drift, perspectives in surfing

Words: Ethan Jackson

Photos: Terry Manier

Surf Rumble at Macho Beach: The Bloodbath

The Macho Beach Noseriders proposed a surf-off plus a few other events, and then an end of the day  sausage sizzle (their words, not mine) at one of their member’s house on the beach. The build up was enormous.  We made a preemptive strike with a press release crafted by a PR professional, sent to all publications in Charleston. It was sick (we took a few liberties and slammed the MBNR as a bunch of privileged blue-bloods who didn’t really know how to represent surfing–it couldn’t have been further from the truth).

We showed up at 12 o’clock not knowing what to expect, but the forecast was accurate, 0 to 1 foot and choppy. Perfect.  There was nothing that resembled a surf club at the beach so I walked down a tent with a few people and boards in it. I picked out the gnarliest looking guy—double piercings, ink everywhere, cigarette hanging from his lips, shades permanently drawn….

Me: (posing as a big heavy, 167 pounds soaking wet) “Hey man, are you a Macho Beach NoseRider?”

Him: “Hell no! I’m with the Vikings!”

Me: (holy shit! are there really gangs down here, now?)

“Aight then, tell those foolz that they flaked on us and everybody knows it.”

Him: “Yeah… screw those punks.”

Me: “Yeah, bru, what you said times a hundred…”

I return to find my wife and best friend being chatted up by none other than our rival who goes by the highly suspicious, but cool name, “Rocky.”

Rocky turned out to be the first ambassador of the MBNR and couldn’t have been more hospitable.

The next 5 hours were a blur of surf lore, bravado, small waves, club
traditions and exchanges of boards, stories, ideas, and finally, the
competition.

The MBNR had an uncanny ability to organize themselves and sported matching trunks and hats. Hell, they even had a human mascot, Machie, a surfing beer can who showed up on the horizon on a SUP.
They had full-on documentation of the event going on with video, a live reporter and two professional photographers. One was a shooter from National Geographic. Seriously.

Due to the small, wind chop surf, we agreed to a series of events. They were as follows:

1) Bocci (italian horseshoes in my opinion, boring) winner: MBNR
2) 7 person paddle relay from the beach around SUP buoy, winner: MBNR
3) 20 vs. 20 tug of war (we had to pull in some ringers on roids off the beach), winner: MBNR
4) 7 person relay on a stairmaster-type-of-bike-race + chugging one Coor’s Light, winner: MBNR
5) One spontaneous wrestling match that broke out between the MBNR mascot,
Machie, and me: winner: MBNR mascot

We got whipped in every single event.
We were then hosted by the MBNR to a post-rumble BBQ where they regaled us
with their club’s exploits. Then they bragged about the amazing benefits they offered and how awesome their club was. Sadly, this reporter witnessed unnamed CKS gang members inquiring how to jump from the CKS and join the MBNR.

Meanwhile, rival cars were tagged with opposing team stickers and storm
clouds erupted, covering the sunset and signaling the end of the first Rumble
at Macho beach.

The MBNR schooled us, no doubt. However, if it is true that the best surfer is the one having the most fun, then we definitely had an even match up.

Postscript: The next day the surf jumped up to stomach high and was the best
surf I’ve had since Costa Rica in May. The MBNR were out in force and were as hospitable as ever. The CKS scored some waves and dropped a few lincoln logs off in the water at Macho Beach because, well… we’re truly just juvenile dirtbags at heart–that’s why we surf.