Surftrip stories Not about riding waves... cant delete original one posted earlier...any litteratii out there?
harrycoopr wrote:harrycoopr wrote:
Just happened to find this little story i wrote years ago, remembering "an incident" on one of our many trips to Yorkes... All expletives have been heavily censored and all names and places have been changed to protect the innocent! Not sure if there's already a "surftrip story" thread but im interested in any more Yorkes stories especially !
The Yorky Incident - a tragi-comedy
The evening had started out well. A late glass-off session at Salmon Hole with only two others out and crisp clean walls. The sun had burst through the clouds for a farewell, lighting up the headland cliffs and dunes with a soft brilliance. All in all, a surfer's dream. Sensory magic. And that nice worn out feeling.
Back at Porks' camp things slowly began to fire up. The lads had two separate camps having met up down Yorkes in different cars. Significantly, the boys were all on the sadder side of thirty and had known each other for years. This was their umpteenth Yorkes trip. Terry had been quietly pondering the exact approach needed to raise the delicate question of Pork's ricecream stash. Tact was required. Subtlety. Just as he was about to begin the softening process, Harry blurted out a proposal. "How about a can of ricecream Porks? I'll buy it off you". Both Harry and Terry had simultaneously and intuitively realised that somehow a can of ricecream would perfectly round-off a good session and nosh-up. The consequences of Harry's well-intentioned though ill-prepared lead in, however, would prove disastrous.
At once, on hearing the request, Porks leant back in his fold-away, arms crossed, chin defiantly poking the air, and with a casual note of utter conviction gave his answer. "No". "I'll pay you $2 Porks, whatever it's worth". Harry was going about it all the wrong way but couldn't stop himself. "You can replace it tomorrow, when you go into town... it's not like you want it tonight. I''ll give you ten bucks for one". He was joking of course. "No way. You can kiss my a...". Porks couldn't have been more emphatic.
This little event was beginning to assume epic proportions. A regular blow out. Porks measured his response. "They're my cans and I dont want to sell them... and it's as simple as that. Buy some tomorrow". "We'd like it now... tonight... for dessert". "Well, I aint going to sell. You should've bought some". Harry and Terry smiled at each other. "Yeah, well, we were in a rush to get down here and hit it". "Oh well, that's just toooo bad, huh". If he'd leant back any further he would have fallen out of his chair. Porks was nicely puffed up. "Well it's f...... unreasonable Porks". "I"M NOT SELLING!". "It's a powertrip Porks, that's all". "OK it's a powertrip". "Well then... that makes you, umm... a (….)". Harry didn't use this word all that often, only as a very rare spice, but he knew it would enter Pork's core more directly than any rationalising. It left no room for misunderstandings.
At this crucial point, which should have been Porks triumphant moment, Kim emerged from his tent. With a quiet step and mischievous smile he handed Terry one can of ricecream to share. Porks sat stunned. His whole demeanour fizzled as if someone had p....d on the fire. Kim had stolen the limelight. There was a very heavy atmosphere building up around Porks. "(….) hey?" With the ricecream warming and Harry now placated, it was Porks who wanted answers. "That's nice... friends call you a (….)". Porks became determined to regain lost ground. "Let it go Porks, all's cool now". But Porks didn't want to let it go. He was becoming committed to a new cause. The word "(….)" had been thrown into the ring and there was an injustice to behold.
With an air of indignation almost rivalling in magnitude Kim's little subversive act, Porks leant forward. "Yeah, that's real f...... nice… a (….)... so that's how it is". "Anyway", Porks threw in provokingly, "(…..) are useful". "Sure Porks, let it go". He wasn't going to. Porks now upped the ante and to refuse the next installment would prove more insulting than simply bandying around a colourful expletive. Porks began to reiterate the whole argument, carefully pointing out his right of refusal. "And if I don't want to surf s...t I wont" he mysteriously threw in to the mix.
Terry had started packing up, satiated with his share of the dessert. Kim retired to his tent again, giggling and relishing the thrust and parry. The time had come for Harry and Terry to move back to their camp. Harry was at the boot of the car washing the dishes, when Porks yelled out at him that he should get in the car and ".... off" before he decided to hit him... that he'd "had enough". He was taking a whole new approach. Kim's can offer had thrown the whole situation out of control and Porks had hit fever pitch.
"So you'd resort to violence over a can of ricecream, hey Porks?". This was Harry's final parting shot before he heard "Right, that's it!". In a flurry of activity Porks had pulled himself out of his chair and begun his charge. He ran towards the little yellow car like a madman. Harry stood and watched in amazement as the bulk of Porks seemed somehow to be smoothly coordinated. It appeared serious. Porks was in fact about to deliver an actual punch. It had come to this. Pure physicality. Holding a bottle of water in his hand, Harry waited dumbfounded for the initial impact. Porks came steaming in carrying half the fire in his wake and launched himself. What he didn't see was the branch laying two feet in front of him. As the ground thudded a little, Harry wasn't sure where to go from here. What was he to do? Kick him in the head? Laugh? Help him up? Sit on him? It was all too much and it was time to go. Porks had bit the dust. The show was over.
Very nice writing there Harrycoopr. It reminds me of a story i heard when yakking with travellers while working in the Margaret River Vineyards.
The storyteller, Mitch, was on a barebones trip around oz. Living in a van, subsiding on noodles, sweet chilli sauce and fish whenever he could catch some.
At the time he had left Adelaide and was heading west. He hadn't had enough money for much entertainment purposes but did collect a small quantity of Datura seeds when he noticed a garden in bloom in Adelaide.
He recalls being somewhere quite remote sitting around a fire by himself when he decided to consume the seeds.
As it came on he was wracked with doubt about doing datura in the remote environment in case he had too much. He started trying to talk to himself as the quietness was doing his head in (his words).
Maybe it was this talking that someone overheard as suddenly a young female approached and asked if she could sit by his fire.
He was happy for the company and was trying his hardest to converse as normally as possible despite tripping very hard.
She didn't seem to know or mind and the conversation flowed freely between them. But as they talked he struggled to with a feeling that he somehow knew her from somewhere.
In the middle of a conversation it dawned on him he had seen her before.
'Hey you're that chick that works in last servo I went to'
And as soon as the words left his mouth she disappeared before his very eyes.