Redbeards came to life

On a cold morning in the depths of winter, just past the equinox, Redbeards came to life. I spotted the forecast early. I can’t help but plant the seed of anxiety early and ride the waves of emotion all the way until game day. It’s not even controllable these days; it's an addiction.

Ari Wolfl in the spot

With a sniff of slabbing barrels, I made the call around to see who would be keen, which is always a challenge to find people willing to commit. One person I knew would be frothing in the red-headed madman Zac Haynes, and of course, he was. I was also in the ear of the calculated assassin of Phil (chopper) Reid, a former AFL bulldog who is always keen on a swell chase and adventure. With the seed firmly planted and the boys all keen for a sniff, the swell was a way out and now the final confirmation would come from Huey himself and all there is left to do is wait.

It’s a funny process big wave swell forecasting and pulling the trigger on a swell run. The emotions are high and the refresh button on the forecast is nearly worn out by the time everything is confirmed, and plans are set in stone. It’s almost the thrill of the chase and preparation that is the most enticing and like the carrot dangling in front of the donkeys’ mouth, our saliva dripping chompers aimlessly waking towards the direction of offshore wind and 4 meters of swell.

Ari Wolfl

Closer to the time, young buck Ned Hart and Tasmainian prodigy Noah Hassett also joined the pilgrimage.. Ned fresh off his Irish/Scottish slab tour and Noah on a holiday adventure with his family. Both these kids are so impressive of what they do when the ocean is consequential. Ned just has a radar for perfect sets and Noah, been surfing the notorisly dangerous Shipsteerns Bluff since before he found his first pube. Both fully respectful and impressively fearless.

I rallied up underground photographer Ari Wolfl and the old school master Scott Bauer to document the mission and the hammer was dropped. We were on. Relief, angst and froth all mixed in the soup bowl of adventure. On the day, my tow partner Chop had to pull out, so I launched my ski solo, said to Scotty that I’d meet him at a time and headed off into the cold crisp morning following the sun as it rose up over fog-filled hills and ocean mist beach.

On my arrival, Zac was towing with his Nazare copondre, Toby Cunningham. I’d spoken to Zac, and my plan was to run safety and join the team for a few waves when my time came. It was a cold, dark and ominous blue ocean with a sound of exploding compression as the slab detonated on the shallow granite ledge. Zac was making it look easy, with his smooth crisp style, standing inside these pits like gonad man, as the raging loose ranga stood insides these caves like a gorilla in the mist.

Ned and Noah arrived a short time later and soon found their way into the line-up, showing knowledge beyond their years, wrangling some of the waves of the day with a clam, frothing, grommet-like demeanour. When I spoke with Noah, for a 19-yr old, he was already five years into his big wave pursuits, expressing his passions for the beast that is the Stern. I couldn’t help but think that with his attitude that he must have the support from the old boy chargers of the area, and just what will we see from these kids in the future. Ned just soon after these thoughts, nailed the wave of the day...

It was getting far into the session, and my turn came to step into the ring. It’s getting a little easier these days to control the overwhelming gush of adrenaline that comes with jumping off the ski and being the longest time that I’d ever spent in the channel watching, I was frothing to have a dig. My first wave was a perfect line of beauty and the beast, feeling poised in the pit, before getting guillotined like a convict who had stolen a sheep before exit. My next wave was something that I feel may never happen again at this place. I took a fall line into the wave that I thought would be one of the biggest pits I’d stand in out there and as I went to steer down to the bottom of this beast, the crest and step in the wave started to eat itself like Jabba the hut. I steered for safety and sat on the high side of the step looking at the wall in front of me, foaming down like a Himalayan avalanche with this one line ahead of me that directed me to the channel. Loose, fizzing and confused about what had just happened, Zac picked me up and I just laughed with him and calmly stated, too big.

Photos Ari Wolfl

Frame grab Thridlink

I was able to get one more wave before Huey decided that it was enough for us all. The wind swung onshore, the chandys got deadly and Redbeard’s when back to hibernation. It is my firm belief that the wave of my life will be found at this wave. It’s mutant, raw, imperfect and thrilling all in one fleeting moment, but until the next call of the anxious forecast dilemma arrives again, we will all just live on the memory.