It’s always a hard call being a contest director for an event with a waiting period. I have seen the agony of the decisions at the Red Bull Big Wave Africa, and know it is tough. Even more so, I reckon, if your venue is Supertubes and your waiting period is over a few weeks of prime winter swell time.

Still, Koffie held off a few swells as the storms smashed the Cape for the O’Neill Cold Water Classic, waiting patiently for that magic day at Supers that happens every now and again. It happened on Saturday 27th, and to be quite honest, Supers doesn’t get that much better.

Koffie had the mic, and he tried to palm it off to me. I feigned baby duties (see pic) and he handed it over to Mickey Lindsay from Nixon. Mickey soon feigned a need for the toilet and handed it over to VZ’s David Allen, and there it stuck. While the commentators were having great fun, everyone was sucking on Red Bulls and chowing down on boerie rolls, the surfers proceeded to get slotted off their dials as only Supers allows.

While the final consisted of Deon Lategan, Warren Dean, Ryan Payne and Stanley Badger, mention must be made of Dylan Lightfoot who, at the age of 14, was ripping hard, had been a standout the day before at eight-foot and gnarly Supers, and was eliminated by 0.4 of a point. Deon got a couple of good ones, including a few sick tubes. Stanley also found a few holes and got slotted, and also pulled off some of those amazing retro grab rail cutties that he is so good at. Warren showed everyone why he got a third in the Billabong Challenge all those years ago, and scored some gaping holes. He was holding off Ryan Payne till late in the heat when Ryan caught a bomb and got barreled over and over again for a perfect 10-point ride that saw him hold off Warren till the final siren.

Warren Dean pulling in at Supers

So Ryan Payne will be surfing in the VZ trials at the Bong Pro.

Then a bunch of people drank a whole bunch of beers, a different bunch of people paddled out and caught a whole bunch of waves at Supers, and a bunch of Springboks smashed a bunch of Lions at Loftus. Quite a day.

Roy slotted!

So it wasn’t heaving, death-defying terrifying pits that was predicted at Kalk Bay, but it was damn cooking and the atmosphere was electric. It was like the 25 years since the last Spur Surfabout was yesterday. The crowds pulled in, the Cape Town crew came and gave their support, and the surfers in the water got completely slotted.

After some discussion on the beach it was decided to go for man-on-man heats due to the low tide and the lack of waves coming through. To make the day playable time-wise the heats were dropped to 20mins man-on-man and it was game on.

The first heats were a bit sketchy, seen as the reef was sticking a foot out of the water, and there was some serious rock dodging to be done. Jordy couldn’t find a wave with a barrel, nor with a puntable section and fell to the small Micro Hall, Aussie surfer trading under an Irish passport. By the time this heat was on, the Brass Bell was already full to heaving and some stupid drunken local fools were having a shouting match with anyone who stood up to watch a gaping barrel, as they were spoiling their view. Nice and intelligent people… Seen as there was no carnage on the reef there would undoubtedly have to be blood spilled on the floor at the Bell. Three cheers to drunken hippies!

The Royden/Micro semi was a battle of the small people, and was reminiscent of Tommy Carrol and Derek Ho battling it out at the Banzai, with Royden winning through. The second semi saw sick sets streaming shorewards, sealing sudden (what else begins with ’s?’) victory for Blake Thornton.

The final was full of tension, emotion, brandy and other local flavours. Some people were really getting into it, feeling the patriotic blood rush whenever Royden caught a wave, cheering him on at the top of their voices when he smashed a lip, exited a tube or slid a tail on the inside. Roy held the lead for the first half of the heat until Blake sneaked into the lead. With about 7 minutes to go the wave of the final popped up on the indicators and started bee-lining for the reef and for Slummies-dog Royden who was holding priority. The safety marshal on the jetski looked on impassively from the channel, Blake watched helplessly at the prioritised surfer, a seal took off early on the shoulder and started surfing the wave, somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Time stood still.

Royden paddled for the wave of the final. Five-foot and walling all the way to those drunken pseudo-hippie wannabees at the Brass Bell who had probably brought out their bongo drums and were chanting ‘hari gia rama chaka khan chaka khan’ or whatever these pricks do, while Royden paddled into the bomb. He made the drop. He pulled into the barrel. He set his line. He fell.

“Just too casual,” was what he said to me after the final, as he froze his cock off in the car park. Maybe so, maybe the wave had a high-tide wobble from the reverbs off the train wall. Either way, Blake Thornton took the victory , and dedicated it to his mate who’s dad had recently passed on. Sick contest. Great surfing. Awesome future potential. Good setup. Good night…

The storm is upon us and the O’Neill Cold Water Classic is off for the day. The weather is here in force, with howling winds and the ocean being whipped up into a frenzy. No swell to speak off though, as the predictions all show it filtering through from late this afternoon. For many this is a welcome break for us to get some inner body warmth back after the bone-chilling day spent at Witsands yesterday.

There was a signing yesterday afternoon, and Jordy and the crew were signing for all the stoked groms in the area. Then the crew headed over to The Fisherman Pub for a few quiet ones, which remained quiet until a gaggle of local ‘beauties’ arrived, ciggies in mouth, and proceeded to pout for the few of us stuck into our beers and pizzas.

Today it is pouring down. The wind is well into gale force, and the O’Neill contingent are wondering what to do next. It looks like the contest will be forced into False Bay, and the contest venue of Kalk Bay Reef. Thick left-hand slabs over barely covered reefs, barrel rides, snapped boards and snapped bodies beckon.

