by Lisa Glass
Billabong was trying something new and wanted a girl who could dominate on both shortboards and longboards, and since the first trial had been shortboards, this time we’d have to ride out on Malibus.
Whereas shortboarding was all about keeping fairly motionless and balanced on the board, longboarding involved much more movement. Longboard riders had more buoyancy to work with and could move back and forth along the board’s wooden centreline or ‘stringer’. It was incredibly difficult, but I’d spent my first year of surfing on a nine-foot Watershed longboard, so I could do some cool stuff.
Still, I had so much training to do, and only one week to prepare. I was already running and doing yoga every day, but I knew I’d have to add in beach circuits, gym sessions and sea swimming. I needed to be as fit and strong as possible. Most of all, I needed to stop being frightened of the sea.
The outcome of this final contest would determine whether I’d have a life of thrills, waves and Zeke, or a boring job in a shop and a life of regrets.
Zeke and I had battled life and death, and suddenly our future together depended on me catching some 6.0 or higher-scoring waves. I’d have laughed if it wasn’t so painful.
*
September 7th came and, at eight o’clock I arrived at the beach. I made sure I was there early, before the other girls got there, so that I’d have time to look at the waves, just watching the swell rise and fall. Zeke had wanted to come with me, to feed me snacks and distract me from feeling nervous, but I hadn’t let him. I needed two hours of pure concentration on my own, to prepare.
On the doorstep of his apartment he’d kissed me, wished me good luck and told me he’d be waterside for the buzzer at 10 a.m.
As a surfer, the stuff you did on the beach was almost as important as the stuff you did out in the waves, and I needed every bit of advantage I could get. I needed to see the pattern of the sets rolling in. Conditions were always changing but, if you spent sixty or even thirty minutes watching, you could get a feel for the ocean, an idea of how everything was developing.
None of it was totally predictable though. And if, during the few minutes I’d have to prove myself, the surf went totally flat; well, then, too bad. That was just the way it went. You couldn’t complain, because it could happen to anyone. And anyway, bad surf was the best teacher. You learned to make the most of what you got. You learned patience.
I made my way past the council litter pickers and the old guys with metal detectors, and walked down to the water’s edge.
It was going to be really shifty out there, firstly because a heavy rip current was sucking through the line-up, and secondly because the faces on these waves were steep, and with a longboard — which was slower and less responsive than a shortboard — the waves were going to be hard to handle.
I could feel myself losing the little bit of bottle I had left; could feel the brakes kicking in. And I knew I had to deal with that because, as all the surf lore tells you, if you feel uncomfortable, then you should get out of the water immediately, because the battle is as much mental as physical.
What was I doing? How did I think I could do this? I had hardly been in the water since Zeke had drowned and been brought back to life by Garrett. I had thought that was only because I was afraid, but I was beginning to realize that it was also because I was distracted. I couldn’t concentrate enough to tune into the ocean and become part of it.
Nine a.m. arrived. I only had one hour left of my prep time in which to warm up. I turned to face the dunes, clocking the already heaving beach bar and the zillions of people waiting for Ed Sheeran to come play his set on the Wavemasters stage.
Fistral had never, ever been this busy.
I was panicked and stressed, my mind racing in a jumble of headbutting thoughts. If I was going to go out into the water and show my best stuff, I had to stop the wheels from spinning. I needed one minute when I was totally calm.
I practised some breathing techniques and then tried to channel my yoga-class teachers. Stuff anybody watching. I needed to A) chill out, and B) stretch my muscles so that I didn’t injure myself.
I threw a few shapes on the sand, easing into a downward dog and then moving through a sun salutation.
Then I crouched into a ball, tipped on to my forearms and held my whole weight there in crow pose. I dipped forward, touching the top of my head to the ground. With my hands either side and a little way back from my head, I pulled myself up slowly, one centimetre at a time into a tripod headstand.
I held that headstand for a minute and forever.
