Words by Garrett Holt - Photos by Marcus Paladino
I've always wondered what competing in a surf contest would be like. However, living on the West Coast of Canada there's not much opportunity beyond the Rip Curl Pro Tofino. Unfortunately, like many average surfers in this area, I've long been turned off from entering for fear of almost certain first round elimination. The talent in the Men's Pro is too overwhelming. Hence the addition of the Men's Amateur division. A chance for average surfers like myself to compete away from the danger of sponsor stickers and flamboyant, neon wetsuits.
Don't let my attempt at nonchalance fool you though. I was not taking this contest lightly. In fact, don't let anyone fool you that they take a surf contest lightly. Even if, in all reality, an amateur surfing contest means about as much as a Grade 4 math test, at the time you take both extremely seriously. I remember only wearing black T-shirts to school for those math tests so profuse was my sweating leading up to it. Granted I was a nerd and never quite grasped "going with the flow". But granted, we're also all surfers and surfers take the act of riding waves just as seriously as mathematicians consider the most complex algorithms. How else do you explain the abundant crowds surrounding the future contest site in the preceding days to the event despite the subpar onshore, windswell conditions? Training I tell you. For that week there were no friends in the water. Every surfer was evaluating prospective competitors with stink eyes and ill feelings. All that was missing were the voodoo dolls.
Come the first day of the competition I was a nervous wreck. Getting judged at anything can be frightening. My surfing sits somewhere close to my heart so any criticism was going to hit close to home. I had a feeling the critique wasn't going to be positive either. These thoughts kept me from any restful sleep so I figured I'd do a dawn patrol to shake off some of my nerves. It didn't work. My regular morning bowel movement came five times before my opening heat that morning. It was at 7am.
Paddling out was strange. I've never analyzed other surfers so vigorously by their duck dives. I was just trying to get a beat on whose ability was where. Truth was I never really figured it out. The current was running so strong that morning that all the other competitors were separated from me from the get go and then next thing you know the heat was over. Twenty minutes goes by pretty quickly it turns out. A blur of nonstop paddling and turning to go for any wave in hopes of finding some form of a score. Some how I found myself moving on at the end of it. As much as I claimed heat strategy to friends and family, I'm confident sheer dumb luck was the winning recipe.
As the morning progressed before my next round the contest site finally came to life. The sun came out and quite quickly the crowd did too. From beach babes to beer bellies, metal necks to hippies, everybody showed up to check out the action. Yup, the Rip Curl Pro Tofino is a circus full of a wide array of characters. But these patrons and partygoers make the event what it is just as much as the surfers out there boosting airs. I tried to convince myself that they were here to watch the likes of me but reality is most of them probably weren't even here to watch the heat after mine featuring Canadian superstar Pete Devries. Beach festivities from tug-o-wars and frisbee to getting half cut and sunburnt were their main focus. But that's surf contests. Turns out you don't have to surf to love them. You just have to love the beach. Or an excuse to get half cut.
My second heat went by just as quickly as the first but I was in less shock this time and able to take in a little more about the experience. And it really is a different surfing atmosphere. Everybody was mixed as to what approach they wanted to take in the water. Icy steel poker faces were in play just as prominently as friendly smiles and shakas. Personally, my feelings were mixed with having fun at this point while still very much wanting to advance. My face couldn't keep up with my switching emotions. I think it eventually decided on sticking with a combination of both spectrums resulting in what I can only imagine would closest resemble someone enjoying being constipated. Perhaps creating an unintentional psyche out to competitors, I somehow squeak through far surpassing my expectations by reaching the semifinals set to take place on day two of competition. I truly am the embodiment of the amateur surfer.
This is when I let dreams of a professional surfer's life on the World Tour creep into my head. Maybe I can be surfings version of Vince Papale, the rookie who broke into the NFL at the age of thirty inspiring the Disney movie "Invincible". I'd love to have a Disney movie about myself. Maybe its all possible, but I was going to need a good nights sleep in order to pull off this miracle. I figured another night of my stomach in knots with nerves wouldn't mix well with alcohol (as if anything mixes well with alcohol) so I skipped out on the nights festivities, a popular show by "The Funkhunters". For the best because if there's one thing more amateur than my surfing, it's my dancing.
I'm lucky I didn't quit my day job. I missed out on advancing to the finals, struggling the whole allotted time to find a decent wave, putting an end to my Hollywood dream run. But, as I've learned, that's a part of sports. Sometimes you don't get the bounces, sometimes you don't get the waves. Champions learn to overcome those challenges. I did not have the swagger of a champion. Not after watching the Women's Pro heats leading up to mine. It would be kind to suggest I don't have swagger around ladies to begin with, but after watching them tear apart waves right before I was set to go on stage I had zero confidence that my house would include trophies or future trophy wives that night. It just wasn't a day of scoring for me.
As I watched the rest of the event dwindle down until eventually the contest area was cleared of crowds and scaffolding, I wasn't sure what to make of my Rip Curl Pro Tofino experience. Does my semifinal finish mean I'm a top eight amateur surfer in Canada? That's laughable. I'm not even in the top eight surfers amongst my friends. Did I feel like it made my surfing better? Probably. At the least it showed where I need improvement. Competition after all pushes us to challenge our current abilities for the sake of competing better. Whether that's the future rippers in the U12 divisions letting their parents push them into bigger waves or Pete Devries and Sepp Bruhwiler using their rivalry to push Canada's current standard of performance surfing, everyone can benefit from some competitive juices.
But there has to be more to take away from this weekend than just an incentive to improve. That clicked in when I watched the Men's Longboarding final. Quite often relegated to the fringes of these contests, longboarding friends Robbie Ferguson, Reid Jackson, Ollie Atkey and Heath Thompson put on a show with equally good vibes and surfing. Robbie Ferguson ended up being the better man this day, but it was all for the fun of a year long bragging right that everyone but them will forget. And really, I'd say that's a similiar situation to all of us competitors here, even reigning national champion Pete Devries (of course his year long "bragging right" was a $5000 cheque). Ignoring the accompanying gut wrenching nerves, its just fun to cheer and be cheered on. To get surfed out and sunstroke after spending the whole day at the beach. To celebrate Sunday night over the most minuscule accomplishments. To be a part of the circus that makes up The Rip Curl Pro Tofino that, at the end of the day, is just an awesome excuse to take time off work to surf and celebrate with friends and strangers alike. I for one can't wait for next year.
