‘You gotta win it to ring it’, the motto of the Ripcurl Pro at Bells Beach, otherwise known as the Bells Classic. Fifty two years young it is the Easter weekend magnet that drags the best surfers in the world to compete on an amazing right hander.
I was lucky enough for Andy and Craig Busch to let me tag along for the long weekend to catch some of the best waves I’ve ever ridden. After the short flight into the state below mine, straight off the bat Andy and I lost Craig in the airport carpark for a good fifteen minutes. We couldn’t find Avis. Bloody sneaky buggers had it well hidden.
Drove down to Torquay and reached our accommodation in Rob’s granny flat. It was the first time any of us had met Rob and judging from the fact he didn’t take his hands out of his overalls the entire time we had spoken to him upon arrival, we each came to the conclusion that he mustn’t have had any hands. It made the most sense.
Jan Juc was our break of choice, surfing perfect three to five foot left and right a frames the entire weekend with an offshore, often cross shore breeze. The sheer ten to twenty foot eroding cliff faces, revealing nothing of their past, towered over us as we’d catch these perfect large ocean ripples.
We went and had a geez at Bells, arriving just in time to watch the scattering of Michael Peterson’s ashes by his brother Tommy, followed by a minute silence. Was pretty special to be apart of that send off that will be forever in the Australian surfing folklore. Shortly after, we managed to catch round one heat five and six of the men’s, lucky enough to see Parko and Kelly in their heats respectively. I got a photo with Kelly the day we got to the coast and when I asked him for a photo, the reply I got was “Last time I surf at Winki.” What a tosser. You’re one of the most famous athlete’s in the world, this sort of thing comes with the job. Jerk.
The best surf I had down there was an evening wave at Winkipop. As almost all the competition audience was walking on the paddock that had been transformed into a temporary carpark, Andy and I battled to get our soaking wet steamers on. Definitely not going to lie when I say that I had more than nerves in the tummy suiting up. Walking down the boardwalk, down the sheer cliff towards the water, we followed Braso Raoni Monteiro into the five to six feet rights, only several hundred metres away from Bells. Caught some of the best waves of my life out there whilst Mick Fanning got his head in the game and showed what he was capable of. I was absolutely stoked on that session. It’ll be one that will stick with me for a bloody long time.
A trip away is always educational, learning that the standard sized beer down there was a ‘pot’ (middy), a measurement I had never heard before. Drinking middies and watching the AFL, we sat next to a certain pro surfer whose name rhymes with Jai Cotton, sitting by himself. Living that life I thought that I could get pretty used to it with the only problem being that Victoria was filled with Victorians.
Over the weekend, we had complaints from Rob’s missus that we apparently kept leaving their automatic gate open that they spent lots of money on to keep the rabbits out. We verged on telling them they should just steal a bit of the Great Wall of China because according to the guy from the Bigpond ad, that keeps the rabbits out. Theories were made that Rob was continually looking at us through his peep hole and laying in our beds during the day to keep them warm. Just that sort of banter that comes from those sorts of trips you know?
Phenomenal weekend away and although it was much colder than I’d anticipated, and more wet than anybody would have liked, to be in that surfing and cleansing frame of mind, I couldn’t ask for anything more. Back in Sydney, I am feeling exactly the way I felt after getting home from Europe. I don’t want to be here. I want to be traveling again no matter how far, just somewhere I haven’t been before doing the things I absolutely love