In this weekly column series, Bernie Shelly explores the strange, funny rituals of everyday surf life — from awkward line-up conversations and endless paddle-outs to bruised egos and near-collisions in the surf. At the centre is Ichabod: intense, stubborn and fiercely focused, the perfect foil for Bernie’s dry humour and sharp observations about friendship, etiquette and the absurd beauty of sharing waves with other people.
19. Look-at me.
Something strange was happening in the line-up. And on the waves. Where there had been a gap in the number of surfers, there was now a multitude vying for the take-off right where we sat. A barrage. Surging. Jostling. Smiling Cheshire cats. Pouting; posing with hips thrust forward. Hanging heels; hanging entire bodies.
Perhaps we’d stumbled into a contest of sorts? A Guinness record number of people on a wave?
Which meant there had to be people recording the event.
And then I spotted them. One person on the shore with a bazooka. One person nearby operating an unmanned combat aerial vehicle. And in the water, what looked like a space capsule. Manned by a chap with suicide tendencies.
There was a brief misunderstanding about hostile takeovers.
Ichabod won that one: Apparently, according to him, the capsule was a camera in a water-housing. And the bazooka was a long lens. And it wasn’t a kamikaze strike drone. Just a drone. Taking photos.
Inexplicably, then, my friend joined the fray. The friend who hates crowds. The one who is a grump about this sort of thing.
Mind you, perhaps he had ill intents towards the partially submerged sacrificial paparazzo. The man was attracting hordes like the pied piper of Hamelin. If Ichabod could draw him away somehow, the rats would disperse.
Perhaps Ichabod planned to take him out. And then disappear amongst the throng. Or down the beach. Far off. Either way he’d clear the area of the wild assemblage.
As it happens his heroic crusade was captured on camera. By an edgy photographer. A very edgy photographer, who showed us the images.
Evidence of sorts, it seems.
First pic: Garden gnome in boskak pose.
Second pic: Garden gnome in a deeper boskak pose.
Third pic: Garden gnome in free fall.
Thereafter: Black. Blank.
Because, said the drone guy, Ichabod slammed into the harakiri candidate and smashed his space capsule. The irate guy with the bazooka captured the whole catastrophe.
So there it is.
My words of wisdom didn’t go down well. Hell, all I said was: “Pride goes before a fall. Before destruction, actually.”
Once he’s settled the argument about who pays for a new housing maybe he’ll speak to me.
Check in next week for more lessons with Ichabod.