34: Wairarapa Surfing Goes World Class: On Any Given Sunday

11 November 2007
This past winter has been absolutely appalling for quality surf. Seems like every time we had any legitimate hint of swell, there was always something wrong with it. Usually strong winds would create such a strong surface chop that there was no hope for getting in anything that would remotely be considered a satisfying surf. Well, after countless days, weeks, and months of hit and miss sporadic garbage, the old girl finally turned on the goods with some world class waves and conditions. The following photo show that on any given Sunday, nature can turn on its magic show.

Place your cursor over each photo for the caption.

29: Recent Videos from the Wairarapa Region

The following two videos are from recent trips to the Wairarapa region in the south east region of New Zealand's north island. Positively stunning scenery and pristine beaches with no one in sight!

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

3. The Wairarapa Region: North Island, New Zealand

THE WAIRARAPA REGION
Bob's work ethic is second to none. He's just finishing up his first year of teaching at Massey University. He spent the entire weekend glued to his computer editing manuscripts for journal publications. But even so, there comes a time where a guy's just gotta say, "SCREW IT, LET'S GO SURFING!!"

Monday afternoon, November 20th, we packed up the surfboards and camping gear and headed for the Wairarapas, the mountain range that borders the southeast coast of the North Island. One stop at the New World supermarket in Mana and we were stocked for a few days. We quietly slid out of town via Paremata Road which winds through the Upper Hutt region and on over to the 2 Motorway into the Wairarapas. Let me just say, the scenery anywhere in New Zealand is positively captivating, but this area was particularly mind-blowing. As you look off in the distance, you can't help but be overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of it all. Every shade of green from light chartreuse to deep forest green. In fact, this is the area where they filmed Lord of the Rings. While I confess I might be the last person on Earth who still hasn't seen the movie, I'd rather get on the plane and see it all first hand. This area is also particularly favorable for growing grapes which has spawned something of a mini Napa Valley in the Martinsborough region.

After a couple hours snaking through the winding coast road, we pulled up to Ning Nong reef. All reports called for optimal northwest offshore winds, but we arrived to sizable surf with blustery side shore winds which creating a strong cross chop. There were only two other cars when we arrived, hardly a crowd, but given the wind-blown conditions, it was empty. But much to our delight and amusement, one lone guy paddled out into the boiling cauldron. I guess you could say he was the sacrificial lamb or the proverbial canary in a coal mine. Why bother paddling out ourselves when we can just watch him get tossed around. He gave us a clear indicator on the paddle out, the current, the take-off, a scaled size estimate, and a few hoots as we watched the ocean toss him around like a ragdoll.

We gave Ning Nong a miss and instead set off to check out Lake Ferry. We heard rumors of a peaky A frame wave with better winds. We arrived a short while later to perfect offshore winds but it was a dredging meat grinder with no real exit breaking in about a foot of water with a frothy death pit end section onto dry sand—kind of like a modified Coronado. We watched one remaining lone surfer take off and get a couple rides, all of which ended with an express trip through the spin cycle and a one way ticket to the bottom.

We had a bite to eat and then headed back to Ning Nong reef with high hopes for light winds the following morning. Bob is completely outfitted with the four-wheel drive truck and all the requisite camping gear. We pitched the tent, inflated the mattress, cooked up a meal, made a campfire, and enjoyed a couple of Monteith's Originals. Life was good.


We woke up to every surfer's dream—overhead surf, light offshore winds, and nobody out. This is New Zealand. Places don't get crowded. We took our time, ate breakfast, kicked back for a bit until the tide filled in just right. One Maori guy pulled up and paddled out just before us. He opted to paddle out wide which quickly swept him south. Bob and I took note and decided to time the set waves and just paddle out straight through the guts. It worked. We got swept a little wide, but not nearly as far as the other guy. We just about made it to the peak at the same time.

This was my first surf in REAL waves in some time. I'd been so busy with everything leading up to my departure for New Zealand, plus being sick twice in two weeks, that I'd lost some of the training effect in my paddling muscles. Bob let me borrow his 4/3 mm wetsuit since it was quite cold that morning. I felt like I was towing an anchor with the combined effect of my weakened paddling muscles coupled with a thicker wetsuit.

The three of us surfed all by ourselves for at least a good hour and a half to two hours. Perfect lefthanders peeled across the point with no one else hassling us. We joked around about how crowded it was having to tolerate this "crowd" of three!! The vibe in the water here is second to none. I don't think I've met one angry soul in the water since I've been here. We saw several cars pull up and check it, but for some reason, they left and went somewhere else. A few guys did eventually paddle out, but like our new found friend, they too were very relaxed and friendly.

Eventually the wind picked up and blew out the conditions. We packed up and ventured up the coast to the Tora Reserve. Bob had been there before and told me about the great waves in the region. It's like a surfing playground. One perfect point after another. You pull up, if one spot's crowded, no big deal. You just drive around the corner and there's another point waiting for you.

