underneath the Land Rover. We set up a tarp over the sand dune and tall grass and then figured that if the Land Rover were moved closer to the campervan, it would help block the wind and the setting would be perfect. Craig jumped into the car to move it, momentarily forgetting about the boards underneath until a painful crunching sound instantly reminded all of us! Fortunately for Levi who had only brought one board on the trip, his wasn’t the one damaged. What could have been a depressing situation turned into a catalyst for laughter under the stars as we thought back to the completely mangled tail and knocked out fins. Craig just shrugged his shoulders and said, “The board wasn’t going very well anyways, I’m glad to be free of it.” Maybe everything does happen for a reason.

&nbsp The next few days elapsed in a blur. We took turns napping under a tree in “Gizzy” between fun paddle-intense surf sessions. The entire crew was overcome with laughter as Levi and Alex, the two youngest members of the group, lost repeatedly at “the Moose” drinking game at an Irish bar,

and then set off on their own to try to find some excitement (girls) on a quiet Monday night in town.

They came back empty handed but not without having written all over each other in permanent ink. In the morning, they awoke much less lively than previous days, telling stories of climbing a huge hill with sleeping bag, pillows, and plans to spend the night until it seemed they might accidentally roll off the hill while sleeping and trudged back down to the hotel. At this point the Alex and Levi comedy show was just beginning. Alex found a long walking stick on the beach and then carried it with him from that point on, asking anyone who would listen where he could find a hobbit. A few days later while driving past a paddock of sheep, they insisted the campervan stop so that they could get out and try to catch one. Alex slowly hopped the electrified fence and began to assess the situation and devise a strategy while Levi immediately took off running down the hill, his body gaining enough momentum to overtake the speed of his legs, and I imagined him suddenly going down into a series of summersaults, but the sheep had already safely escaped to the far end and the boys returned to the camper defeated once again but not discouraged. Boys will be boys.

&nbsp Finally, the moment I had been waiting for since hearing of the planned trip to New Zealand months before arrived. We departed for Raglan. As a goofy-foot with a strong affinity for long left point breaks, everything I’d ever heard about Raglan made me think it would be a contender for my new favorite wave in the world. Needless to say I was very eager to surf it. After driving down a long steep rocky driveway to a house that seemed as if it must have sprouted up from the ground like the trees around it, I walked out onto the balcony that overlooked the top point at Raglan and felt excitement burst through the cloud of my exhaustion and takeover. The next morning I bounced down the smooth grassy path, winding through chest high wildflowers, and out over the big rocks to the water’s edge. The waves weren’t perfect, but it was just our crew in the lineup.

&nbsp That afternoon while the boys cooked up a feast on the barbeque I snuck down to the point and sat out in the water by myself. It had been cloudy all day, but as the sun slowly sunk down to the horizon a few rays popped through the clouds and illuminated the waist high waves that would come through one at a time, only every once in a while. Occasionally I’d look back up to the house amongst the trees and see the boys pointing towards the horizon, telling me a set was on the way. It didn’t matter that the waves weren’t perfect. The setting was as good as anything I could have dreamed. I sat there and took it all in, trying to imprint the feeling of that moment and everything that had led up to it in my memory, the dizzying drives, the short nights, the silly boys, the un-crowded waves, the beautiful backdrops, the new friends. Sometimes I’d hear them whistling, or maybe it was the birds, just as a golden-lipped wave would peel towards me. I rode as many as I could and then walked back up the track and into the trees with a smile, savoring every sensation, trying to ignore the fact that I had just finished my last session at a third place I knew I could easily call home.

&nbsp That night Alex, Craig, and I packed up our stuff and drove off to Auckland. Alex and I had a date on the Morning Show, so we would meet up with everyone one last time, later that afternoon at the airport. Just like that, the trip was over. One thing I’ve learned after years of surf trips, it’s the people not the destination that determine the outcome of a trip. You can be in the most amazing place in the world, but the people around you are what make it worthwhile. I definitely appreciated the company on this trip. We didn’t score Raglan as I had hoped, but if you live by the philosophy that everything does happen for a reason, at least it gives me a very good reason to return.

Thank you Body Glove!!!!

