Eyes Front

Comment Share Posted on Wednesday June 23rd 2010 at 4:17 p.m. Tweet

Surfing lends itself to so many analogies and, dare I say it, lessons in life. Time and again facts are driven home with the fluidity of a finely executed figure eight - Climbing the ladder? Stroke confidently into the lineup and hold your position. Things getting heavy? Stay calm, don't fight, flow. And staying up with the play is often a very simple equation - you gotta go where the action is.

I've been tip-toeing around the rough edges of surf photography for the last few years. Basically I burnt out taking photos of other people riding high, vicariously killing my surfing-self in the process. And it was time for a change. I'd found myself training the lens more and more onto the ocean itself, devoid of company or clutter. A kind of pilgrimage into surfing middle age - it's been twenty years now, perhaps signals point to having just matured? - and really communing with the waves.

I'm still missing surfs, though for new reasons and for more reward. I'm transfixed by the breaking wave. Contour, line, wind chatter, spray, touches of colour and sparkle. Maybe it's not good for the mind staring down the lens barrel at too many perfect pitching lips? But running around shooting big empty barrels is just such a stoke... 'though yeah, being inside out riding into an open expanse of light is better, best.

There's a balance in that there too, gracefully accepting the give and take. No, I didn't get to ride that swell as it came rifling to life infront of my eyes. But as this image encrypts itself I can't help experience a similar rush of wonder, reliving it forever frozen in sensor-burnt light. Does that add value? Is being prepared to preserve the moment worth the effort it if it also means missing it?
And does the tree really creak, split the air and crash if no ears perceive it?

All these moments of solitude can at times lend extra melancholy to photographing the dying throes of a wave, and I've found that it really does gladden the heart sometimes if there's someone around to share it. Slowly but surely the human element is creeping back in - a beachgoer here, a boardrider there; another circle turns.

And anyhow, I was thinking as I floated cheek-by-jowl with twelve others on the choppy too-full peak at Indicators, to be honest it's damn hard to get it to yourself these days anyway. I'd been inspired to head to Raglan after viewing the bounty from a recent trip Whangamata stalwart Daniel Davie had posted on his blog: diggasurf, and an evening forecast of lined up groundswell under southerly skies. Turned out a bunch of others had too. Ironically Digga was there again, having made the early scuffle west with a team of eastside groms he's coaching for future glory. We caught up over a clacking of shutters as the grommets hit out alongside an interesting mix of Japanese girls, Hawaiian Sup-boarders, surf schoolers and ex-National champs on logs of wood.

Photographically speaking, you want to hit Rags early. The earlier the better really, as the Points northern aspect means morning sun only highlights the break for a couple of cool crisp hours before blowing out. When it's this cool and clear though the land can often stir up a bothersome diurnal breeze and chop up the wave face 'til the rest of the world warms up. But it still looked great, and I was happily shooting surfing for the first time in months.

Later, as I missed another set from the shoulder, I pressured myself to stick around longer; there was green gold to come. Manu Bay under evening duress and a lowtide looked junky but oddly the most surfable it had all day as I crouched low on tired knees to watch the Hughes brothers, Matty B, Chrissy Malone and co. mix up a tasty sundowner treat. Another lesson eh, always present for the final act. Failing light on a successful jump back into the ring sent me crabbing back up the rocks to the warmth of the car and a slow road home, contemplating plenty of time ahead, where angles abound.

Rowan