A SOFT SALUTE

 

Out on the pushie the other morning and every cyclist that passed in the opposite direction (and there are always plenty of cyclists out early on the weekend mornings), gave a soft salute as they whooshed on by.

I considered this as I pedalled along, how do I feel about that slight raising of the hand? 

I realise that I don't mind it, it reminds me of something that used to happen whenever you would see another car with surfboards on the roof. A soft salute, an acknowledgement, a small sharing, sometimes a thumbs-up, or a thumbs-down depending. Although the negative thumb wouldn't stop you. Still had to drive down to the break anyway, make your own decision on the viability. May or may not have been a false flag, that particular little signal.

Anyway, surfers don't give any kind of salute now, never happens.

DAVID HOLMES EVERY TIME

 

Hong Kong, early 90s.

Place had a very serious end-of-the-world vibe. 

In a few years time it would be handed back to the People's Republic of China following 156 years of very laissez-faire British governance and who knows how that will play out? Therefore, pedal to the metal, we're flying headfirst towards the end of the road anyway so don't think too much.

Lan Kwai Fong (also known as Too Far Gone in keeping with the spirit of the times) was where you went to keep the buzz going on those hot sultry HK nights. 

One particular Saturday sticks in the memory. Two different UK DJs playing on the same night in a couple of clubs a few streets apart. David Holmes or Brandon Block? 

During my short stay in Hong Kong I'd found myself lumped in with a rag-tag bunch of expats and we'd generally meet up in a few of the bars and then kick-on into the early hours, drinking way too much, talking gibberish and generally getting messy.

Anyway, consensus amongst this group was that Brandon Block was the geezer of choice. I'd had my doubts about these people all along and this just confirmed it. No taste, no style.

Couldn't convince them otherwise, so I left them to it and headed off to a rooftop club.

David Holmes every time!

MY ASCENDANT DESCENDANT

 

Rumour of a wave. So I head down to the bay, it's 2 foot and clean, no wind, dropping tide.

It's a warm night and a hazy sun gives off a dull beige glow. Not the sparkling Hollywood glitter of the previous evening, but the waves are better. I paddle out in the rivermouth rip at the north end and catch a couple of lefts.

I see my son further down the beach on the middle peak. As usual he is catching plenty of waves. I paddle over to greet him. We chat, remarking that it seems relatively quiet given that this is the first reasonable swell in over a month and it's a Friday night. Maybe everyone just headed straight to the pub after work.

My surfing ability has taken a deep dive over the last year coinciding neatly with Cealan's elevated skill levels. As I get older and slower, he grows in confidence and has rapidly overtaken me in terms of how well he now surfs. He is already better than I ever was.

I used to have a personal rule that dictated I had to catch a 3 wave minimum every session. Not an ambitious quota but one I could achieve quite comfortably, indeed sometimes hitting up to 30 waves on my better days. Nowadays I'll settle for a flipped version of that rule where I aim for a 3 wave maximum - and I'll admit that there have been a few sessions where I've struggled to hit that number.

Anyway, I had four good ones under my belt so I decide to catch one in and head home. Low tide now, so I walk back across the beach and climb the rocks up the cliff.

Once up on the cliff I turn and gaze back out to sea. I always pause like this apres-surf, taking a mental picture of the scene for the memory bank. I see lines approaching and watch as a set bulges up on the peak and I instantly recognise my son's silhouette stroking into the first wave. He swoops left, cross-steps to the nose, steps back, pirouettes a swift 360 (his signature move) and walks back up the board. It's a classic 'Cealan' ride. As he stalls on the tail to flick his board up and out of the whitewater he simultaneously looks up at the cliff, raises his arm and gives me a wave goodbye.

Eyes like a hawk, that kid.