Aloha Classic 2000
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Aloha Classic 2000 |
It was intended to be nothing but a windsurfing holiday. It ended up being a pure adrenaline rush. Fiona van Ammers about her first PWA-competition at Ho'okipa, Maui, the temple of waveriding. A story full of humor, dedication and thrill.
On the morning of October 8, 2000, I left California for
an extended vacation on the Valley Isle, better known as Maui. I was so ecstatic about
this adventure I could barely sleep or read on the plane. In fact about two hours before
we were scheduled to land, I saw a blanket of white caps across the Pacific and became
extremely fidgety. I kept arching over the newlywed couple siting next to me in an attempt
to get a better glance at the ocean I would soon be enjoying. I had not sailed in over 6
weeks and, as we say in Northern California, I was “jonesing” to get out onto
the warm Hawaiian water. After landing, I wasted no time. I picked up my rental car and
headed straight for the most famous and rumored one of the most difficult wavesailing
spots in the world, Ho’okipa. I spent 15 minutes checking out the shoulder high waves
before rigging my 4.7 Ezzy Wave and heading out for my first solid session. In the
next week, I found a place to stay, established some semi-reliable transportation, and
figured my way to Sprecks and Kanaha. More importantly, I was sailing everyday, all day,
as if tomorrow and the rest of my life might not be windy. No matter what beach I was at,
I was sailing full force. If I hadn’t been in Maui, people probably would have
thought the many bruises and cuts along my legs were from some abusive boyfriend.
Especially, if they noticed the stitches in my lip I earned doing a lame freestyle trick I
am too embarrassed to even mention. The beating my body was taking was well worth it,
because it was just so amazing to be riding long-clean waves in beautiful blue water that
felt like a warm bath. Maui was magical and everyday I fell more in love with windsurfing. Sailing
as if the rest of my life might not be windy As the weeks went by, I noticed that Ho’okipa was becoming increasingly crowded as the pros were returning from the Professional Windsurfing Association (PWA) events in Europe and preparing for the 2000 Aloha Classic, which was to be held in the second week of November. I was contemplating competing in the Aloha Classic, but the contest was a little intimidating, as most of the other women, if not all of them, lived and/or trained in Maui. Their skill and competition shrewdness was at a level I had never experienced. I was just a rookie from California who had been on the rock for about four weeks. My competition experience was almost nil, since I had only competed, for the first time this year, at a couple of California contests. Yet, I guess it was those handicaps that made the contest appealing to me. About a
week before the official start of the Aloha Classic, the sign ups for the unseated men
were being conducted. Some friends had signed up and encouraged me to sign up for the
women’s event. I was still unsure if I was going to do it, but when I received some
haggling from a few Kiwi boys I knew, I made a definite decision to compete… I
didn’t want to look like a wimp. In any case, what did I have to lose? It would be a
once in a lifetime experience, and I didn’t want to go home regretting not trying.
Plus, when you think about it, for $150 you get about 15 minutes to basically sail
Ho’okipa by yourself… considering that 99.5% of the time in Maui you have to
share your waves with strangers, a $150 is a bargain. On the
first day of the men’s trials, I drove up the Hana Highway to sign up for the
contest. As I walked up to the trailer to fill out the appropriate papers and pay my entry
fee, I watched the men’s heats being held in a dangerous northwest, channel-closing,
double-mast-high swell and barely any wind. It was like the whole Northshore was
barricaded with lines of huge white walls and the men were just flies trying to break
through them. I watched man after man, along with all his gear, get trashed on the rocks
trying to break down this barricade. This put a tight knot in my stomach, but I convinced
myself that the swell would come down before the start of the official contest, and
definitely before the women’s heats were sent out. I
realised I was a nobody Although
the conditions were intimidating, I proceeded to get in the short queue to sign up.
Standing there for a few minutes, I suddenly realized I was in line between one of the
best pro women, Angela Farrell, and famous waterman, Rush Randle. In between these two, I
realized I was a nobody. I was going to be sailing against women I had read about in the
magazines. The feeling reverberated itself when the PWA representative, a dark haired man
with one of those pretentious English accents, asked me my name and sail number. I clearly
spelled my name, but sail number? “I don’t have a sail number.” The
coordinator looked annoyed and puzzled, and I half expected him to tell me that I
wasn’t qualified to compete. For a brief moment, I thought this might be my way out
of doing the contest, but he asked, “Where are you from?” “Uh,
California,” I muttered “Ok, so you are from the US. We will figure out the
number later.” He then handed me some stickers, a rashguard, and a packet of papers
detailing the contest rules and sent me on my way. I walked away feeling like I had just
fooled this man into letting me compete in a contest that was way out of my league. The days
before the contest, my nervousness escalated. Every time I thought about how I might
perform, I would become immobilized with fear. I was able to distract myself from these
thoughts with sailing, but at night, when I was left alone in my bed, my mind would race
with thousands of negative images… I imagined myself on the sharp-slimy-rocks
struggling against the huge surf while the other women doing ridiculously difficult moves
like a double back loop. A close
friend of mine recognized my anxiety and gave me some trustworthy advice about mentally
preparing for the contest. Per his suggestion, I spent my spare moments visualizing
competing in big waves and light wind. I tried to picture every detail I wanted to
accomplish in my heat: start the watch’s timer, head straight for the channel, sail
up wind, tack, sail in, take a wave, jibe through the channel, etc. These mental exercises
seemed to give me, at least momentarily, piece of mind.
