Rowan Aish Blog: Hi Everyone

Here’s what went down for the me and the kiwi boys in Scottland. I’ll be coming home in just over a week so look forward to seeing some of you then.

Highland Open

The first part of the year on tour felt like catch up for me. I struggled with 2nd gear while the rest of the tour raced away in 5th. By placing 17th in the 6*Prime Highland open (my best ever result), it would seem that Scotland is where I finally arrived.

The Highlands of Scotland are a wild and beautiful country. Great grassy plains give way to craggy hills, small clumps of surviving forest surround icy lakes. The landscape is a collage of reds, browns and dark grays, which for some reason always reminded me of gravel rash.

Driving North 5 hours from Edinburgh you’ll find Inverness, the most Northern city of Scotland, then 3 hours of craggy wilderness further north of the most northern city lies the very remote and equally eccentric town of Thurso.

Ricardo, Nick and Myself had left Portugal the day before and spent the night in London’s Gatwick airport. By chance we met three New Zealand girls also camping out for an early morning flight. By joining forces and staking a territorial claim in the corner of ‘Starbucks’, we were able to create a sleeping strong hold. Aside from one of the girls (on the merry side) trying her hardest to share a blanket with the boys, it was a fairly good set up. Despite this it was a tired group of lads boarding the flight to Edinburgh the next morning, then tackling the 8 hour drive north.

Being seeded once again into the main round of 96 people, gave us time to recover and an opportunity to for some much needed ‘acclimatization’. As in the extremes of the political spectrum, the conditions of the Far North are very similar to those of the deep south, but with the quality of suits these days its not so much the cold that gets you as the extra weight and restrictions of a full cold water set up, and as anyone who’s ventured south of Wellington will know, it takes a few tries to find your feet in booties, gloves and hood.

As for the waves, with the right swell rolling in Thurso’s coast will offer world class set up after world class set up. Unfortunately during the Cold Water Classic (or any competition for that matter) the right swell rarely rolls in. There were however small windows of opportunity and it was in one of these windows that Ricardo, Nick and Bobby Hansen surfed their first heats.

Its fair to say that all three put up a good show, Rick and Nick impressed the crowd with at least one decent score each on the fast and steep right hand point. But failing to find a decent back up meant the end of the road for both. Bobby on the other hand was in classic Bobby form, dominating his heat with exciting critical surfing.

Two heats prior to my own the window closed, a devil wind rushed through the line up and the surf quickly disintegrated.

My heat took place instead at 6am the following morning, not at the fast steep right hand point break, but at the wild, over exposed bombie around the corner. Looking at it from the shore I had know idea how to tackle the wind whipped slabbing reef which was either a heaving close out right or a fat and bumpy left.

The heat progressed with little going my way but extreme ice cream headaches. But just as the hooter sounded I snuck a little lump off the guy in second and it turned into a grower! Seeing the boys pumping their fists on the beach I knew I’d won the heat, progressing to the round of 48.

In the heat following mine Bobby didn’t quite find his feet in the wild conditions and dipped with a 48 finish.

The next round was surfed on the same difficult slab, although this time the wind had swung and conditions were all right. Once again I was surfing a standard heat and posting average scores. But with 15 minutes to go I managed to sneak a good looking left off Brian Toth, the wave held its shape, I put up several good turns and scored an 8.3. Suddenly and unexpectedly I’m winning the heat. I paddle out with a new found confidence and stroke into another bomb, scoring a 7.3. Just like that I secured my best result ever.

For the round of 24 the window squeaked open once again, and although I lost it was a rare privilege to surf a fast, steep, right hand point break in a competition.

I have no idea why things finally came together for me in Scotland, I wouldn’t say I worked harder, although I wonder if the hard work of previous events caught up with me. I wouldn’t say I was more confident in my surfing than in France or Portugal. My only clear focus at Scotland was to enjoy my surfing. I never missed a surf for fear of being tired for a heat, and never forced myself to surf if it didn’t look fun. I was determined that even in my heats I would enjoy riding waves in such a wild and beautiful place and I wonder if this Is what made the difference.

Rowan Aish

Rowan Aish Blog: Portugal

The urban Portugal of postcards is a sea of double storied, white washed buildings, with each home roughly sharing the same square, boxlike design. But think not squares of geometry but rather contemporary art, as if a young prince who favored crowns over pencils was the architect. The low wooden doors sway gently from the walls with a regular peculiarity that suggests each home was built using the same broken level. The cobbled streets make less sense still, winding narrowly and at abstract angles. I’m reminded of water negotiating its path to the sea. Finally, rising intermittently from the picture are monumental churches, castles and windmills. Relics of a glorified age.

The Lisbon I see now seems to me caught somewhere between the postcard image above and the mismatched, tasteless sprawl of frantic modern development. The new high-rises, though unfinished, seem already to be decaying, as does the cracked tarmac. Despite this the distinctive character of postcard Portugal still holds residence and now, as if to combat the rising buildings now drowning the churches and windmills, there’s a new breed of dominant architecture. Rising at perfectly geometrical right angles from the mess come the towering phenomenon of the Portuguese mega malls.

Obviously these malls made quite the impression on me and the guys. I can report with confidence that at least half of every day in Portugal was spent roaming the many exotic clothing stores and feasting from the endless supply of tasty and affordable fast food restaurants.

The day came to compete in the 6* Estoril Quicksilver Pro, and although it cut seriously into our Mall time, Ricardo, Nick and Myself managed to drag ourselves to the beach for the early morning check-in.

As in the last event the team was fortunate to be seeded straight into the Round of 96. This meant a little bit of money and half decent points were guaranteed, the flip side is that unless you put on a good show you came a long way for a depressing 25 minutes.

Nick and I were the first of the Kiwis to have a go, coming up against a well-known Aussie and a faceless Brazilian. A quick posting of two excellent scores by the Aussie shattered our hopes of team domination, so once again I found myself fighting, for points and for money, the one guy who I really cared about in this contest.

As it panned out my wave selection wasn’t the best, but I surfed an O.K. heat and was looking good until the last 10. Then Nick snuck the bomb! Putting up two big (painful to watch) turns and being rewarded with 8points. I spent the last part of the heat scrambling madly from one side of the contest area to the other desperately looking for a seven, but for Nick the fire was burning and I was no match the man trained in the hassling arts by Mount Manganui’s finest. Consequently I dipped at third while Nick progressed to stand another day.

Ricardo had the worst luck, arguably drawing the hardest heat of the round. with Brazilian wonder kid Alejo Muniz (eventual winner of the event), as well as CT surfer Miky Picon. Ricardo started strong, posting an 8point ride with some excellent surfing in the early minutes, but cracks appeared in Ricks normally steely competitive demeanor, and he spent the next 20 min scrambling for a growing score.

It was all up to Nick to keep the dream alive and do be honest, I thought this was his event. The small punchy waves had the feel of a certain island off Mount Manganui, (although not nearly as good – as Nick made very clear). In the pre-heat free surfs I decided whitey showed as much flare as anyone but more importantly… the man deserves a result!

Unfortunately though when it came time to perform there was something missing in the Mounties weaves and rotations. That’s not to say he didn’t put up a good fight, In the last seconds he had us all on our feet with too good fin busts that could have been the score. But it was too little too late and Nick joined the rest of us…. In the mall.