======== Newsgroups: alt.surfing Subject: D.J.Files...bits of a surfing life #36 'Clint' - djlhsday.51 [1/1] From: dp025@seqeb.gov.au (Bear) Date: 2 Nov 1996 21:18:31 GMT Disclaimer : Quite factual, this one.... :-) The D.J.Files #51 Wait time. The usual crew were at LHS. A couple of kombis, 4-5 cars, maybe a dozen surfers all told. It was late afternoon. Low tide. Small lines were showing out there, and the regulars knew this could mean 2-4' faces on the push. Then a Ford van came down the little valley road. With boards on. The Transit van pulled up and its contents spilled out. Six surfers were inside. A couple of 'them' recognised a couple of 'us' and a few nods and Hi's were exchanged. If these guys see the point working, they'll tell everyone at R&R and it'll be crowd city next time it works...was the silent thought passing in glances between Andy, Malt and the others. "I thought this place was 'spoze to be good!", commented one visitor. The locals sorta grunted non-commitally. Another visitor said, "Peeling rights just after low tide", as tho reading it from a brochure in a sarcastic way. The locals looked embarassed...or tried to. They were doing their best to 'whistle dixie', look bored, hands-in-pockets, hang-dog etc., to confirm every put-down of their break these guys gave out. A third visitor, the driver, was insisting it _was_ good in the right conditions. But his mates were not convinced. One noted that the tide was supposed to have turned 10, maybe 15 minutes ago, and if they didn't get their arses into gear, they were going to miss waves at R&R. A four-five wave, knee-high set rolled along the boulders. Malt sorta nudged Andy and rolled his eyes in their direction. Andy rolled his eyes left, up, back at Malt. A few of the other guys were holding their breath, then letting it out thru pursed lips. It was time to be turning wetsuits the right way out; waxing boards. But no-one dared move a millimetre in the direction of their gear. Suddenly the vanload of visitors piled back into the Ford and a reluctant-looking driver kicked it into life. As soon as it moved off, a youngster reached for a board. Bear grunted "Grrrr.." and the kid's arm sorta withered back to his side. Everyone watched the van recede up the road. They were probably not even thru the village when the first 2-3' faces started peeling off. By then there'd been a mad scramble to suit up and haul fiberglass out of cars. A little procession rock-hopped down to the jump-off spot, by which time some of the faces were 4'+. It was glassy. The rides were 70-80 yards. Andy got the first wave, Malt the second. Then the kid. There were only two left sitting in the line-up by the time Andy started his paddle back. A short time and 20km later, a Ford van pulled up at R&R. There were already 20-30 surfers out on the slightly sloppy 3-5' beachbreak. The on- shore wasn't too bad. Some "quite nice" 20yard+ rides on the good ones. The concensus in the van was:- "We knew it! That place is crap...and we nearly missed this!", but the driver still had a nagging doubt. But the belief held for some years. At least until Malt, Bear and one or two others had moved across the planet. The unbelievers could have asked D.J.., but then he never told anyone when _he_ used to surf there (see DJF #5) and by then he was living in the South-West of England. *** --*- Boundary FhypIN3xBe5kvrZF/hrAŞ -- ======== Newsgroups: alt.surfing Subject: D.J.Files...a surfing life. #26 'Jaws' - djjaws.26 [1/1] From: dp025@seqeb.gov.au (Bear) Date: 2 Nov 1996 21:23:41 GMT --*- Boundary _S23,7lF-kLP:(.BhNa. Content-Type: Text/Plain; charset=US-ASCII -- Bear Email: dp025@seqeb.gov.au --*- Boundary _S23,7lF-kLP:(.BhNa.* Content-Type: Text/Plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Disclaimer : the 'Files are fiction, altho they do say "write about what you know"... The D.J.Files #26 Jaws John McKenzie was on an extended working holiday. Originally from New Zealand, he had qualified as a dentist and had been working on England's south coast and travelling over to see Europe, when he had time off. He was also a surfer. He reckoned all the housewives on the south coast were on vallium ,plus he needed to be somewhere with a better chance of a wave, so he drove around to Wales for a look...and found a practice looking for a bloke just like him. So he stayed awhile. D.J. spotted a new face out in the water. When he happened to end a ride right where John was paddling out, he said hello. So John ended up with a few new mates. ... "The Sands" was a typical 70s British disco/club catering to holiday visitors and locals alike. D.J., Thong, Brother George and other 'crew' members from 'the Fisho' (see #20: Smoked Fish) have piled in an assortment of vehicles and gone there. John is with them. 