SMALL SMALL WORLD!!
We arrived to Tora and pulled into one of the few parking spots in front of the main point. While we were checking it out, a guy had just gotten out of the water and walked back to his truck parked next to us. Me being the social butterfly that I am and unofficial mayor of the world, I just say hello to everyone. We had a chat, I asked him where he was from, and he said Mount Maunganui.

I said, "How about that! I was there back in 1998 while passing through New Zealand."

I asked him if he knew of a buddy of mine named Darren Sisson who's from that very area but lived in the apartment beneath me in San Diego back in 2002. I said he was a mechanic and panel beater (car repair/painting).

He said, "yeah, Warrick Sisson, that must be his father." Score 1.

I then proceeded to tell him all about how I'd stopped into a surf shop named Ministry of Surf and how I'd met a really nice guy that owned the place. I said, "yeah, his name was Glenn Sheaf."

The guy was just shocked, "That's ME!! I'm GLENN SHEAF!!" 2 or 2 for the yank!!

We had quite a laugh about the whole thing actually. Then when we put it all together, we realized just how bizarre our meeting really was. In order to appreciate the strangeness of the entire situation, you have to know that:

1.—Mt. Maunganui is approximately 10 hours away from Tora by car.

2.—Out of hundreds, maybe thousands, of surf spots in New Zealand, we both ended up in Tora at that exact moment.

3.—Tora is rather removed and tucked away in the Wairarapas. It's not a major place that attracts much of a crowd.

4.— After 8 years since my last visit to New Zealand, I could have arrived anywhere on the North Island on any day of the year, yet it all came together that I arrived in the southern part of the North Island and just so happened to be quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

5.—He was there with 7 other guys and a magazine photographer doing a photo shoot with some of the young New Zealand rippers. Any of those guys could have made it back to the car before him, yet he was the first guy I talked to and it was Glenn Sheaf, a guy I'd only met for not more than 15 minutes 8 years earlier!! He was impressed with my memory to say the least. I've got a memory like an iron trap, that is true, but damned if I can find my car keys in the morning when I'm in a hurry!!

LIGHTNING DOES STRIKE TWICE
You're probably scratching your head and marveling at the above "needle in a haystack" meeting. Just when you thought the story couldn't get any wackier, it gets MUCH wackier! There was a Maori guy out in the water the first day. I said hello to him a couple times out in the water, but no real conversation. The following morning I was paddling out when I noticed the same guy on my left paddling next to me. We said our good mornings and he promptly introduced himself, "hi, I'm Mark." I asked him where he was from and he said the Waikato region.

"Raglan?" I asked.

—yeah, how do you know that?

"And they call you Stocky, right? You're also a badass soccer player, right?" I added.

—How do you know so much about me? Who are you?"

I told him, "I met you in Raglan when I was there 8 years ago. You worked at the Byrning Spears surf shop right on the main road into town!!"

Stocky just about shat himself! He was about as shocked as Glenn was. What a memory this Yank has!! We reminisced a little bit and talked about some mutual friends of ours from Raglan. From there we proceeded to share perfect right hand point waves with only a few people out. Life was good and only getting better!

The wave at Tora is a fun, workable right hander that peels down the point into a little cove. It's usually uncrowded and lonely where you're actually LOOKING for people to keep you company in the water. I'm not sure if that's more for self preservation though. If a shark comes looking for the buffet line, you hope the entrance point is where the other guys are sitting! If not that, then it's always good to have an extra set of eyes in case you get hurt. You don't want to be that far removed from civilization and have a life-threatening injury.

A case in point: Bob and I were surfing the second morning after enjoying the spoils from the previous afternoon. Bob was the king the day before, completely owning the place on his 6'10". The morning winds were HOWLING, blowing extremely strong sideshore/offshore onto the wave face which made takeoffs extremely tricky and setting a firm rail nearly impossible. We all did a few trips over the handlebars and proceeded to get a bit frustrated. I watched Bob take off on one wave and slip up. I saw him come up and get back onto his board, and assumed he was paddling back out. Another guy out in the water that we'd befriended later paddled up to me saying that he thought Bob might have hurt himself. He said he asked Bob if he was ok, and that he had given the thumbs up gesture. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought he might have gone in til the winds mellowed out a bit, not thinking much more of it at that moment.

I went in later and was shocked to find that his board had smacked him in the ribs. It knocked the wind out of him, leaving him in excruciating pain. He later commented that he thought he'd suffered a pneumothorax (collapsed lung). He did have a red mark on his side, but fortunately, no major gash or spleen hanging out!! It took a few days but he was fortunately ok. I give sign language THE FINGER!

As a short aside, when I injured myself in Fiji, the rest of the crew was back on the boat anchored in the channel, eating lunch, resting up after the morning's session. When I motioned for them to bring the meat wagon over to pick me up, they all thought I was waving them back out into the surf . They later told me they were talking amongst themselves saying, "nah, that's ok, you go ahead. We'll paddle out later." I couldn't scream because the pain was too extreme. The end result: a broken rib. Fast forward to the Tora incident, sorry about that one Bob!!!