Body Glove Boat Trip to the Mentawais

Macaronis, a break in the Mentawai Islands in Indonesia is my favorite wave in the world. It’s a long left that offers barrels, and plenty of lip to the wave for all kinds of turns. I just wish it didn’t require three days of traveling to get there. I have only had the opportunity to surf it on three different trips and each time I worry it will be the last. Below is a clip filmed by Greg Browning at Body Glove that I edited to show a little bit about what it’s like to take a boat trip out to my favorite wave.
Check it out:

Like the music? Check out http://www.myspace.com/enticetheband

Women surfers take over Pupukea on all manner of surf craft for the 2006 O’Neill Team Challenge

First, I’d like to extend a wholehearted apology on behalf of the entire group of women professional surfers to anyone who was injured, annoyed, or simply bewildered by the reckless dysfunctional wave riding that occurred at Pupukea during the first annual O’Neill Team Challenge.

To any surfers who might have found themselves flustered by the sight of no less than fifteen overly excited girls kicking out to the lineup on cheap grocery store Styrofoam boogie boards, only to takeoff three at a time on the first catch-able wave that presented itself and then flop, bounce, or sideslip awkwardly down the face of the wave, through the explosive shore break and all the way up onto the beach, I must apologize. I also hope that any serious body boarders did not take offence to the careless mockery made of the sport, or the seemingly endless string of drop-knee 360s spun by the multi-talented Kyla Langen. You see it just wasn’t our fault. The only explanation I can offer is that we were collectively possessed by a competitive demon that would lead us to perform dizzying oceanic feats and fiery sand-based battles in a variety of divisions leading up to the awarding of the cherished Golden Paddle and a year’s worth of bragging rights.

As the day progressed, those of you in the water quickly realized that boogie boarding was only the first challenge. While O’Neill team rider, Melanie Bartels holds several amateur national body board titles (in the men’s division no less), it became immediately apparent that displaying skill in executing serious maneuvers was not necessarily the best strategy for producing high scores. Barrel-rolls, spinners, and tube rides would simply be no match for Megan Abubo’s impressive extended backwards ride which she performed with her face in the whitewash, mismatched flippers flapping wildly and bikinied bottom pointed high and mightily towards the judges. The move was completed amazingly with a quick turn back to the standard riding position just in time to contend with the shore pound threatening to plant her firmly on the beach. The scorecards flew skyward, proclaiming the first “perfect ten” of the day.

If the other surfers in the lineup prayed for liberation from the chaos of surfer girls gone wild, the gods seemed to respond with increasing swell and current, not to mention a forcefully intimidating shore break. It was a worthy move considering the next competitive division required each team to swim a large inner tube out into the lineup, place the chosen teammate inside it, and push her into a wave. In this case, points were awarded based on the size of the wave as well as the length of the ride with bonus points awarded for humor. Sounds easy enough, right? I assure you that getting that inner tube out past cascading six foot walls of water was no easy matter. After multiple false starts that resulted in entire teams and their tubes washing up together on the shore, a few discovered that the ideal strategy was to turn the tube upside down, have each teammate grab a handle and simply hold on while the wave gods did their best to rip the tube away. After the set passed it was an all out scramble to swim the tube to the lineup, get in the best position, and then, “bombs away!”

Once again, Megan Abubo flourished, pulling her team far ahead in the point race.

With a good portion of the Pacific Ocean tucked safely away in the sinuses of the best women surfers in the world, it seemed time to give the lineup a break and engage in a friendly game of Dodgeball. Did I say friendly? Not with this group! By this point in the day, the demon had a firm grip on the puppet strings. Every “out” was contested with vigor. The judges were assaulted for every call, and complete denial of the reality of a loss was widespread. Sarah Beardmore and Serena Brooke refused to stand down. The competitive demon is strong in those two, but they certainly aren’t the only ones. At this point we also suffered our first casualty. Kim Wooldridge sacrificed a finger for the good of her team, not a nail by the way, but an actual finger! She was sidelined with reverence.

Time-out was called by the smoking bar-be-que, and six-time World Champion Layne Beachley grilled chicken breasts to perfection.

If Mom had been there, she surely would have insisted we wait at least thirty minutes, but the rafts had been sitting smugly in a pile, taunting us all day. At long last, it was time. Each team grabbed raft and oars with something that almost resembled seriousness and paraded them down to the shoreline. Strategies were discussed and timing considered. Both were crucial.

