Grand Master Tiki

This is something I wrote on the fly about the Tiki outlet shop in Braunton in response to a post on the Magicseaweed surf forum. It's based on actual events, although fantasised mildly.

I'm even considering trying to condense it into a surf orientated book for young children. Although, knowing me, thats pretty unlikely to happen.

It was written quite a while ago but on stumbling upon it again recently I thought it would be a worthy addition to this blog of mine. Hope you enjoy :)

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Once apon a time there was a rubbish surfer surfing a board that was too small for him. Realising his problem he searched the land long and hard, high and low, for that magical board that would propel him along the glassy ocean pulses.

Hearing of a shop far far away, he travelled to the shire of Braunton where he hoped to find his soul board. After long discussions with many of the local wizards of the sea, he was pointed in the direction of a petrol station and a roundabout. Behind which he was told he would find the Grand Master Tiki wizard and his collection of used affordable surfboards.

The road was long, the map unclear, and at times it seemed like our intrepid surfer would never find the wizard and the magical board he sought. However, he stayed true to his goal. And by the dawn of the third day as the winds from the east blew the sun over the horizon, there it was. The Great Castle of Tiki.

Tired and hungry, our hero stopped for a tin of tuna and a bread roll, picking up a spare one as an offering to the Great Wizard.

Once inside the castle, our hero was made to feel welcome and at home. Attention was paid to his every need by the grommet workers, and boards of all shapes and sizes were presented to him. However, our hero had spent all his family's savings on the trip west and could not afford the Step 7s and other shiny boards on offer.

At that moment the Grand Master Tiki appeared from behind the staff room curtains. Our hero was quick to seize his chance and thrust his recently prepared tuna sandwich into the hands of the master. Having caught his attention, the master and our hero talked tuna and surf for the next few hours. The advice handed down in that short time stayed with our hero and he became a better surfer for it. 

As their conversation drew on they talked of volume, rail shape and surfing style to name a few. An idea was beginning to formulate in our hero's head as to what his magical board would eventually look like. Then as quickly as he appeared the Grand Master vanished, and in an instant was back again. This time he had brought with him a rack of surfboards. In that moment our hero knew what he was looking at. It was the rack of used affordable surfboards, all his life he thought it was just a bed time story. But now he knew it was real, and that he was very close to fulfilling his dream of owning a surfboard more suited to his specific needs at a price more suited to his specific wage packet.

The Grand Master clicked his fingers one of the boards lept from the rack and under our hero's arm. The master could see that both the board and our hero were as one, like they were meant to be together, like long lost lovers. The only problem, the master explained, was that the board was dying. One of its fins had been wounded in battle and on return from the seas it had turned to drink and drugs and let itself go. Over time it had accrued many holes and forgotten about the sea and it's healing properties. The great master explained that our hero must search out the mythical Solarez plant, found only in the borrows to the west over the haunted hills. Only this plant could heal the ills of the once great magical board and restore it to its former proud glory.

Luckily, our hero had purchased some leaf of solarez from the local naysayer of Croyde. Saving him the dangerous trip into the burrows. The great master was very happy at this news and, with the power of tuna in him, set about waving his magic sanding paper to fix the board.

Less than an hour later the magical board was back to its former glory and ready to do battle in the heavy seas of saunton. Our hero was very happy and offered the great master his last 100 gold coins. The master happily accepted these explaining that the global credit crunch had taken its toll and this would go a long way to purchasing more tins of tuna. Our hero was happy and couldn't wait to try his new board and the powers it held. So with a wave of his hand the master summoned the seas and transported our hero to the shores edge. The next two hours were the most magical our hero had ever had, including the time his mum brought home a baby kitten for him to play with.

Over the next two years both our hero and his board were very happy together. It seemed nothing could separate them,....until our hero laid his eyes on the Rusty Piranha.....

Steve "The Court Jester" Outram - Saunton Local

Here's a great project trying to record one of so many stories that could so easily be lost.

North Devon Surf Files - Portraits by Tim Barrow

I was looking through the pictures wondering who, after a few years surfing the area, I recognised. Who I knew or had seen in the surf. 

I'm sure everyone has a 'Steve' story...

When I first started loitering in North Devon around '04 I ended up sharing the water with Steve at Saunton a few times. Since then I've been in the lineup with him at The Point and Croyde a few times, maybe even Putsborough. I'm sure he doesn't remember me. In fact I know he doesn't. 

The reason I know this is because, from day one he's always waved at me; enthusiastically welcoming me into the sea. Then proceeded to paddle over to say hello, only to realise he's mistaken me for someone else. I guess he doesn't surf with his contacts in as this happens every time we surf together, without fail. Every time I think he may actually be welcoming me and not the guy he keeps mistaking me for. And pretty much every time, without fail, he's surfing in his shorts. 

Back in '04 I was still sporting a typical post learner attitude. I had mastered pop-ing up and was hardly falling off. The drive to improve my surfing was burning hot. I wanted every wave for myself. I understood the 'rules' and stuck to them religiously, but deep down I resented anyone catching waves further up the line than me or who caught more waves than me. In my mind I was no longer a kook. In reality I was probably more of one than I ever was.

On one of those 'mistaken identity' meetings, Steve emerged from the rip at Saunton waving and hollering at 'me' in the manner I was getting used to. He paddled over to say hi to the person he thought I was and we ended up chatted for a bit. Probably out of politeness. Probably about his crazy homemade boards. 

While we were chatting a set approached. He was sitting inside of me but was calling me onto the wave to share it. Still being a kook, if not in my head, I was surfing my fashionable shortboard and massively under gunned for the slow, weak waves of Saunton. But I put my head down and paddled as hard as I could so not to waste this generosity. Steve, on his homemade longboard had caught the wave much earlier and was already up and riding, and still calling me onto the wave. I obliged and dropped in in front of him, had a quick look over my shoulder to see him coming up fast behind me. "Yeah! Go! Put your foot down" He hollered behind me. I knew I needed to go faster to give him and his huge board space to surf, but I just couldn't. I was still a shit surfer despite what my ego was telling me. I pulled of the back of the wave and watched him slide all the way to the beach. Probably hollering and waving at others as he went.

Soon he was sitting beside me in the line up again and asking me what happened. I told him I just couldn't generate the speed and didn't want to ruin his wave. My ego bruised and disappointed at realising how crap I still was, Steve didn't seem to care about my ineptitude at all. 

Another set approached and again he was calling me into the wave when he had every right to call me off it. Buoyed by his apathy to my crapness I duly obliged and paddled hard again. Again I dropped in in front of him and again I found it hard to generate speed to give him space to surf. This time I didn't pull over the shoulder and off the wave.

Next thing Steve had parked his log just behind me on the wave and was hollering at me to "jump on". At first what he was saying didn't make sense. The words he were using were alien to surfing as I knew it. I hadn't considered that people could have a different approach to wave riding other than the selfish greed filled one which I was perpetrating. I didn't have time to comprehend, let alone follow Steve's instructions and I fell over the side of my board. Despite Steve's best efforts to pick me up and place me on his board himself. I wiped out and got rolled by the wave.

I think I came up for air from that wipeout with a new outlook on surfing - I could be crap, no one really cared and you could have as much fun sharing waves, if not more.