27: Wairarapa Surf Trip: The Meek Shall Inherit Stupidity

28 June 2007

For Video of this trip, click here

Early Bird Gets the Worm....Only When There's Surf Involved
Bobby and I planned a stealth sunrise surf trip to the Wairarapa in order to target the remnants of a recent six meter swell. For some reason, I find it particularly difficult to pry my bones out of bed early in the morning when I have to work, yet getting out of bed for a surf trip is effortless. I set my alarm for 5am, but found myself awake at 4am like a restless child on Christmas morning. I wrestled to sleep for the remaining hour, yet only managed to toss and turn.

Thin-blooded Wuss
I made the trek up to Bob’s place in Titahi Bay, had a quick cup of morning tea, after which we hit the road en route to the Wairarapa. Through the Rimutaka pass, I saw something I haven’t seen in ages. Glancing out at the cars parked along the side of the road, I noticed what I thought was ash. Upon closer inspection, I realized the cars were actually glazed in frost! Bear in mind, my blood’s quite thin after living in southern California for so many years!

Rimutaka Sunrise
The morning sky turned to a blood red sunrise as we rolled down the other side of the Rimutaka. Our “convoy” of slow-moving cars putted carefully down the serpentine road, artfully handling the curves lest we slide off the frosted pavement and down into a 100-meter ravine or, if we’re lucky, into an oncoming truck.

Western Lakes
We turned off at the edge of Featherston and towards the Western Lakes region. We passed through approximately 40 kilometers of verdant sheep-speckled farmland set against a backdrop of snow-covered peaks in the distance. The winding corkscrew road around Wharekauhau offered up the first view of the ocean. Swell lines and pounding shore break gave us a sneak preview of waves to come, and reassured us that the right-hand point break we were about to surf would have waves.

Looks Can Be Deceptive
We pulled up to the break a short time later and, initially, were completely devastated at the overt lack of surf! What kind of cruel joke was the universe playing on us? But within a few minutes, a two-wave set came roaring through, confirming that our hunch paid off. The worst part was having to get out of a heated car, strip off our clothes in 6 degree (42 F) weather, and into a cold wetsuit!



Good Vibes
We surfed for about two hours before the next two signs of life showed up. Two guys paddled out, but were easy-going and willing to share a few waves. By the time they arrived, the cold had since turned my feet to numb stumps in spite of the fact I was wearing booties. The formerly nil wind picked up and started blowing at approximately 15 to 20 kmh. The final call came for me as the wind-chill through my suit like a knife.


Good Samaritans Needed
I was looking forward to nothing more than getting out of my suit and into some warm, dry clothes. Two girls on a dirt bike pulled up and explained that their truck was stuck in the sand farther down the road and asked if we could pull them out. Bobby was still in the water so I told them to sit tight and we’d be down in a bit to help them.

Before I go on, I should explain that the road west beyond the turn off for the surf spot is nothing more than a narrow, sandy track carved into the side of a mountain. One wrong slip to the left and you’re looking at a one-way trip to off a steep cliff.

Boy Racer Goes Off-Road
A few minutes down the road we spotted the truck embedded in the sand with the back left wheel teetering on the edge of the cliff. As we got closer, we realized the sand was growing steadily softer and deeper. Bobby rightfully stopped, opting to park the truck on firm road.

The KKK Called. They Want Their Sheets Back
The vehicle was nothing more than a run-of-the-mill lowered pick-up truck with street tires—bogged out in thick sand! It turns out that the girls’ father was responsible for this fiasco. He was a short, wormy, neurotic, high-energy jackass who really seemed to think nothing of his predicament. The more we spoke to him the more we realized that his problem wasn’t so much that his truck was hanging off the edge of the road, but that his innate idiocy left him completely at the mercy of self-imposed misfortune. We estimated him to be approximately 45 years-old with the intellect of a 13 year-old boy. He had a shaved head with lines carved into his scalp, a few missing teeth amongst the snaggled mess that filled his mouth, and a bone earring on the left side. He looked to be about one bed-sheet short of a red-neck Alabama Ku Klux Klan rally.

