The Surfers Journal
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We planned our trip to the South Island about a week before we actually went down. Most of the year, I’m traveling on tour, so typically the places I go are pretty scheduled. It’s been that way nonstop for the past 10 to 12 years. I rarely get to go somewhere that’s outside of that path, like New Zealand. We met up with Chris Dunn, a mutual friend of ours who lives on the South Island, to spend some time in the mountains. Surfing wasn’t the main focus, but the days we’d marked started to line up with a couple of swells, so it turned into a full-on surf trip to chase waves.
Chris picked us up from the airport in Queenstown—me, photographer Sacha Specker, and filmmaker Erik Knutson—and we drove four hours south to the Catlins Ranges. It was incredible to see the contrast of that cold, raw ocean and wild waves right there next to the mountains and blue lakes and fields, all of it just off the side of the road, which created this feeling of an incredible amount of space.
We were supposed to camp that first night, but it was pouring rain and freezing, so we decided to drive around a bit to check some spots and then try to find a place to stay for the night. While we were looking at one of the setups, we met a local named Nick Smart, a surfer from the area. He suggested we head to the Lost Gypsy, a gallery and a museum that’s installed in a house. Nick told us his friend Blair Somerville was the owner, and that they had some extra space. It sounded like a good option.
The museum was closed by the time we got there, but Blair showed us around anyway. It was insane and filled with some of the coolest artwork I’ve ever seen. Most of the installations had buttons you could push, which would make each piece do something different, like animatronics. Blair and his wife, Sandra van der Sommen, made us dinner and opened a few rooms for us. They were super nice and hospitable. They had a little bunk out in the back that Erik slept in and a tiny house that Chris slept in. I slept in a spare room in the house, where there was a talking parrot named Pepino. I was so tired from the flight and drive, it was getting kind of late, and Pepino just kept flying around the room, chatting. It was surreal.
We scored the first couple of days. We surfed a beachbreak that was really good, and the local crew was nice enough to share some waves, these big wedges coming through. There was a lot of swell in the water. Later, Nick showed us the slabs. He has that coastline dialed. He knew what every break would be doing with every condition and could time it almost to the minute. He also has a ski, which he drove for us. At some of the spots, we’d have to hike in, and once we got to the beach, he’d be there waiting for us with the ski, ready to go.
The slabs were super-tricky waves. The right was beautiful, but it didn’t have a really great entry. I got two and could tell it was heavy. There were definitely some waves I saw where I said to myself, “Oh, if I just move a little deeper and get in front of the cliff a little more, I’m going to get one of those.” I kept trying to inch myself over, working myself up to it, but then the wind came on.
The left slab had a rad entry to it. Once the tide was high enough, there was this almost stationary wave of whitewash that you could use to take off from if you got to the bottom of it. I ended up getting some really fun waves, but it was definitely harder than it looked. I was nervous out there by myself. It was eerie. The water was brown, and I was kind of pushed up against these crazy-looking cliffs, and there was no one else out. When it’s cold and murky and you’re alone, the creep factor goes way up.
The mindset is different than when you’re out at 10-foot Pipe and there’re tons of other people all trying to get the gnarliest wave. In those moments, you’re not even thinking about how scary the wave or the setup is. You’re more focused on the competition of being in the spot to get it. Whereas when I’m out by myself, like I was at the slabs, you think, “Okay, I can not go on this wave. I’ll have another chance.” And then when you get that chance, if you’re a little too deep, you can say, “Well, I’ll go on the next one from a little wider out.” I think if you had a boat down there and could spend some time and pick your spots, you’d get some pretty amazing waves at the slabs. I’m sure the local boogie boarders already do.
The challenge of it all was pretty intriguing for me, just being out at a totally new wave, trying to figure out how the wave works and how I can ride it and get a tube—all from scratch. I’d get a barrel and it was like I’d found something new. Then the process of that just keeps going, trying to get a little deeper or go on a wave that’s a little bigger. It was fun to push myself in a different environment, to have that kind of mindset.
A few days in, the swell started to taper off, so we drove back up to Wanaka and Chris took us into the mountains. It’s interesting because, similar to surfing those slabs, the mountains scare me. It’s in that same realm, where I maybe don’t understand a lot about it and it makes me nervous, but that’s what makes it fun. I like that feeling, along with the physical effort of pushing nonstop for six to seven hours at a time. I really enjoy pushing my body like that, figuring out how far you can go—and then doing it all again the next day.
We were completely following Chris’ lead. I’ve done a bunch of camping and I’ve done a bunch of sailing, obviously, but Chris has so much knowledge about both the technical aspects and the area. He’s a wizard in the mountains, and it was great to be able to pick his brain about everything. He made good, calculated decisions on the glacier and got us past one sketchy section. We made it across and found these glacial pools and a waterfall, which was pretty surreal and special, then we camped for the night below the glacier. For me, it was about learning and experiencing it. We didn’t do anything too crazy up there, but it was fun camping and hiking in the cold, pushing yourself physically, relying on yourself.
We saw another swell on the charts, and I was like, “Let me get back to that little slab.” We drove down again and had about an hour before the wind turned on. So we literally came down from the glacier, got in the car, and went straight out surfing. That was the beauty of the trip: continual movement, one thing to the next, through very different environments, from climbing a mountain to surfing empty slabs. It was a cool feeling to have that freedom and be able to pivot in totally different directions. New Zealand is probably one of the most incredible places in the world to be able to do that. It’s a mesmerizing place.
[Feature image: Photo by Chris Dunn.]
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