The D.J.Files … bits of a surfing life #11 N.Z.
Disclaimer: only the facts are true in the following … and some of them may be suspect.
A railway station in the Shaky Isles D.J. is waiting for someone to arrive on a train. Someone from Wales. You just can’t get away from em.
Craig Evans…he was given D.J.’s phone number by a mate and has rung him to say he’s coming over, OK? There are 2 Craig Evans. Probably hundreds actually, but certainly 2 that surf. In Wales so many people share the same names, they use a descriptor for individuals: Evans-the-Milk delivers the white liquid, Evans-Above lives over a shop and so forth.
So we have the “Mahatma” (don’t ask…it’s so long I forget anyway) on a beautifully scenic rail journey across the north island. It’s just like the brochure, he thinks: snowy peaks, green forests, gushing geysers, he’s seen it all in the few weeks he’s been here.
He gets off the train in a small town. He vaguely remembers D..J.’s face; he was never in the ‘inner circle’ tho. Ah, there he is. “UM…D.J.?” some strange bloke says to D.J. “Er..yeah?” “I’m Craig Evans … he stops himself from saying ‘boyo’ ”
“Oh..yeah…OK” and D.J. recovers. That’s right, he remembers some bloke telling him there was another Craig Evans. My stuff’s over there, he’s told, so they go and collect the bags and the board and pile them into the back of the Ute.
The surf’s up, he tells ‘Mahatma’, but it’s a bit too late ‘in the arvo’ (he’s been away too long and is starting to talk differently) to get a session in. We’ll go for a wave ‘at sparrow fart’ he continues.
The Mahatma finds N.Z. very different from the U.K … all this lovely countryside and hardly any bugger in it, he thinks. Timber houses, so unlike the brick semis and terraces of Wales. The place D.J.’s been renting looks more like something out of Davey Crockett.
The Mahatma loves the character of it. After dinner they sit out for a few beers with their feet up on the veranda rails. It’s been a long day tho, and anyway they’re getting up for an early surf, so they soon turn in. Mahatma is dreaming something he won’t recall, coz he’s woken up very suddenly.
Holy F……the whole world is doing a dance!!! He leaps out of bed, falls down, gets up….crockery is chattering fearfully on a dresser. Oh my God, it’s the end of the world!! A thin grey light is indicating dawn and by it’s faintness he staggers out onto the veranda.
D.J. is calmly eating a bowl of puffed wheat, altho a lot of it is ending up down his chest. Feet on the veranda rails, knees juddering. “G’Day”…slurp….”I was gonna wwwake you in a mmmminute, mate, no rush” The Mahatma can’t believe the coolness of the guy.
“Bbbbbut wha’s happnin!???” he asks “Oh this, yeah, just a llllittle earthquake, nnnno worries”
“No wwwwuh…” Mahatma has the stunned mullet look “but er…”
“Didn’ya know, we’re smack in the middle of a regular zone here, but they haven’t had a serious one in years” he assures as it all settles.
“Haven’t….a serious….?” Mahatma weakly repeats “Come on, I’ve put your board in the ute, let’s go” says D.J., returning the empty cereal bowl into the house.
Mahatma walks zombie-like to the waiting vehicle. D.J. throws himself in and starts up. “Don’t you wanna piss?” “Er…I’ll have one in the wettie” ..altho it’s a bumpy road and he wishes he’d gone before leaving. “We were supposed to have a tidal wave a few weeks back…the townsfolk all headed for the high ground, but some of the guys paddled out to wait for it” D.J. says… ” nothing came tho” Probably just as well eh? .
To be continued . . .
