Sommaire pour August/September 2016 (40.6) de Zigzag

“Are you going to try paddle out here?” asks the guy standing on the point in a thick Slavic accent. I could understand his concern. I’d just trundled over the melting snow wearing a baggy short-sleeved wetsuit over a spring suit and a pair of neoprene socks, while carrying a yellowed, old thruster two sizes too big. I looked like a kook head-to-toe, and I was about to jump off sharp rocks into the rough, brown Adriatic Sea. “Definitely,” I replied, confident I’d be able to make the short paddle out to backline without getting dragged over the bricks. I was in Medulin, Croatia, and frothing for a surf. A number of hours spent desperately searching for information online about the surf scene in Hrvatska had led me there, and…

Wind, glorious wind. We love it. We hate it. It is both creator and destroyer. Both friend and foe. It is surfing’s ultimate dichotomy. Our relationship with wind is anything but ambivalent. It breathes life across the ocean to create the swells that become the waves we ride. We surf because of wind. We also don’t surf because of wind. Unbridled optimism at the prospect of some solid groundswell arriving at your local spot can quickly be tempered by the frustrating reality that it’s often accompanied by unfavourable winds. Devil winds. Onshore winds. Gale force offshores. Nothing can affect a surfer’s mood quite like wind. And it’s all thanks to the sun. That’s because the Earth is tilted on its axis, so the planet cooks unevenly in the sunlight, like…

Introducing Ryan Ribbink aka Bink. Born and bred in the hallowed Bluff waters just south of Durban. His old man, Daryl was a Cave Rock charger and professional boxer, so Ryan grew up in the ring, ducking and diving. And when he wasn’t in the ring, he was catching beatings from older locals or getting thundered by the ruthless fist of the heaviest waves on the east coast. Understandably, he’s got a reputation for being tough. But when we meet in the car park at Ansteys on a Wednesday morning, Ryan instantly puts me at ease with his gruff but friendly nature. He banters with the car guard ‘Rasta’ and shoots the breeze with legend ballie, Dennis, who’s permanently fixed to the bench at Anstey’s staring out to sea with…

I am not one of these lizard people who insist on air conditioning and ice in their drinks. I eat curry in summer and drink flaming Sambuca’s in the midday sun. I am hot blooded and I expect the same of my weather. Winters make my willy want to hide inside my bottom and that’s just not something you want happening to you. Cape Town started getting chilly so I moved back to Durban, then Durban froze up on me and I packed my bags for Tofo in Mozambique. While I was there, a cold front swept in and I star ted making plans to head for the equator. My only options were Mombasa or Mogadishu, which is ideal for religious fundamentalists and pirates but not so good for surfing…

DROP THE ZA G A LINE ON LETTERS@ZIGZAG.CO.ZA AND BE HEARD CAPTAIN HINDSIGHT As a species, and much too often as individuals, our decision-making abilities are terrible. Shocking decision-making can lead to anything from a large scale mess-up to public unrest. It can also sometimes lead to hiding your keys improperly before a surf. Under the greyish rock next to the blue packet, which is close to that one stick with a weird twist, is a terrible hiding spot. Enter Captain Hindsight! “All the rocks look greyish when you get out forty minutes after sunset. The packet is understandably nowhere to be seen when there is a thirty knot wind blowing. You naturally will not remember the exact nature of that one stick with a weird twist.” The messages I…

NAME/ SUNG MIN CHO (MINI) DATE OF BIRTH/ 09/09/1999 HOMETOWN/ TOFO, MOZAMBIQUE SPONSORS/ ISLAND STYLE Sung Min Cho, better known as ‘Mini’ to his friends and fam, is the leader of a pack of young surf ninjas currently emerging from Tofo, Mozambique. Mini’s parents own a restaurant in the laid-back little tropical village, which revolves around tourism, fishing, diving and (of course) surfing! Just south of the village is the heavenly right-hand point break at Tofu – Mini’s own lil’ playground. “I first met Mini four years ago on one of my trips to Tofo,” says frequent Mozam visitor Chris Leppan. “He was a friendly, wide-eyed grom. As I returned over the years, he had improved so drastically it was hard not to take notice. A lot of groms are…

