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Matthew Moir started it. The fire, I mean. Trust me.
I asked one of the organisers about him.
"So who's the guy with the orange and white deck?"
"Matthew Moir."
"Never heard of him. What's his claim to fame?"
"He's ISA world champion. And about six-times local champ."
"Okay."
It figured. And it reinforced my theory — postulated in one of my comment boxes — that the stars will always leap to your lens. I'd captured Moir before; at least I think it's Moir — I'll defer to Hugh's final word.
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We'd been sitting in the sun for eight hours and felt pretty butchered. Planning the day, I'd known there'd be some swell at Long Beach, but I also knew the Western Province Longboard Championships would most likely be held there.
I'm no fan of long boards. On water. As far as skateboards are concerned, the longer boards top gimmicky little trickster toys every time. In the surf, though, 9-foot barges tend to get in the way of short boards likely to deliver far better photographs.
That said, a colleague gave me a copy of Stacy Peralta's remakable Riding Giants last week and there's no denying the near-mythic legacy of the boards we occasionally saw as youngsters while trying our damndest to control six-footers.
"Bargeman" spent as much time down at Muizenberg as we. What his real name was, I've no idea. He travelled from the northern suburbs and was as good a surfer as any other on the beach. He just dug his 9'6". In the slush usually found at The Corner, he could catch anything too.
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I was in two minds. Ultimately, we decided to go watch the long board champs. Short boards were relegated to the point and barges ruled for a day.
And all of 'em, from little kids, through chicks of every age, to old men, reshaped my view of the clunky nine-footer. Every heat — and they continued through the day — threw up its share of shit-hot rides and radical manoeuvres.
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On the side, as if to emphasise my camera's attraction for Moir's style, up popped the ubiquitous Michael February. He was the kid who first alerted me to cameras recognizing talent, no matter the ignorance of the photographer. Hugh gave me his name and Sunday, after he'd flown across my viewfinder a couple of times, I confirmed his identity and thanked him for the photographs.
A latter-day Davey Stolk, his attitude is very different — deferential and shy. Give him a couple of years to develop some of those aerial convolutions and he'll be giving Jordy Smith a run for his money.
Seems like those more qualified than I have long recognised his potential.
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During the semis, Moir threatened to set Long Beach alight. During the finals, he and his fellow competitors did.
The Noordhoek valley burned.
For many deep and unknown reasons, not least viewing a Huey swooping in low a couple of weeks ago, Long Beach reminds me of Apocalypse Now.
The fire even smelt good.
If ever you want to see the Ride of the Valkyries, Long Beach is at Kommetjie, on the other side of the mountain.
But fuck associations. Under a shroud of sun, roiling brown brush smoke, and the clatter of chopper rotors, surfing mattered most.
What these guys do with barges puts every other form of the sport to shame. Nature conspired to dampen the wind during the final rounds and they took place in glassy four-to-five foot surf — not that I know what four-to-five foot surf looks like. Put it this way — it wasn't big, but it was big enough.
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It's been a long time since I saw a couple of long boards tubed within minutes of each other. And I've seldom seen nine-foot-plus boards ripped through 360 degrees.
And that was the nature of it. Each finalist went for it and a couple paid the price.
In the end, their skill resurrected long boards for me and gave us some waves to remember for a hell of a long time.
Moir? I don't know if he won. It's not a newsworthy thing.
"When will the results come out?" I asked the organiser.
"Tonight," he replied pulling down shading.
"Moir took it," I opined.
"Perhaps," he responded.
He might've come in fourth but, again, so what? He's just another surfer from Cape Town. In the water though, he kicks serious ass — his competitors were no slouches. The pictures tell me so.
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Chris Bowers's light-reading recommendations for today...
- Robert Fisk | Fear climate change, not our enemies
- Seymour Hersh | The Next Act
- Kat Herding | Viral Marketing
- Noam Chomsky | South America: Toward an Alternative Future
- Sam Gardiner | Iran: Pieces in Place for Escalation
- Alexander Cockburn | First Bomb Carter; Then Nuke Iran!
- Stephen Lendman | Democrat Agenda Omissions
By the way, why the hell should Israeli president Moshe Katsav quit over allegations that he raped a couple of chicks?
Jesus...what's the problem? He can diddle as many as he likes. Ohlmert, General Bush, and his sidekick Lord Blair of Kut al-Amara have raped tens of millions.
They continue unabashedly to do so.
How do they get away with it? They call it "fighting terror."
Yeah.
