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Published: March 20th 2006
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The City Tram
$12.50? - "Let's not and say we did" Who Am I Kidding - I Can’t Surf
Matt and Nick were keen to learn to surf so I’d promised to take them both out when the swell was good. The forecast predicted a new swell arriving on Tuesday arvo, so we headed to the surf shop, rented a couple a long boards and headed out to “Taylors’ Mistake”. Odd name for a beach I thought.
After giving them the safety briefing -
- Rule 1: When you’re walking out always keep your board beach side of you,
- Rule 2: when you fall off, cover your head, grab your nuts and pray for a miracle, and
- Rule 3: No bleeding in the water, the great whites love it!!
I explained the importance of looking for rips before you paddle-in, and then we all headed in together. The swell was pretty solid - easily overhead out back, but it was so onshore that it was clearly not worth them trying to paddle-out, so we stayed in the beach break and I tried to help them catch the odd white water wave. With the occasional success and a frequent pummelling I got bored of tending to my students and paddled across
to the rocks where I found a nice little rip, which was like a conveyer belt out back. Unfortunately, this conveyer belt stopped just about where the waves were breaking. At that point, the waves had a tendency to dump on your head and without warning, thrust you towards the rocks that you had apparently just evaded. Of course I’m an experienced surfer so wasn’t worried about this, well at least I wasn’t worried right up until the point I landed on the rocks. As Blackadder would say “I think the phrase rhymes with ‘Clucking Bell’.” I can’t believe I’d done it again. Me, the teacher, the big wave rider with no fear had taken on the battleship and once again realised I was only a rowboat. But more importantly I was the rowboat in charge of the fleet.
As I got swept further into a whirlpool of whitewater and rocks with every wave that came by, I finally I managed to clamber on the rocks being careful not to ding my board and a little less careful not to scratch myself up. I just managed to get to safety before a big set of waves came through. It
was at this point I realised that I’d climbed up a cliff and couldn’t get down again (at least not without jumping into the swirling rock pool that was taking a battering from the waves). I casually signalled for Matt & Nick to come across. They eventually caught my eye and proceeded to ignore me. After more frantic waving, Nick (I think more out of curiosity than anything else) headed my way. I think he said, “What the duck are you booing you clucking stick?” I ignored him, passed him my board and then descended the cliff, leaving a trail of blood behind me. I looked at my feet. They were both bleeding quite nicely as I remembered Rule number 3.
Let’s call it a day there fellas I exclaimed (more like wept). They both insisted that their 2 hours of board hire was not up yet, so they paddled back out. I joined them gleefully. Like the glee a sheep feels before the slaughter. The wind had just happened to die down at that point so I managed to make the paddle out back where the wave faces were about 7-8 foot. I’d been out in surf like
Our Father
one for the old man... This was taken inside Christchurch Cathedral this plenty of times before and there a few other surfers out there so I wasn’t worried. Although when I finally came to take off on a wave for some reason I shat myself. Here we go, I thought and bailed (as usual too late) and once again encountered the wrath of the south pacific. I’ve had much worse pin downs, but I just wasn’t in the mood for this one. Still, I surfaced without too much trouble, hopped on my board and paddled to shore once again having been defeated by the ocean as well as my own gutless self.
The lads had taken all the poundings they could bear so we retired to the safety of the beach to lick our wounds and compare stories. I could feel the envy in their hearts as they raved about my heroics out back and over the rocks.
Mr Hitchhiker
Doing our bit for nomadic travellers we picked up a hitchhiker on the way from Christchurch to Oamaru. He looked reasonably respectable I thought, until I noticed he was wearing a pair of "Daisy Dukes" - unfortunately he didn't look quite as cute as Jessica Simpson, but he
Christchurch Art Gallery
The myserious floating shed... seemed harmless enough. He sat down, made himself at home, then thrust his dog (which neither of us had realised he was travelling with) into the front seat. Fortunately Matt was quite at home with a dog on his lap, so we drove off feeling like we were doing our bit for world travellers.
Mr Hitchhiker's first question, delivered straight from John Wayne's mouth was "So, do you guys smoke weed?" Clearly there was only one passenger on this ride who takes part in such pleasures, and he seemed to have been partaking rather a lot judging by the delay between the front seat and the back seat. Unfortunately our answer to his question didn't seem to inspire him, as he withdrew into himself for the next few minutes. Ah well. It can only add to the adventure I thought. Minutes later it became clear that conversation with our new friend would best be kept to a minimum. If you've ever spoken to someone on a satellite phone, which neither Matt or I have, but we were pretty sure it would be a lot more successful than trying to communicate with Mr Hitchhiker. Still he was harmless enough and
Hitchhiker
One man and his dog on route to Cromwell. he soon had to hop out as we could no longer take him towards his destination (weed heaven I think!).
More Roadtrip Games
Our journey was completed as we linked Samuel L Jackson to Whoopi Goldberg, and Matt entertained me with his attempts to talk for a minute about "sheep humour". I think he lasted about 8 seconds before he came out of the closet.
Until next time.
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OUR FATHER
Might just try the Christchurch Cathedral version on Sunday. if you don't hear from me for a while try Ward 23 at Leighton.