And, when I came down, I was ready to shred.
chapter forty-five
Anders was calling my name. He was standing between two guys: one with a long-lens camera and another with a clipboard. I recognized them both from Zeke’s signing at the Billabong shop. Saskia and the Saunton girl, Lana, had just arrived, along with a few other girls who just seemed to want to hang out and watch the showdown.
Saskia was paler than usual. Maybe she didn’t like the look of the conditions either. Lana didn’t seem at all bothered. Without even saying hi to me, she started waxing her board. She was the stereotypical blonde surfer chick, with perfect long straight hair that looked like the light from a hundred-watt bulb was beaming down on it. She didn’t have the nicest face in the world though, and a sneer made her mouth ugly.
I didn’t want to get in her way and I hoped she’d stay out of mine. There were plenty of waves. We shouldn’t have to fight for them. Still, there was something about her that set my alarm off. I’d try to put some distance between us.
One of the newspaper guys said he wanted a dry-hair shot of us outside the Billabong store, so we all had to trudge back up the beach with our boards.
One of Lana’s friends in the crowd handed her a Ziploc bag of make-up and hair products, and she went off to the toilets to slap it all on. I looked around for Zeke, Kelly and my mum, but it was impossible to find them in the hordes and I didn’t have my phone.
I followed Lana, as I was busting for a pee, and figured I could scan the beach from the balcony outside the public loos.
Because of Wavemasters, there were way more hen and stag parties around than was normal for nine thirty on a Saturday morning, because people were getting to the beach early to nab the best spots to watch Ed Sheeran. I took my board into the ladies’ with me and left it leaning against the wall by the hand dryers. At nine-and-a-half-feet long, it would never fit in the tiny toilet cubicle. Luckily Lana was there doing her make-up, so she’d shout out if someone tried to swipe it.
‘OK to keep an eye on my board?’ I asked.
She grunted in my direction and I gave her the nod.
When I came out thirty seconds later, Lana was gone, but my board was still there, so I grabbed it and walked back around the side of the building, still looking for Zeke, Kelly and my mum.
Nope. Nothing.
I swung around the back of the complex and over the drawbridge to the store. With the big cameras snapping away and the video cameras rolling, the crowd was beginning to pay attention to the Billabong event and I could hear voices in the crowd rating us like we were cattle, while we posed and blinked in the bright sunshine.
We walked back down to the break again, and I finally saw Zeke, waving at me from some rocks at the water’s edge. He was holding a video camera and standing among a group of men and women with long lenses. They were in the best position to catch all the action on film.
I waved back, and right at that moment Anders gave a signal and someone sounded a buzzer. The race was on.
The three of us legged it into the water, gripping our huge boards under our arms, and together we stroked out into the surf.
With Fistral full-on pumping though, and no calm channels, we had to turtle-roll through the impact zone at top speed, as the longboards were too sturdy and buoyant to duck-dive. It wasn’t too tricky, as long as we hit the waves really fast and at exactly ninety degrees.
Once again, Saskia mad
e it to the line-up first. The girl was fast. She stroked for the first wave and took off on a barrelling right-hander. Stunning wave. Lana tried to drop in on her but didn’t make it. So I’d been right about Lana. She was one of those Wild West, anything goes, I’ll do what I want and screw you types.
But falling off the back of the wave had pushed Lana further out to sea and she wasn’t in position to make the second wave of the set.
I was. I caught an immense ride. It was a really groomed, glassy wave, with not a drop of water out of place. It looked just like the opening credits of that American TV show Hawaii Five-0, where they roll to footage of a perfect blue, clean-breaking barrel. Up and riding, I tried to throw in a mixture of traditional and progressive longboard manoeuvres, including some cutbacks and drop-knee turns, but the steepness of the wave face didn’t make it easy. When the wave weakened, I stepped off the rail and hopped back into the water.
