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For me, the vision
of the Indies Trader and the Crossing
has always been through videos and
magazine photos of perfect surf peeling
along idyllic island breaks. My first
sight of the Indies Trader in real life
was entirely different. It was anchored
in the Thames River next to the Tower
Bridge and the Tower of London. No
waves, no palm trees, no sparkling sand,
just grey sky and flat, brown water. I
was about to embark on a month-long
journey of the great European ports and
cities of France, Belgium, Holland and
the Channel Islands, as the Indies
Trader continued its journey from Italy
to France. We spent three days in London
with the boat anchored at St James dock.
On board were Gary Elkerton, Jeff Hakman
and his son Ryan and the crew.
The three days were a blur of hanging
out on the boat, signing autographs,
conducting tours and watching the circus
that is Quiksilver on tour. The most
amusing time was when Quiksilver decided
a photo of the Trader in the centre of
the river, effectively blocking all
other shipping in both directions. It
was the equivalent of turning a truck
sideways on a busy freeway. Shipping in
both directions had to stop, and all
were blaring their horns for him to
move. The Harbor Master appeared in the
Pilot boat and was bellowing over his
loudspeaker, "Identify yourself. We
are just taking photos for the
Quiksilver Crossing." This didn't
compute with the Harbor Master at all,
and he kept yelling, "What is your
destination?" By the time the photo
was taken, the Harbor Master was going
ballistic, and I'm sure if the pilot
boat had been equipped with torpedoes he
would of sunk us then and there. The
Harbor Master shadowed us all the way
back to the dock, saying he didn't give
a f*#k how many photos Quiksilver
wanted, he just wanted the boat out of
his river. |
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My first 'ride' on the boat was along
the Thames headed for the ocean, and
Knoke-Heist in Belgium. We were
continually overtaken by super tankers
as we traveled up the Channel. It's
amazing how large a super tanker looks
when it's coming up behind you and you
are in a small boat. After anchoring in
a harbor in a fairly industrialized area
in Belgium, the promo was happening
about an hour down the coast at the
beach club on their main surfing beach.
To find the location, we were meant to
spot the Quiksilver flags on the beach,
which was a long stretch of grey sand.
No surf, no palm trees, no sparkling
sand. The promo consisted of a full day
of transporting people, 10 at a time,
out to the boat in a rubber ducky and
then a party at the beach club in the
evening. The surf was tiny. Six inches
to a foot with guys and girls attempting
to catch waves on long boards.
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We left Knoke-Heist that evening for our
next destination: Amsterdam. The cross
to Amsterdam through the North Sea was
truly radical. A combination of swell
and tides tossed the boat in all
directions. I had fallen asleep earlier
in the evening, but the motion of the
boat had sent three of Jeff Hakman's
books spinning off the shelf near the
bunk and straight at my head. Once
awake, the roughness of the voyage
ensured I wasn't going to get back to
sleep. At one point, I decided to open
the door to the cabin to try to see what
was going on. Just as I did, a wave came
streaming in, and I caught the glare of
lights as a super tanker went screaming
past too close for comfort. The amazing
thing was that there were lights from
boats everywhere, and yet no collisions. |
I was up at daybreak and into the
wheelhouse. Jock, the captain, looked
very bleary-eyed, and remarked that is
had been one of the most difficult
nights he'd ever had at sea, with the
combination of the weather, tides, and
dodging the sheer volume of other
shipping in the lanes. His comment was
that they needed traffic lights in the
North Sea.
We arrived in the first loch of
Amsterdam Harbor in the early hours of
the morning. It would take most of the
day for the boat to negotiate all of the
lochs and tie up in Amsterdam Harbor.
Elko, our self-appointed tour leader,
didn't want to know about this, and
grabbed me saying, "Let's go, we're
heading for town", which was
supposedly 20kms away. Problem was, we
didn't know how to get there and had no
means of transport and, I was to
discover later, no idea of where we were
meant to link up with the boat and Jeff
Hakman, who had flown into the city.
Next stop on the Crossing was Plymouth,
a three - to four-day trip depending on
weather. I cheated and flew from
Amsterdam to Newquay and spent four days
with great weather. I also lucked into
the only swell of the entire summer,
surfing 4-5ft waves with Spencer
Hargreaves and John Copely. I linked up
with The Crossing again in Plymouth. The
promos in Plymouth were a huge success.
Lots of visitors to the boat, and I
think Elko and I signed autographs for
five hours one day. The faster we signed
the longer the line got. |
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Plymouth was really beautiful. Old,
winding streets, full of original
buildings. It was the place where the
First Fleet set sail, and after my
limited time at sea, and on a modern
boat, it really made me think of how it
would have been for the convicts who set
sail for Australia from there 200 years
before. Next stop was Guernsey. We
sailed out of Plymouth late in the
afternoon and anchored at the edge of
the peninsula for the evening. There was
a beautiful little town at the end of
the bay, and just on sunset a small boat
rowed out to the Indies. On board were
six small kids, aged 10 to 14, who had
heard the boat was in Plymouth, saw it
sail out of the Harbor and couldn't
believe their luck when we anchored in
their bay. Their friends on the beach
had told them they would have no hope of
coming on board, so they were incredibly
stoked when we welcomed them on board
for a guided tour, then sent them home
with autographed posters and T-shirts.
The cross from Plymouth to Guernsey was
uneventful. The promos and boat visits
were very popular. The only bummer was
due to some security deal in the harbor
we had to anchor in the bay, and all the
visitors had to be ferried back and
forth in a rubber ducky. There were some
interesting moments getting people on
and off the boat with it rising in the
swell.
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Leaving the Guernsey Harbor for Jersey
was the most scenically beautiful moment
of the trip. I even forgot about my
longing for palm trees and sparkling
sand. The morning was clear and sunny,
with a stunning view of bays and
mountains on the island, and off to
France in the distance. We spent a few
hours between islands sprawled out on
the deck on the bow of the boat soaking
up the sun and taking in the view. This
was more like it was meant to be. Still
no waves, though. |
Finally, in Jersey, we found surf,
almost three weeks after leaving London.
Ryan Hakman and I got some great 3-ft
beach break waves with offshore winds.
All the locals turned out to surf the
best swell of the summer. After the
promos, I flew to France and spent a
week surfing in the Biarritz-Hossegor
area before linking up with the boat
again in La Rochelle. Even though I
didn't see much surf, it's a journey and
an experience I'll never forget. I'd
never been to any of the cities or the
places I visited before. It was unique
instead of the usual arrival via the
airport. I visited areas that don't get
the quality and quantity of surf that
I'm used to, but the levels of stoke
amongst the locals was amazing. The one
lasting memory of the trip is the
reaction to the concept of The Crossing
and the Indies Trader being in their
country, their city, their town and
their ocean. The boat brought with it a
touch of the 'magic' and excitement of
surfing to the locals and allowed them
just for a moment, to live the dream of
being on the Indies Trader. Forget the
palm trees and perfect waves. These guys
didn't need them.
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