'Rave and his lady are also there in their little panelvan. Everyone is going to sleep in the vehicles in the parking lot opposite, so they can get stuck into the grog. John found the British pubs/clubs very convivial. Well you would, after Kiwi beerhalls eh? But he reckoned the beer was weak. Funny tho, it didn't seem to stop him from staggering about and/or falling over. He was well on the way to doing one or the other, when 'Rave and his lady approach the bar for a chat with him. But they say when you've had 'a few' the real you comes out....well the real him was still a dentist...the whole subject fascinated him intensely! In the middle of expounding up on the wonders of this science to 'Rave (who seemed to have met his match in the words-per- minute category) he grabs some poor unsuspecting guy, who's just up to order a trayful. He has him bent over the bar and has pulled his jaw open to illus- trate some point to Dave. Rave manages to prevent an affray. The other guys are wandering over too, as it happens. THe guy carries away his tray of drinks and everyone settles at the bar for awhile. It's a nice bar too, mahogany for the front timbers and a lovely brass footrest. John is beginning to list, like a ship in a force 5. But he's still trying to get the guys to open their mouths, or grab a stray passer-by. Finally an attempt to waylay someone causes him to fall over completely...and pass out. Right down between the brass rest and the bar. The barman asks politely if they'll remove their friend...easier said than done with a 6'4" paralytic Kiwi. Most people wouldn't even _fit_ in the narrow gap between a footrest and a bar. He was wedged. It took all the gang about 10 minutes to get him unwedged and drag him outside. If I recall correctly, I think he came around in time to join Thong, D.J. and Rave in a 'good chunder' over the beachside railings, before everyone crashed in the cars. ... Boomph!....boomph! the Germans were here again and it was all go over the tank range. Like many such military installations this tank range was adjacent to a rather good beach. The shooting only occurred on week days, so anyone weekending down that way would surf it on the Friday evening, if there was enough daylight (up to 10 or later in June/ July), plus Saturday/Sunday. McKenzie stood at the 6 foot fence, hands on hips reading the sign: DANGER!! KEEP OUT!! Unexploded Shells No Entry to Unauthorised Personnel ...while D.J., Sammy, and several others were pulling their various-colored neoprene on. And pulling out the boards. "I dunno..." he said as they waxed up. And the first couple of guys climbed over. The shooting stopped. Boards were passed over the fence. The rest of the guys were clambering over. A lark sang. Butterflies..er..fluttered by. All was quiet. No more shells. "Um..." they were already 50/60 yards away along the perimeter fence that ran on up the headland "..you guys" They hesitated. Well?, said their look. "Where do I hide the keys?" ... Slithering down the sand dune, he could see the others out. That D.J. bloke surfs O.K., he thought...for a bloody Pom! He tramped over a couple of hundred yards of sand, expecting at any second to be blown sky-high. But it didn't happen. He got to the the water's edge. He was pleasantly surprised how clear and clean the water was here. Almost like New Zealand! The head-high surf wasn't too bad either. It was just off low tide, they'd told him. It seemed to be breaking over some fixed bottom contour here: a rocky oyster-bed, they said. Anyway, not bad. Here we go.... He picked off a nice mid-set wave. Pulled a floater (they were called roller-coasters in those days), made it back onto the wall, ducked thru a section. Not bad at all, he thought. He agreed with the others about the conditions, altho it sounded like "Sux fit and glessy' to their ears. There's a reef break further out here and when the tide moves in the beach break peaks can have good shape too. Also, for some unknown reason, it doesn't get very crowded :-) A very nice warden in a 4WD asks you politely to leave, once he's spotted you out there and waited for you to come out. ... When they walked into the pub, McKenzie was flat on his back, shirtless. Aw shit,not again! They were about to pick him up, when his eyes rolled back their way and he grinned. Someone turned from the bar and placed a pint of beer behind his head. There was a pile of money on a table, held down by an empty pint glass. What's going on? McKenzie lifted his legs. He bent his knees and brought them right up past his head. He then proceeded to pick up the full pint of beer, with these self-same knees and bring it above his face. He took a deep breath, jerked, and poured about half the glass down his throat. A big cheer erupted in the bar. He repeated the action, draining the glass, stood up, took a bow, wiped his face and put his shirt back on. Then pocketed the money. The dock and refinery workers were quite happy to lose a buck or so each, just for the cabaret value of the Kiwi's little party piece. He became quite famous for it. "I bet I can drink a pint without using my hands" he'd say, walking up to a bar...and those in the know would say nothing, while others slapped down their bets. I wonder where he is now..... *** -- Bear