Dispatch, Shipwreck Bay, New Zealand — Nearly 200 years of surfing history lie side by side on the sands of Shipwreck Bay, a world-class point break in Ahipara. There’s a Hawaiian Alaia, a replica of the earliest surfboards ever ridden, and a modern hydrofoil, which carries the rider above the water on a wing-like blade.
Waiting for the tide to drop at Shippies—as the locals call this South Pacific break—I chat with the Alaia guy. He’s from Belgium and says the board connects him to surfing’s roots. The board is a thin plank of wood with no fins. It looks hard to handle, but once you’re on a good wave, like the ones steaming across the bay, you can ride like the ancients.
The hydrofoil, on the other hand, is built from high-tech materials the old Hawaiians couldn’t have fathomed. Its working parts are carbon fiber with a small epoxy deck to stand on. We see two versions: one paddled like a regular surfboard and another motorized, where the rider zooms around two feet off the surface, catching waves long before they break. They look like a lot of fun.
I hit the water with a standard 9’0” longboard called a “Super Session.” On the drive to the West Coast the day before, we stopped at an avocado stand and picked up a half dozen of the best-looking fruits I’ve ever seen. The man looked up at our truck and asked, “Is that a Super Session?” Apparently, they’re a classic model down here. He was fired up about the swell forecast and couldn’t wait to surf Shippies the following afternoon on a draining tide.
I run into the Avocado Guy on my first paddle out. There are several points along the bay, and we settle on the nearest one, stoked to see a mind-blowing succession of waves peeling for nearly half a mile from the outer bar. One comes my way, and I drop in. After a casual bottom turn, I trim out on a head-high screamer that runs for an easy 100 yards.
My avocado friend catches one, too, and we paddle back out together. He tells me it was the ride of his life, though he feels a little guilty—his wife is home recovering from foot surgery—but the waves were too good to pass up. Like many breaks, the waves always look greener on the other side of the pasture, and we watch as the biggest and best lines roll in from the furthest point. I want one of those.
It takes nearly an hour to paddle to the outside, a tough slog with the current pushing me back. Each time a wave roars through, the surfer at the head of the pack picks it off and cruises by. I keep at it but still can’t get into position. If you stop paddling to rest, you drift out of the zone. It’s frustrating and exhausting, and I’m about ready to give up and float off in defeat.
Then I think about Anawhata, where I stood just days before, gazing at the ocean from the same cliffs Sir Edmund Hillary once called home. One last push for the summit, I tell myself, the way Hillary might have before conquering Everest. I paddle five more minutes and find myself third in line at the peak. The next wave comes through, two feet overhead, and a shortboarder snags it. The one behind swings wide, and I’m in the perfect spot. Head down, I paddle hard and tip over the ledge. I make the drop, backside, turn hard off the bottom, and trim into the pocket—a glassy wall stretching as far as l can see.
I settle into the Super Session’s sweet spot, a little forward on the deck, and hit the gas. The fins start to buzz, the vibration humming through my feet. I pump along the face to stay ahead of the curl—a rollercoaster ride that feels like it’ll never end. In some sections, sand sucked off the reef infuses the azure water with swirls of color. I fly past the surfers jockeying toward the point— mostly foreigners, friendly, with hoots and shakas as I fly by.
At various points, water piling up along the shore rushes back out and drives the swells skyward in fans of spray. My wave rears up, launches me into the air, and I land in an explosion of white water—an epic finish for the best wave of my life. After only a minute’s rest, another long line rolls toward me, no one on it. I think, Really? Me again? and go. It’s another famed Shippies left, and I ride it for what must be 150 yards, easily the most exquisitely shaped wave I’ve ever had.