The disasters that occurred in the shore break that sent rafts, oars, and team members flying would prove to be the most hilarious moments of the entire day.

A mistimed raft launch would first result in a dumping of the team. While the team members collected themselves from the washing machine-like action of the shore break and pulled themselves upright, paddles in hand, the raft would be sucked out by the surge, filled with water by the churning foam and then propelled back towards shore with enough weight and momentum to literally knock the entire team down in one pass. They would then struggle to their feet anew and occasionally be taken back down immediately by the surge pulling the raft out to sea once more. While getting beat around myself in just this manner, I happened to look down the beach and see two other teams occupied in exactly the same way, and at that moment my own teammate standing not more than an arm’s reach away was launched a few feet into the air by our raft connecting with the back of her legs at a faster than expected rate. She let out a yelp of surprise, and I collapsed in the sand in a fit of laughter. There was sand in our hair, in our bikinis, in our teeth, we had cut ourselves on rocks, tweaked shoulders, and bruised ourselves with errant paddles, but every single girl was smiling like a…. well, like a competitive little demon. Treacherous inside section or not, we were determined to make it out to the lineup, and eventually we all did.

At this point, I need to apologize again. Once we finally made it outside to the lineup, we were not about to choose a mediocre wave. After all that effort, we wanted nothing less than the biggest wave that came through. With total disregard for the multitude of surfers waiting patiently for the next set, we paddled our rafts to the top of the peak and positioned ourselves directly between the surfers just outside of where the average sized waves were breaking, so that the first big one that came in would have no choice but to pick us up and rocket us towards shore and our planned victory. In some cases we plowed right through the pack, sending surfers frantically scattering in all directions. I am sure we ruined at least one surfer’s day, and for that I am truly sorry. At that point we had no control at all. We were simply holding on for our lives while losing ourselves to waves of hysterical laughter.

My team placed first in only one division, but I am proud to say that we found our calling in an inflatable raft. While most raft rides were essentially like whitewater rafting over the falls, Lindsey Baldwin, Amee Donohoe, and I paddled our raft into one of the biggest waves I saw break all day. I won’t soon forget the look of the drop we took or the feeling of impending doom that resulted. Somehow, we didn’t nosedive straight down as I expected, but pulled off the drop and began the staccato trip to shore. Somewhere along the way, I was bounced out, but I distinctly remember laughing even while being tossed around underwater. I emerged from the foam to see Lindsey and Amee washing up on shore, still in our raft. The feeling of triumph was immeasurable.

By the time the expression session began and it was finally time to return to the familiar feel of our surfboards, I was so exhausted I could hardly surf. I paddled out just so I could get an up-close look at the antics on display. Young Coco Ho was performing very mature turns while wearing pink fairy wings, a sparkling crown, and waving a star-tipped wand.

Sarah Beardmore paddled out in a dress and a long black wig while South African Roseanne Hodge impressed the beach with her single fin riding. Through an innocent grin, Lisbeth Vindas-Dias from Costa Rica announced to the lineup that she planned to “get my butt naked” and proceeded to take off on the next left, pull her boardshorts down, give herself a “wedgie” with her bikini bottoms and then rip through a series of turns and cutbacks all the way to the inside. Once again, the judges cheered the loudest for all-around performer Megan Abubo, who took off in front of some poor guy (sorry), while wearing a Darth Vader-imitation full black helmet with mask, and did three only slightly awkward front-side turns while twirling a hot pink sparkly baton. She was simply unstoppable!

The final test was the tug-o-war.


Just before sunset, the demon was starting to lose his grip as one by one, team members collapsed in exhausted heaps in the sand. Kim Wooldridge stepped back in to assist her team even with the broken finger, after another teammate had completely passed out from too much fun. Former World Champion Sophia Mulonavich deserves a mention for her impeccable style, un-erasable smile, and determination to contribute all she had even despite her small stature.

Putting an exclamation point at the end of quite possibly the most entertaining day I have ever spent on the North Shore, a quartet of young Hawaiians called Lost At Sea jammed away any traces of demon with groovy cover tunes that paused only to announce that Megan Abubo had indeed led her team to victory.

