The Big Issue - July 1998
Lifestyle Flashpoint – A Meeting with the board
Long blonde hair flying in the wind, gleaming white teeth sparkling from behind a permanent tan, and the latest fashions from Quiksilver and Rip Curl. Yep, those surfer types appear to be just a little bit too cool. Combine this with living close to the sea and spending the majority of their time at the beach and they seem to have an idyllic lifestyle. So, feeling bored of the city, I decided to check out what all the fuss is about and where the attraction really is.
As I’ve never actually held a surf board before, I decided that the 20ft swell of Bondi beach would be a little bit ambitious for a complete novice, so I opted for the slightly easier breakers that can be almost guaranteed at Croyde Bay in North Devon. The fact that my bank account is as empty as David Beckham’s social diary may also have had a small bearing on my choice of destination.
During the journey across Exmoor I started a crash course in surfer speak. This basically involved reciting every clichéd line from films such as Point Break and Blue Juice. By the end of the drive I was fluent in phases such as “Surf’s up bro’, and let’s go catch some waves" giving me a feeling of confidence at least when talking to people.
When I arrived at the Surf South West School however, I realised that once again Hollywood had contrived to deceive, as my instructor, Darren, introduced himself. He spoke in normal English and was definitely not the stereotypical ‘dude’ that I had envisaged. To be honest, I think that his hair was even, dare I say it, receding a bit.
After the introductions it was time to get kitted up, so we headed into the board shed where the wetsuits and surfboards are handed out. After much pushing, pulling and swearing, I’d overcome the first challenge. When I’d finally got into the rubber suit – which to my disgust, made my tummy look more like a relief map of the Himalayas than a six pack – I was starting to look a bit like a surfer.
Walking across the crowded beach with a surfboard under one arm created a quite strange mixture of emotions for me. I felt part of a special club when strangers with their own boards said “hi", but at the same time I also felt a complete fraud who was about to show himself up for what he really way: an incompetent novice with the balance of a three year old. I consoled myself with the thought that even if I did look like a complete idiot, I would be at least providing some entertainment for those watching from the beach.
My instructor, who has been teaching people like me for years, began the lesson with the theoretical stuff. Getting to know about the board, where and how you should be standing, and most importantly the principles of how to achieve the standing position that shows the world whether or not you can surf.
All this seemed easy enough to grasp, so it was time to put what I had learned into practice. In my mind I went through the stages one at a time: lie down on the board, sport the oncoming wave, paddle with the arms, jump in one fluid movement to standing and yahoo you’ve done it. The first time was a little shaky, but after several attempts I was starting to get the hand of it, and feeling pretty damn smugg too. At this point Darren brought my ego back down to size by suggesting that it was now time to progress from the beach and actually get into the water to try it there.
Trying it in waist-deep water where the waves are breaking all around you is a different prospect altogether. For one thing the bloody board keeping moving around which I thought was a little unfair on the novice. I had enough problems just staying on it while lying down, so how the hell was I supposed to stand on it? Gradually I started getting the feel of the wave impact on the board and felt more comfortable with the way it moved beneath me. As my confidence grew I began leaping to my feet a bit more easily. However, as my technique was pretty poor, my feet inevitably landed on the board in the wrong position, which resulted in me either diving headlong over the front, or falling backwards into the foaming sea.
The adrenaline was now pumping, and my frustration grew with each time I fell in, with about the same grace as Bernard Manning on rollerblades. Undeterred I continued the paddle off, jump up, fall in routine until bingo – I hit the board right, gently eased myself upright and I did it. I stood on the surfboard and let the momentum of the wave carry me towards the beach. I’m not sure who was the most surprised – me, the instructor or my photographer Brian who up until then had spent most of the afternoon in hysterics. I couldn’t believe it, I did it.
The feeling of satisfaction was tremendous, and the urge to do it again was overwhelming. Before I had a chance to think clearly, I found myself paddling back out to sea for another try. Unfortunately I discovered the first success was more by luck than judgement and I found myself taking another plunge and several more mouthfuls of the Atlantic. I didn’t really care about this anymore, as all I could think about was experiencing the adrenaline rush that came from simply standing on a piece of fibreglass on top of a wave.
It took several more attempts before I managed it again, but boy was it worth it. The second time I reached standing was probably more satisfying than the first as I started to feel that it wasn’t just beginners luck and that I was actually getting the hang of it. I eventually managed to stand twice more before fatigue got the better of me and I was forced to call it a day.
Walking back across the beach with my board firmly in place under my arm I had the same feeling of belonging to that special club again. Only this time I felt a little more justified. It’s going to take a long time and a lot of practice if I’m ever to become a true member of the surfing community, but if it always feels this satisfying then I’m willing to give it a go, dude.