Second time out back, I was only just managing to paddle wide on the worst of the breakers when I saw that Lana was up and riding, just pretty standard moves: head-dips, switch stance and that was it. Nothing too flashy. Then she launched a hang-five that I didn’t see coming at all. The rail bogged into the wave face though, and she tanked. Thank God. If she’d made that, we’d all have been toast and she’d have been swinging off to Sunset Beach with Anders on one side of her and Zeke on the other.
I was checking out a great-looking tepee of a wave when a clump of kelp bunched up around my ankle. I tried to shake it off my foot, but by then I’d messed up the timing and it was too late for me to take off. I flipped around and paddled further offshore and still hadn’t made it fully into position when I saw Saskia take off on the next wave, a big one, and come pouring down the face, easily making the drop. There was all kinds of ballerina-ish footwork going on, so again the judges would have to score her high for excellent control. At the end of her ride there was no swan dive, just a graceful step into the sea.
I paddled for a wave and realized late it was too weak to offer much scoring potential so I slid down the back as I couldn’t risk losing my place in the line-up. I thought of Zeke, and how his competition success came not just from physical surfing talent but from his smart wave-selection decisions. I would have to get better at that, because being able to spot the best wave in a set was a powerful skill that divided winners from losers.
As if on cue, I watched Saskia paddle into a tight little tube, so tight that I thought she wasn’t coming out of the last pinching section; but a small gap opened up, the kind of exit that surf commentators called the ‘cat flap’ or ‘doggy door’, and Saskia was obviously calm and collected because she stayed low and conjured her way through without getting clipped by the chandelier section of the wave.
With a sinking feeling, I thought of Zeke recording everything from the rocks. I knew he’d see that Saskia was locking in good scores and that I was chasing her lead. It was completely gutting. Saskia had the edge over me in shortboarding, and in longboarding too, it seemed.
I decided then that if I was going to give it my best shot, I had to leave it all out there and hold nothing back; I’d try a move that I didn’t think either Saskia or Lana would be able to do on their slightly shorter boards. Keeping my weight in my right foot as much as I could, I moved towards the nose of the board.
I was going to try for the hang-ten. It was a mega-difficult move, but probably the coolest thing you could do on a longboard, and a successful hang-ten with return along the stringer would attract major points off the judges. Quick as a flash, I was at the nose of the board, hanging my toes over the edge, when I felt my feet slip from under me and I was suddenly airborne.
I got worked, and rolled around on the seabed a little, but not as bad as I’d expected from that critical section of the wave.
What the hell had gone wrong?
I had never slipped like that before. It was like all the wax had evaporated from my board, which was impossible.
I pulled my board towards me using my leash and, yep, the wax was still right where I’d put it, in the exact same configuration of diamonds that I always used. In the lull of a bobbing wave, I put my face down to get a better look at the deck, and caught a reflection of the sun on the nose of my board. Something slick was sitting over the matt surface of the board wax there. I touched it, brought my fingers to my nose and smelled …
Flowers.
My board wax didn’t smell of flowers; I always used the classic Mr Zog’s Sex Wax for cold-water surf conditions, and that smelt like coconut.
Nothing I owned smelled of flowers.
But the smell was familiar; I just couldn’t quite put my finger on where I’d come across it. I turned around quickly so I wouldn’t get slammed by a breaker, and I saw Lana wiping out.
That was it. Her hair reeked of flowers.
No way.
She had totally sabotaged my board.
Spread hair gel or something all over the nose of my board when we were in the toilets.
I dived down, grabbed a handful of sand and started raking it over the goo, hoping to get off as much as I could, but it didn’t seem to be working.
Forget it. Move on.
In the final ten minutes I didn’t try any more nose-riding. Instead, I stopped focusing on the other girls, got busy, caught as many waves as I could, crammed in a ton of strong rail cutbacks, trusted my gut instincts to identify the better waves and found my own surfing rhythm. I remembered what Zeke told me about his contest strategy: he’d stay calm, and when the heat was flat he’d plan out sequences of manoeuvres, riding waves in his head that hadn’t come yet. Confidence and a positive attitude were vital; Zeke said that to outperform your opponents, you never said die. You kept chipping away until the buzzer sounded, even when it looked like you were beat; especially then. You had to keep the pressure on the other competitors by chasing one decent wave after another until you found the sick ride that would land you the winning score.
