|
A bunch of lucky
grommets learned that the destination is
not always the ultimate purpose of
travel. Here's John McGroder's account
of the latest step in the surfing and
science experiment that is the
Quiksilver Crossing.
The grommets realised how lucky they
were on the second-last morning. We had
made an overnight steam to Fatland in
the Indian Ocean and were anchored some
distance from the break. The captain
finally stumbled out of his few precious
hours of slumber to the sound of Grubby.
Zaz and Tripper speeding off in the
tinny. "They want barrels,"
yelled Grubby, the cook. "It's not
good enough for them!" He cackled
and they were gone.
The captain cast a weary eye to the
point. The sky was blue, the ocean
bluer. Perfect waves peaked and ran
right down the point. They did not
christen it Fatland for nothing, but
even from this distance, on this
particular morning, the odd one would
blow its guts out.
By late lunch everyone on the boat was
surfed out, sunburnt, sore and stoked.
They were some of the cleanest
conditions of all time and Zaz the
photographer, was a gibbering mess
dripping superlatives like "the
light", "the colour",
"no more film". It was the
12th wave they had surfed in as many
days from the Indies Trader on its 27th
Crossing campaign. The crew was a mixed
bag of hopefuls, diehards and mischief.
Dave Mellon, the youngest and cheekiest
and the brunt of everyone's jokes,
hailed from the Sunshine Coast. The kid
ripped. A goofyfooter with go. Small of
stature, big of heart. When he decides
to get off the small boards and stop
doing 12 bottom burns before he
annihilates the lip, his surfing will
become a lot more powerful and he'll be
a force to be reckoned with.
Jarrod Morell, the big NSW Mid North
Coaster/Novocastrian has the power and
style of a Matt Hoy and the commitment
to go a long way. Once he stops wearing
Ricky Martin shirts and playing Craig
David, he'll go far. Jarrod scored the
tube of the trip on this day.
Adam Robertson, the Vico with on-edge
surfing, was nurtured in the powerful
waves of down south. Anthony Walsh, the
North Coast backside brigadier, was
definitely unafraid. He had many right
barrels under the belt by the end of the
trip. Chelsea Georgeson from Avalon
absolutely charges. With her natural
talent you'll be hearing her name for
years to come.
Simon 'Tripper' Macgregor was along to
look after the team and, despite having
scored more waves than all the grommets
put together, he still got more surfs in
than anyone. Then there was also the
Reef Check marine biologist. Marie
Kospartov, who was studying what's left
of the reefs in this area.
Belinda Blakey had spent the past year
organising the Crossing from Quiksilver
International headquaters in Sydney. Now
she is experience it for real and never
wanted to get off the boat.
To write about a piece and not really
reveal all is a very hard thing to do.
The feeling of surfing waves that have
probably never been surfed is akin to
skiing virgin powder or trekking a
desolate area. A sort of 'had to be
there' feeling.
The Crossing has had that effect on this
captain. He is a man torn between
exposure and discovery. A big part of
his career has been in Indonesia. Should
he take these grommets to the worn wakes
of previously ridden waves or seek out
new playing fields?
In the end it became a voyage of
discovery. They were not looking into
their souls as the sun set over a purple
sea and dolphins frolicked under the
bulbous low of the Indies Trader. They
were not mystified by the spectacle of
the star-splattered sky engulfing the
planet. All that comes naturally when
one journeys on the sea. This trip was
about surfing waves and understanding
the reefs they shaped. Later, everyone
would gaze at a drop-jaw orange and pink
sky glowing off their sunburnt faces and
realise just how special their
experiences had been.
For two days at a place christened
Grubbies, after the cook jumped over the
side mid-stream and paddle off like the
raving lunatic he is, we saw a couple of
the best waves any of us have ever seen.
There were speed runs, barrel sections
and on the bigger sets another section.
