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LOG ENTRY 1: I began to notice the subtle differences
as soon as my craft landed. Shadows that fell directly underfoot,
strange plant life, deep red soil and animal calls that were
incredibly foreign. Perhaps it was my weary brain playing
tricks on me after the mind-numbing journey. With my reality
slightly bent and the beads of sweat busting out on my brow
already (this place was hot), my co-pilot and I set out to
discover this strange and wonderful new place, with surfboards
in tow. Our mission: to boldly surf where few pasty Canadians
have surfed, and live to tell about it.
LOG ENTRY 9: We successfully navigated into the heart
of the populous central city of Sydney where we rendez-vous'ed
with a comrade from our world. He imparted unto us his collected
wisdom as we gathered our supplies and readied our excursion
module, a 1984 Ford Falcon wagon. In this fashion, we could
explore in a relatively unassuming manner. We departed Base
Camp in the city and proceeded north along the shore of a
great, green sea. It was difficult to convince myself that
we were heading north as the sun was constantly in the northern
sky, but as the chief navigator for this expedition, I had
to trust my maps and my instincts; this was no easy task,
considering the unrelenting heat had me on the verge of cracking
every afternoon at around two. The '84 Falcon Excursion Module
was little comfort; it's antiquated cooling mechanisms having
long since expired.
LOG ENTRY 13: It occurred to me that the heat must
have been affecting the atmosphere in such a way that it was
bending the sounds around us. As we began to have more encounters
with the inhabitants, they appeared to be speaking English,
yet it was somehow subtly different. "G'die, mite! Wilcome
t'Austrailya! Have y'silf a beeya!" We interpreted these
as friendly gestures and joined the inhabitants for copious
amounts of what seemed like beer, only worse, Fosters.
LOG ENTRY 16: I began to understand the native tongue
with great clarity and even found myself speaking it. At this
point, I confided in our new companions and told them of our
plans to surf the great waves of this strange land. This was
met at first with profound silence, followed closely by hearty
belly laughs. "But, yir frim Canadir, mites. And this
is Austrailya!" Thanks for the geography lesson, Tips.
It was clear that our mission would have to proceed without
the blessing of the local surf cognoscenti. We weren't worried,
with the '84 Falcon Excursion Module chocked full of peanut
butter & jam and a copy of 'The Australian Surfers Guide'
we were on our way. One part Lewis & Clark, one part Ren
& Stimpy.
LOG ENTRY 21: Today we reached our first waypoint
of this leg of our journey with little fanfare or pageantry.
Seal Rocks appeared to be a tiny encampment near a
rocky headland where the inhabitants lived in large metal
boxes on wheels. Their response to our queries about the metal
boxes was "We're campin', mite." Strange creatures
live here. They seemed harmless enough so we turned our attention
to our mission and set out to find waves fit for pasty Canadian
surfers.
LOG ENTRY 23: Our guidebook stated that this surf
break "has a gentle take-off that is rarely steep."
"The shallow reef is easily avoidable by surfing at high
tide." Lady Luck was with us today as not only did she
present us with "rare" steep waves, but she also
let us explore the shallow reef below them, in great, painful
detail.
LOG ENTRY 25: With a slightly diminished curiosity
for coral reeves, we continued our first foray into these
strange waters, unburdened by prudence or intelligence it
would seem. Trusting our guidebook with our tender, bruised
and pasty hides, we decided it was time to find the "perfect
wave". We returned to the beach where we were greeted
by much pointing, gaiety and clapping from the onlookers.
Friendly creatures.
LOG ENTRY 29: As the mission's Payload Specialist,
it was my duty to re-pack the '84 Ford Falcon Excursion Module
for the long journey to our next waypoint. Specialized equipment
had to be packed in advance for a mission of this magnitude
to the Red Planet. Sunglasses are a crucial tool as well as
sunscreen with an SPF of at leas 195, because the Red Planet
is apparently only a few hundred feet from the sun. A miniature
combustion surface, known to the natives as a "barbie"
is the preferred equipment for meal preparation here. "Prawns
on tha barbie" is quite a useful phrase to know. Finally,
our most valuable pieces of equipment for the mission are
the surfboards. Long and floaty is the optimal board shape
for pasty Canadians who reach these shores.
LOG ENTRY 32: Our guidebook listed Lennox Head
as one of the toughest places within its pages; not only
for the waves, but the square-headed local inhabitants as
well. Having received nothing but good tidings from the local
inhabitants thus far and suffering only a mild spanking from
the "rare" steep waves, we pointed the '84 Falcon
Excursion Module towards Lennox Head and engaged all thrusters.