We awoke the following morning with bruises, cuts, and all-over soreness. The waves were pumping and we were too tired to surf. It had been the best day of training imaginable. We spent all day running in the soft sand, swimming back and forth through the surf, and dancing into the night, all while laughing our heads off. I couldn’t imagine a better day. On behalf of all the girls who participated, I’d like to say sorry one more time to everyone who was in the lineup, and thank you to the good people at O’Neill for facilitating this amazing day. I can’t wait until next year!

— Holly Beck

If I haven’t actually put lipstick to looking glass, the imagery has definitely been playing in my head with the steadily decreasing number of days before I will get to compete at Pipeline. PIPE! A part of me jumps up and down, doing a little jig, excitedly anticipating the chance to actually surf Pipe. Sure, i’ve been out there before. I’ve sat in the capacity exceeded lineup without getting a wave. I even caught a few once, many years ago in the springtime when it was calm and friendly, hence, not really Pipe. I’ve spent many a six hour day glued to the sand during the Pipe Masters absolutely transfixed on the heroics performed just yards away from my safe vantage point. But when people ask, and they ask often, “ever surfed Pipe?” I have to honestly say, “well, not really.” The countdown ends in a change to that response. And there the other part of me, the one that values life and limb, that was on the beach watching the day Tahitian charger, Malik Joxeau died, the one that plays in a loop that other scene from Blue Crush where head plus reef equals bloody water, that part of me robs me of my energy. Pipe? Yikes!! Maybe I should have bought a helmet. Maybe i’ll wait ‘til tomorrow to head out there. Yes, tomorrow…, and i’m starting to run out of lipstick….

A fourteen day waiting period certainly seemed like ample time to score enough good waves to finish a two day event. Last year’s inaugural championship enjoyed great conditions and ran to completion in the first two days. With more prize money, international competitors, and sanctioning body rating points, the 2006 T&C Pipeline Championship presented by Tony Volkswagen seemed guaranteed to acheive it’s aim of showcasing the best women surfers tackling one of the world’s heaviest waves.

Of course Mother Nature can rarely be relied upon. After a month or so of unusually persistent NE wind and swell the beaches of the North Shore were as fat as a glutton on the day after Thanksgiving. It would have taken a bulldozer working around the clock for more than a week, or a few days’ worth of healthy West swell to clear away all the sand that had accumulated on the reefs. Coming down the beach access path to check the surf, Rocky Point hardly seemed rocky at all. The lefts were missing as well, replaced by what looked like a shallow right point break. The peaks at Monster Mush, Pupukea, and Ehukai were operating well above normal expectations, but the beach at Pipe had grown so large that there was a chest deep and almost quarter mile long lagoon in the center. Pipe itself seemed to be hibernating, but the spot formally known as Backdoor was showcasing some fun semi-hollow rights that ended with a dump in the thick grainy sand. It certainly wasn’t nomal for the North Shore, but it was fun! It was all about riding shortboards instead of guns, and actually racing out to catch a set wave instead of racing for the channel. As the waiting period began, the competitors settled into island life, made the best of the small waves, and prayed (some half-heartedly) for a big West swell.

By the second week of waking up and pedaling along the bike path to realize it was still small, it was still going to rain all day, and the contest was again postponed, some competitors started to get a little antsy. It might not have been so bad if the surf and weather looked a little more similar to the postcards in the rack at Foodland. Instead, it rained every day. The few occasional hours of sun were soaked up as much as possible but even then, the incredibly strong sideshore wind was there to pelt you with stinging sand and keep you shivering in the lineup. WQS surfers fresh off a contest trip to Brazil joked about going to Hawaii to lose their tans! Who would have thought? Several competitors decided it wasn’t worth missing extra days of school or work. They gave up and went home to watch the contest, if it ever ran, on the live internet broadcast instead.