It would take 20 minutes to paddle back
out. There is no point describing the
wave in too much detail, but what's good
to know is there are still stepups in
this part of the world that are rarely
ridden. Still, the grommets all wanted
tubes. They wanted the Indo perfection
depicted in the magazines and movies.
They wanted the tried and trusted tracks
of the Office or Macaronis.
"Hey fellas, we are on the
Crossing. We are exploring." After
a few days it finally sank in that life
was pretty sweet aboard the IT. They
were getting three square meals a day
and surfing, in most instances, waves
that a rare few had sampled. Every night
we would sit around the back deck and
argue over what to call the place we had
just surfed... Fatlands, Grubbies,
Chelseas, Death, Picnics, Coconuts,
G-Spot, Ferals...
We can't claim that every wave we surfed
was a new spot. But we can claim 14
different breaks in 14 days. One day we
checked out a little right point
protected from the wind - about 3 foot
and clean and good enough for a paddle.
Everyone on the boat went surfing on all
manner of craft. Marie paddled out on a
longobard and caught a couple, even
reefchecked herself on the inside.
Belinda rode tandem with the captain.
Walshy and Robbo harassed everyone on
boogie boards. No photos were taken. It
was just good clean fun with everyone
climbing back aboard thoroughly drenched
with stoke.
Fatlands was an interesting setup. Some
days it would be the biggest burger of a
wave and every now and then it would
manifest as a worthy wave. Both Walshy
and Jarrod scored two splendid tubes at
this spot. All the crew charged that
day. The sun was shining, the ocean
blue. Melon took the heat with a couple
of ballsy take-offs that had Zaz in a
spin from the tinboat. There were calls
to rename the spot Funworld after the
blue day.
Just when we thought it was all over, we
found another fun little left which we
named G-Spot. Maybe it was from the
conversation the night before between
Melon and the girls, in which Melon gave
his theories on pleasuring the opposite
sex only to be nailed by the chicks on
how off the mark he was. It was our last
day and we were all pretty well surfed
out. No one cared any more.
Marie was aboard to study the reefs of
Indonesia. She was really keen to do her
job but found it frustrating as we were
always surfing. So she went reef
checking in the surf zone by herself.
Her overall analysis showed that the
reefs of Indonesia are pretty well
stuffed, but she was not sure why.
Later, she talked to Gregor Hodgson of
Reef Check, who sent us an e-mail with
an explanation. "It turns out that
most of the reefs were hit by a double
whammy in 1997 and 1998. The initial
problem was the forest fires in 1997,
which caused reduced light, reduced
seawater temperature and eventually,
enhanced nutrient enrichment when the
rains started. Most likely, this latter
factor helped create conditions suitable
for a massive two-month-long algal bloom
and red tide. By the time the algal
bloom had subsided, most the reefs had
been killed." (Algal blooms smother
corals, killing them). Following that,
there was a massive coral bleaching
event in 1998, which killed lots of
corals all over the world.
Marie also became a bit frustrated with
Grubby's efforts to spear fish every
time she went to do a reef check. She
was supposed to be counting species, but
the cook kept chasing them away with his
speargun in his quest to feed the boat.
Chelsea was the standout of the trip.
Good-natured and a very good surfer.
When the waves got overhead, Chelsea was
there taking off. When it got hollow,
Chelsea was there pulling in. When there
was a lip to hit, she was belting it.
Her turns had style. We named a break
after her, a shallow right reef setup,
after she pulled into a couple that were
literally close-outs. Ended up with a
nice reef check on the lower back -
chunky white flesh hanging off. Her only
complaint was that she could not get
back in the water that day.
One thing about the young pros was that
sometimes they let the camera dictate
their surfing and that became somewhat
annoying. They all ripped. And when they
let it flow, more often than not, the
shots would always prove better. Still,
that's such a minor gripe in what was
one of the better trips for the
Quiksilver Crossing, which continues to
break new ground in its quest for
perfect waves and understanding of the
reefs below them.
|