LOG ENTRY 36: "Hormones in the beef", I
replied when my mission partner asked how the locals got so
big here. The "hairless Australian Surfing Gorilla"
was one of the most bizarre and intimidating creatures we
had met on our journey. "Sty off moy wive, wanka!"
it bellowed. Even these creatures spoke in that same strange
tongue we had become familiar with. "We come in peace,
friend," I said, as I paddled out next to him to wait
for my wave. "Yil come in pieces when I'm done with ya,
wanka." I think I got the gist of that the first time
he cam tearing down the face of a wave with his pointy little
surfboard aimed right at my head. We both knew it was no accident.
He was un-repentant and I was unwilling to show my fear. As
the kamikaze Surfing Gorilla continued to buzz me with his
death board, I realized that our mission, not to mention my
health, was in jeopardy. I could not let our goal of surfing
the great waves of the Red Planet slip away.
I signaled to my partner on the beach to warm up the '84
Falcon Excursion Module and keep it in gear. I saw the wave
coming and I knew the Gorilla saw it too. Just as he was ready
to power onto it, I nosed my big, floaty board into the wave
a fraction before him and dropped into the gaping green void
with a barbaric shriek. My adversary was poised on the lip
of the wave, unsure of what was unfolding as I zipped by shrieking,
half in utter defiance, half in terror with arms flailing
like a Grover doll on acid. As he pitched over backwards,
his board made a near perfect arc through the sky, gleaming
in the bright, mid-day sun. I, on the other hand, had the
ride of my life. It was the most exhilarating four seconds
I could ever remember. I managed to stand up in what felt
like a towering victory stance, but was later recounted to
me as a "cowering hunch-back" sort of pose. Either
way, I knew I would be getting a close-up look at the reef
very soon, at the hands of the Gorilla or the wave, and it
would come complete with the usual salt water enema.
I quickly made my way into the beach, displaying my near
perfect knee ride on the whitewash. As a veteran of several
missions such as this, I could sense grave danger bearing
down on me from behind. I hit the beach running and made it
to the '84 Falcon Excursion Module just in time, leaving the
Gorilla dancing in the dust. Exploration is no easy job.
LOG ENTRY 41: On the return trip to our craft, my
partner and I were already calling the mission a success.
We had succeeded in riding the great waves of the Red Planet,
but had also collected vast sums of knowledge of this wonderfully
strange place and its inhabitants. In so doing, we had pushed
the envelope of human understanding and courage. The Red Planet
was like an eccentric, utopian mirror of the civilization
we know. Reaching it was a large leap for this man and larger
leap for his logic to grasp all of its intricacies.
Had I known this mission would be fraught with so much peril,
I may have chosen not to go. However, I could never look myself
in the eye again. Thankfully, I listened to that voice inside,
that primal voice which is part of man's instinct that compels
him to see what is over that next hill or on that distant
planet. |
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I was an extremely average student throughout my academic
life; however, for as long as I can remember, I excelled in
geography. This is no coincidence, as I spent the greater
part of my youth with my nose buried in a world atlas. "What's
it look like in that purple country over there?" "What's
on that little dot in the middle of the south Atlantic Ocean?"
I could never quench my thirst for knowledge about the strange
and wonderful places in my old Rand McNally World Atlas. When
I'm not pointing out obscure peak names in BC's mountains,
I enjoy daydreaming about places most people have never heard
of. I still can't walk past a map or a globe without being
tempted to stop and daydream some more.
My formal schooling complete, it was time for my known world
to expand. With a love for the wild mountains and coast already
deep in my bones, I found myself living 7000 km away, in beautiful
British Columbia. It's here that I now make my home, and it
is here that I stage my countless mini adventures into the
mountains or along the coastline. Rock climbing and mountain
biking are my two main passions that brought me to this part
of the world and I am reminded just why that happened every
time I get out to play.
Perhaps the thing I love the most about my life is that I
am a great lover of adventure and discovery, something that
has changed little since I was a kid. My latest discoveries
have not been in the world around me, but within myself. Tapping
into creative reservoirs and watching something develop before
me is something I am finding extremely satisfying. I recently
wrote and published 'Mountain Biking British Columbia'
which was my first book. I'm working on a second now as well
as continuing to write about and photograph my experiences
of traveling through this amazing world. As a songwriter,
guitarist, photographer and old school conversationalist (a
lost art form), I feel most alive when I create and learn.
These are the two things in my life that I hope will never
cease.
Steve's book Mountain Biking British Columbia is
available from www.simonsbikeshop.com.
Steve is a presenter of the Pilot Productions outdoor
series Treks in a Wild World. |
BUY ONLINE
Travel Writers: Dispatches from the Red Planet by
Steve Dunn
Treks
in a Wild World: 