With his words in my head and the last two minutes counting down, I knew I’d ridden some competitive waves but had to keep going, despite the fact that I was wrecked from paddling a line-up with so much current running through it and so out of breath I was practically gasping. With one minute left on the clock, I took off deep on a pristine head-high tube. I caught a glimpse of Saskia sitting on her board with her fists pressed against her eyes, gutted that I’d grabbed such a good wave in the last few seconds, then I got locked in the green room. I held a high line and came flying out of it. The buzzer sounded just as I’d stepped off my board, and I could only hope that last wave was enough.
chapter forty-six
It wasn’t.
The best surfer in the world is the one having the most fun. Saskia had the most fun during the Billabong contest, no doubt. She’d managed to control her board, demonstrate clean footwork, and she had a smile on her face as she did it.
She’d done her thing, done it well, and she’d won. She was a more experienced surfer than I was, had a better eye for waves and a better execution of manoeuvres.
A group of onlookers crowded around the judging tent, waiting for the scoring to be announced over the tannoy. Wes, Elijah, Garrett, Dave and Sephy were standing to one side, and they all looked pretty nervous. Elijah and Garrett still weren’t really talking, but the fact that they were on the same patch of sand without fighting seemed like progress.
My mum, Aunt Zoe, Cara and Kelly had been down at the water’s edge, and they raced up the beach with me, itching to check out the scores.
Zeke jumped down from the rocks where he’d been filming and ran past the crowds and straight up to the judging panel. As a Billabong team rider he wouldn’t have to wait for the official announcement. A judge handed him a sheet of paper and I saw him go grey in the face when he saw how close the scores were, but he tried hard not to show how bummed he was that I’d crashed and burned at the final hurdle. I walked over to him and he handed me the paper.
We were scored on our
best wave, and there was only a points difference of 0.40 in the scoring for me and Saskia, which was nothing and which hurt like hell, but there was no prize for second place.
For all of her shitty tactics, Lana was nowhere near. Her best wave was a 5.78. Mine was an 8.20 and Saskia’s an 8.60. Lana didn’t hang around. She made a beeline for the car park, and I watched her progress across the beach, her figure getting smaller and smaller until she was lost in the crowd.
Zeke put his arm around me but he seemed to have lost his powers of speech. I’d never seen him look so miserable before.
‘Sorry for letting you down,’ I whispered.
He said, ‘You so didn’t. Anyways, I’ve booked that hot-air balloon trip for sunset tonight. We’ll eat some great food, spot some new surf breaks and shake this off.’
I turned and kissed him, grateful to have something to look forward to, something to take my mind off the crushing disappointment.
Then my mum gave me a big cuddle and said, ‘Oh my God, Iris. I couldn’t believe that was my little girl out there. You were wonderful. Your grandmother would have been so proud,’ which made me well up with tears.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said, resting my head on her shoulder.
Sephy appeared, placed her palms together and said, ‘Namaste,’ which we said in yoga class and which I knew meant, ‘I bow to you.’ Then she took my hand and said, ‘Keep your face turned toward the sunshine, surfer girl, and let the shadows fall behind you,’ and right then, I knew ‘face turned towards the sunshine’ would become my own personal mantra.
Dave, Elijah, Wes and Garrett came over, and took turns hugging me.
‘Gutted for you, love,’ Dave said. ‘But you’re a bloody good surfer and don’t you forget it.’
I looked at Wes, who said, ‘I know this majorly sucks, but there are other ways to get sponsorship.’
‘Those judges are idiots,’ Kelly said, giving me a kiss on the forehead. ‘Don’t let them stop you.’