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Tread Beyond This Point
We soon learned the purpose of their visit. He was in the process of driving to a drop-off point farther down the road, from which he, his elderly father, and an American tourist were going to hike 8 hours back to Wellington. The girls were going to drive the truck back through this mess and back to the main highway.

We decided the best course of action was to not risk getting any closer, lest we find ourselves equally screwed. We told the guy we’d head back to town and call in a tow truck to pull them out. There was too great a risk of us getting stuck as well. He ranted and raved like a lunatic and swore that, “hey, we don’t need a tow truck! It’s easy, no problem. You won’t get stuck! Just hook up the rope and pull us out. It’s easy.” I mumbled to Bobby, “Yeah, right. THIS guy giving US advice?” It didn’t sit well with us coming from a half-baked simpleton with all the common sense of a postage stamp.

Nice Guys Finish Last
In a fleeting moment of altruism, Bobby decided to pull the truck forward several meters but still couldn’t quite get close enough within range of the length of the tow rope. We finally told the guy, “Hey look, enough’s enough. We’re all going to end up stuck here if we try to pull you out. And if your truck goes off the cliff, which is more likely than not, you’re going to pull us off the cliff with you.” Some remote semblance of understanding appeared to penetrate his thick skull.

Bobby backed up and, true to form, as predicted—STUCK! The truck completely bogged out, sunk down to the hubcaps. The sand was a bit moist and quickly plugged any bit of tread left on his tires. No traction whatsoever! So now we were seven people stuck about 40 kilometers from civilization.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
The more I thought about the entire situation, the more pissed off I grew. The mere sight of the guy nearly made me want to throw him off the cliff. First, his complete disregard for the safety and well-being of those in his party nearly landed them all at the bottom of a cliff. Second, his unwillingness to accept the seriousness of the circumstances only eroded the morale and frustrated everyone there, including his daughters who affectionately referred to him as “psycho.” And third, his complete lack of concern for our situation is what left us bogged down to the hubcaps and stuck in the same pointless predicament. Angry? Yeah, just a little.

Misery Loves Company
We attempted to purge our truck from its sandy treadmill for the next hour. We crammed rocks under the tires to gain traction, but to no avail. To inflame our tempers even more, their pit-bull dog jumped into the truck with its filthy paws and attempted to steal our food supply for the day! Idiot boy rode the dirt bike back to the surf spot and was able to rally two other surfers in a truck to help tow us out. We got back to firm sand but were still facing the wrong direction. Bobby had to do a delicate 10-point turn in order to turn around on the narrow track. That was enough fun for one day. We decided to get out of there while we were still ahead! We thanked the two surfers for helping us out and then decided to get out of there before we got roped into another rescue attempt and became a couple of accidental death statistics. We warned them to be careful—and that this guy was about 5 beers short of a six-pack.

What Ifs
The entire trip back, we just shook our heads in disbelief and marveled that someone like this actually survived past the age of 40 with all the intellect of a brick. We played the what-ifs over and over. What if we’d have gotten pulled over the cliff? What if we’d have had to call for an extortionately priced tow truck all the way from Featherston? What if he’d have cracked the rear diff mount? What if it had started raining while stuck in soft sand? Fortunately, none of the what-ifs came to fruition.

It's Not the Experience, It's the Story Telling After the Fact
We don’t regret helping someone in need. That’s the kind of thing people do for each other in New Zealand. But this guy was obviously a hazard to himself and all around him. Bobby and I joked that had we known in advance the type of idiot and situation we were dealing with, we wouldn’t even have attempted a rescue. We would have spared ourselves the hassle, gone straight back to Featherston, and called them a tow truck. But hey, at least it makes for interesting story telling