Those of us in it for the long haul remained optimistic. One rainy morning I rode my bike down to Pipe to be surprised by a slight increase in energy. Sure it was far from the Pipe of my dreams, or even my nightmares, but there were a few coming through that had a little hook on them. I even saw a wave spit! I ran back with my board and surfed for several hours in the steadily increasing swell. By sunset there were a few legitimate Pipe waves breaking and the local superstar boys (Jon Jon Florence and Jamie O’Brien) were out showing the girls how to ride it. Without any time to practice so far, none of the girls looked to have it figured out. I watched a Brazilian bodyboarder take off late, airdrop into the flats, and have the lip land directly on her back. It exploded on top of her and sent her bodyboard and fins flying off in all directions. She floated down with the current and limped off the beach without trying to catch some redemption. Ouch! We went to bed early that night, sure that the event would begin in the morning. Sometimes the quicker the swells pop up, the sooner they subside. That was unfortunately the case here. By morning those overhead lefts had retreated, replaced by the same small lumpy rights of every morning prior. The contest was cancelled for the day, again.

The third to last day of the waiting period dawned much the same as every other, but with one important difference. The contest director decided she could not wait any longer and swell or no swell, the heats had to begin. It was a dismal grey day resembling many others the WQS surfers had endured over the years. Sure the contests are at great waves, but that’s no guarantee the waves will cooperate in your heat. The mushy, backwashy rights were certainly contestable but far from what competitors had signed up to surf. There was one barrell ridden in the opening round but nothing else about the conditions even slightly resembled the heavy wave we were supposed to be surfing. The second round showcased the talent of Australian Nicola Atherton, who made her mark by catching the biggest wave that broke all day and surfing it solidly with her trademark powerful style. She was rewarded with a perfect 10. Aside from those few instances of excitement, the event became a wave catching contest. If you happened to bag a set wave and could surf half way decently, you would advance. Melanie Bartels, easily one of the favorites, bowed out in the second round after a wave starved heat caused her to become desperate and then receive an interference before getting an oppotunity to display her exceptional talent.
A significant swell was forecasted for the second to last day of the waiting period, but by morning it had yet to arrive. The contest was postponed once again in hopes that the swell would pick up and the final possible day would receive the reward for which it had been waiting. True to the forecast, it did pick up in the late afternoon and everyone was hopeful for the morning.

Maybe you can see this coming, or maybe you are expecting a happy ending in all this, something along the lines of the last day being blessed with sunshine and rainbows, and all the girls trading tubes with some high fives thrown in a’la Slater and Machado. Nope, not this time. The final day of the two week waiting period looked to be promising at first light with residual albeit chunky sets pounding the shoreline. By the time the heats were underway it was pouring rain, onshore, and very backwashy. The longboarders did their best to sneak in a few nose rides. There was even a very impressive 360 landed in the shorebreak. Leah Dawson from Florida snuck a few long ones and earned herself a win. The shortboarder final actually seemed to enjoy the best conditions of the whole event. There weren’t any tubes on offer, but a few nice slightly overhead rights popped up, willing to be ripped apart. Following up on what she started with that ten point ride in the earlier rounds, Nicola Atherton took command of the heat early on and never let go. The young much touted Hawaiian, Carissa Moore showed the mature turns that will certainly make her a future world title threat, but couldn’t link enough of them together to upset Nicola and had to settle for second. Paige Alms from Maui snagged one of the better waves of the heat in the final minutes and executed a series of maneuvers, but without a big backup score she was relegated to third. South African Tammy Lee Smith was representing the entire event, but couldn’t bag a wave in the final to save her life and ended up sulking off the beach in fourth. The bodyboarders charged out last and battled it out for a little over ten minutes until a shark fin was spotted in the lineup. They were called in immediately and there wasn’t enough daylight to wait out the lifeguard mandated two hour break following a shark sighting and had to split the prizemoney equally.

Walking back slowly, soaking wet in the pouring rain, the emotion that came to mind first was mirth followed quickly by something near hysteria. It was all a bit too silly to take and yet oh so familiarly typical. We had prepared ourselves to surf Pipe. We did our laps in the soft sand, brought our big boards, watched every surf DVD’s Hawaiian section, imagined the massive tubes and dreaded the inevitable wipeouts. Then, on the very last day of the waiting period we did what we seem to do all over the world in contests, we fought with eachother for 2-3ft onshore waves. Of course, it isn’t every contest that we get chased in by sharks. All of that together made it just too funny. Then again, realizing that my answer to the “ever surfed Pipe” question hasn’t really changed, maybe I shouldn’t be laughing. There’s always next year. I guess I better buy some more lipstick, and maybe a helmet, just in case.