The wind came, the rain came, and the freezing weather pulled in for the triumvirate. There were still barrels coming through amongst the squalls, and the best WQS surfers in the world made the waves look pretty darn fun. All eyes were on Jordy Smith, who was in the first heat of the day in super tricky low tide suck-out conditions in the shallow water, with a strong side-wash sending the surfers across the beach at a rate of knots. The first wave of the day was a Jordy wave. He took off on a medium left, pumped the first section, banged a nice backhand air and landed straight into a nice little reverse in the whitewater while the judges and spectators were left mid-sip of their first cups of coffee, wondering what the wave was worth. It is always hard to score the first wave of the day. Score it too high and the rest of the good to excellent waves are going to be underscored, score it too low and the surfers are going to have to do a lot to get a good score from that moment onwards. Either way it came in as an 8, and the standard was set.

Roy flashes a cold grin.

So there we were, sitting next to the road, completely frozen, thinking that Jordy had just wished that wave out of nothing as the rest of the waves in the heat were completely shit, to be honest. We were left thinking that it was going to be boring and slow and lame until the tide pulled in and covered the bank a bit when in the very next heat Sam Paige caught a thick, slabby number over the bank and proceeded to get completely barreled and sneak out the front for a whole bunch of whistles and cheers and a score of 7.77.

Some heats were good, some were a bit slow, and as the day progressed so the weather started showing off a bit. As we all know, the east coast is getting set to be absolutely ravaged by the biggest swell in many years, apparently. Spike has used words like ‘mayhem’, and ’scary’ and various other superlatives to describe the arriving surf, and pretty much the impending doom of anyone who dares to look at the swell in the next few days. Many others on the beach have played it down a bit, reassuring people that they wouldn’t die, that there wouldn’t be too much mayhem, and there is not that much to be scared about as long as they stayed in their lounges, in bed or in the pub. At the last count it was apparently going to arrive at 68-foot, and grow to a little bit over 140-foot and maybe bigger sets at The Factory, but the big wave surfers have called it, and I quote, ‘A solid little pulse.’

Anyway, enough of that. Jordy won through his round of 32, as did Royden and Antonio. Dan Redman snapped a leash and bounced over the rocks, and it was over and everyone went home to sit by their fires.

It started off looking pretty ordinary. Typical wind-swept Misty Cliffs, with the occasional decent runner coming through from the outside. The first couple of heats saw some average rides, and a few slightly above average rides. To be honest, it was easy enough to lose concentration and have a chat to someone at the toilets, get involved in a massive boerie roll from Surfers Foods, catch up with old friends and anything else that would distract you from the fairly boring surfing that was going on.

Stanley shortly after his win.

But pro surfers have a great skill of making tricky and difficult waves look exceptional. Today it was Stanley Badger who ventured over to the free surfing zone – a semi close-out right that was coming through and delivering the odd bomb amongst many thick shut-downs. While the rest of the competitors hacked it out in the fading lefts and straight-hander rights of the original contest site, Stanley sneaked across and showed the spectators that the right was actually cooking, pretty much.

Punchy right hand bowls were coming through, and there were some perfect nuggets just hitting the bank perfectly and reeling along for a few open barrel rides, thick lips for solid bashes, and room for floaters and some big airs as well. By the time the rest of the guys in the heat woke up to what Stanley was up to, it was too late and he had a clear victory while the rest of the heat were chasing for second place.

After that heat, the contest venue followed suit and shifted down the beach to the right, and there was some pretty sick surfing. John-John Florence got barreled in his heat, showing what growing up at Backdoor and OTW can do for your tube riding. Sean Holmes got pipped at the post by Josh Salie in a very close heat, but Sean has had a few close calls go his way in the past, and everyone on the beach knows that he rips. Such is the nature of competition. Josh was on his way to the University Champs and had to change plans as well as plane tickets.

As we sat and froze our asses off watching the heats, Royden blitzed, Wok crumbled, PC got crushed, Antonio fell, and a host of waves were ridden. It was unbelievably cold though, as I mentioned, and I just wanted to go home and start cranking the heaters and the Sunday arvi dops, so I missed the last few heats. They might have been important, but so are my Sunday arvi dops….

Tomorrow looks like it might be another day at Misty Cliffs, before the biggest day of the year arrives for the tail end of the contest. Giant swells and ripping winds is going to make the final rounds of the event quite exciting, to say the last…

So it was up at 5, and out the door at 6. My car told me that the outside temperature was 9 degrees, but I was amping. The right hand pointbreak was going to be cooking. Some people call it the best right hand pointbreak in the world. either way, i just wanted to catch a few early ones before the crowds pulled in. 

Despite the fact that I hate crowds with an unrivaled intensity, I know how to surf amongst the crew. I reckon a few years of New Pier gives you a full edge on how to catch waves when the crowds are festering. I just wanted a few before the crew though. When I arrived I could see 4-foot lines and two people out in the dark. I zipped up, ran down the beach and headed out the gulley in the dark. I miss-timed it a little, and suffered a few duck-unders over the ledge before I was out back. 

I looked around to enjoy the early morning scenery, as you do when you’re at one of the most beautiful places in the world. Instead all I could see were people, in wetsuits, lining up at the gully. Within seconds the water around me was teeming with surfers, all feverish and frothing for a few. There were 55 surfers in the water by 7:30. Fifty-five.

I got a few, but nothing special. As soon as I got my first good one that went all the way down the point I was in, heading for the key hole. In the carpark I sat and watched as the crowd swelled a bit more. A pack of 10 Brazilians paddled out, and they’re each worth at least 2, so count that as 20 more. Derek Blind paddled out and he catches enough waves for 12 all by himself with his finless surfboard, spinning endlessly down the point with as much drive and intent as the lone bodyboarder out there.

Terry Fatsgerald was out as well. He counts as two, simply for his mass, and not so much for his wavecount or paddling ability. All in all, there were bodies in the water, and it wasn’t even that good. Kak wind.

Dawn patrols suck. I’m going to go for the late late surf instead.