An ancient ceiling fan creaks slowly overhead, chopping into the thick air with monotonous futility. Sweat is beading down my face, carving long rivers down the back of my drenched shirt, yet the man behind the counter looks impeccable. Dark hair neatly combed, a striped tie knotted elegantly around his collar. His white long-sleeve shirt remains immaculate despite the humidity that feels like you could wring it, wet and dripping, from the air. “Not possible,” he says, unblinking. “We’ll pay extra,” we plead desperately. “We’ll stand.” “Not possible,” he replies blankly. “Maybe Sunday.” Sunday. Three days away. A swell is marching across the ocean towards a tiny speck of jungle that lies 12 hours away. We have already traversed thousands upon thousands of kilometres, days melting into departure lounges and…

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(HOLY WATER) In 1934, a steam trawler by the name of FV Bluff underwent its final checks before leaving on its maiden voyage to South Africa from the Hall, Russell & Co. shipyard in Aberdeen, Scotland. Fast forward three decades to the evening of 30th January 1964, and the FV Bluff was returning from the fishing grounds off Cape Point, while the notoriously rugged Peninsula coastline was shrouded in a dense bank of fog. The vessel steered too close to the coast and tore its hull open on a rocky headland just offshore. Panic ensued and the crew and captain abandoned ship before the vessel took on too much water and sank below the waves. One crew member, the cook, wasn’t as lucky and drowned in the waters agonisingly close…

Let’s be honest: when most of us think of the perfect wave, it looks more like this than 10 foot Teahupoo or a thundering day out at Dungeons. Perfection comes in many shapes and sizes but make it a five foot wave tubing endlessly over sand and 99% of us will die happy. Even better, you don’t have to be a paid professional or journey across the world to find this slice of Nirvana, as Karl Ribbink (this spread) and Kyle Jacobs (following spread) demonstrate. They merely visited South Africa’s neighbouring countries of Namibia and Mozambique. The difference comes down to whether you prefer getting tubed going left or going right, and how much rubber you’re willing to wear.…

The 2016/17 Big Wave World Tour (BWWT) kicked-off in Mexico, where Twiggy charged to victory in jaw-dropping pits to take an early lead in the rankings. We caught up with the Puerto Escondido Challenge champ for a few tips to becoming a master in 25-foot beach break barrels. 1) DON’T L OOK AT IT T OO LONG “Puerto is an intimidating wave when you watch it from the beach,” reckons Twiggy. “But once you get out there and find a bit of rhythm it’s not as bad as it looks. This is normally true for most big waves.” “My tactic at Puerto ever since I’ve been going there is to always try to be the first surfer in the water each morning. I do my best to paddle out before…

Westbrook carpark, 6:30am, winter 2011. A 19 year-old professional surfer and his mom are sitting in their car. It’s her car. He doesn’t drive. Outside the dark is turning light. She’s waiting patiently for him to suit up and go surfing, at which stage she’ll lump the tripod and video camera down to the beach and shoot his waves. She’s being supportive, her maternal stoicism strong. You’d do the same for your lightie if they had bags of talent and showed a bit of initiative… for a while at least. He’s waiting for it to get light enough, for a few other surfers to join him, waiting for the land to warm-up, procrastinating before stretching into the cold, wet rubber suit. Other surfers arrive. He greets them, they shoot the…

He wakes up determined to move forward. He finds some Marine charts of the Indian Ocean and starts mapping out rumors he’s heard. He decides on a tiny island called Sipora, off West Sumatra. Having travelled most of the way from Australia overland, he arrives in the capital of Padang by bus. For 50 bucks he hitches a ride to the island with an Iranian doctor/Pilot in a small bush plane. Using only dead reckoning navigation. They are lucky to make it. Lance Knight steps out of the plane onto a small, dusty jungle airstrip with one board, a backpack and a bag of rice. He then hitches a ride with a small fishing boat, attempting to make his way to the other, swell-exposed side of the island. After a…