Ho’okipa and the New York Stock Exchange The
first morning of the contest came, and being the punctual person I am, I arrived at
Ho’okipa just before the scheduled skippers meeting. The parking lot was jammed pack
with cars and the beach was covered with stacks of rigged sails making what looked like a
boot camp obstacle course. “Shit!” I kept yelling at myself as I searched for a
place to park and some shade to rig in. I had not “visualized” this, and my
experience from previous contests was that the skippers meetings run an hour late and the
heats start an hour or so afterwards. The
“aura” surrounding this contest was like no other I had encountered. The Aloha
Classic, the last stop on the PWA tour, for which many titles were at stake, was not some
trivial local event. The stress permeating the air was something more like the New York
Stock Exchange, not something you would necessarily expect from a windsurfing contest.
This was daunting in itself, but not as much as the big swell that was STILL pounding the
beach. Although the swell had come down since the men’s trials, the waves were still
over-mast high, closing out the channel, and peeling quite gnarly. Not counting my recent
virtual sailing, I had never sailed Ho’okipa in surf this big. The
skippers meeting informed us that Heats 1-27 were scheduled for the first day. I checked
the ladder of heats that was up on the wall, and saw that “US…” was in heat
number 25, along with Keala Bryant (Hawaiian local), Lucienne Ernst (Dutch woman in the
top 5 PWA ranking), and another local Hawaiian girl. There was this sort of silly question
going around among the women and even some of the men, “who is US…” Turns
out, that was me. I
estimated that heat 25 would be sent out at about 5:00PM, at which time I could expect
that the waves would still be big, but the wind would be dying. A sense of doom was taking
over my body. I didn’t know how I was possibly going to make it through my heat. I
was able to fend off my nervousness with the distractions of rigging and fine-tuning my
equipment, but when I finally ran out of things to do, the sense of condemnation returned. The contest was running along smoothly, and the men were relentlessly charging Ho’okipa. They were smacking the lip, catching nice floaters, and then gliding back up the face of these long blue walls. It was amazing to see, but unfortunately, my uneasiness was becoming so intense that watching the men made me queasy. As the day progressed, my heart rate raced and my stomach moved closer to my throat. I tried to be social and watch the men’s heats with everyone else, but it all became too much for me and I resorted to hiding under a small tree at the end of the beach… away from all the the other women who didn’t look one bit nervous. Peeing
every 5 minutes Later, I
was happy to learn we were all nervous. One girl, name withheld to protect the innocent,
told me she was so nervous she had to pee every five minutes. I realize now that being a
real competitor means acting tough. If you act as if you are afraid, you will become
afraid. The thing is that with a sport like windsurfing, competitions are man on man…
it’s independent. There are no teammates or coaches to look to or count on when the
going gets tough. Your weaknesses are exposed but it’s up to you to toughen up and
play the game. I hid
under that tree for a long while and wondered if my heat would be called or if the day
would run out and our heat would be excused. I was trapped in this sort of loop. I’d
look out from the tree to see the macker waves roll through and fear would over come me
and squelch any desire I had to compete. I’d consider packing up my stuff up and
leaving, thinking to myself, “No one knows who I am, and no one would notice if
“US…” missed her heat.” But then my competitive “show pony
self” would crawl out from somewhere deep inside of me and say, “NO, you can do
this. What better day is there than a contest to challenge Ho’okipa on over-mast high
waves?” I’d make an agreement with myself that I would, as the Nike slogan goes,
just do it… but then I’d see one of the men get hammered by a wave and the whole
conversation would start again. After a
few of hours of this mental torture, I heard a rumor that Heats 20 and up had been
excused. I quickly headed to the trailer to see for myself. All the tension in my body was
released when I realized my heat was excused. As I walked away from the ladder trying to
hide my excitement, I saw Keala and she too had a big smile on her face. I asked her what
she was going to do now, and she told me she was going to sail Kanaha for an hour or so.
Great idea, I thought, what better way to relieve the torturous tension of the day, and
so, I did the same. US… The
following day, I showed up an hour earlier. The swell was still mast high, but the channel
wasn’t closing out all the time. It seemed possible to time it, such that you could
actually get out past the break. I rigged with plenty of time and was feeling a little
more at ease. As I was applying all the necessary sponsor stickers, it was pointed out to
me that I didn’t have my sail number on my sails… this would make it difficult
for the judges to tell me apart from the other women. Obviously, this person didn’t
know who I was, “US…” Anyway, I didn’t have the stickers, but I
worried about not being scored. So, being the creative artist that I am, I used the
universal wonder and windsurfing tool, duct tape, and spelled out “US…” on
my sail. While
waiting for my heat to begin, I talked the talk with a few people. Rebecca Wolthers, a
girl I had competed against in California, asked me to be her caddy and said she would do
the same for me. I agreed, but remembering that I only had one board, I jokingly suggested
that if I was to lose my kit, she should pick up Dunkerbeck’s small board and sail
that out to me. We laughed, but I realized I had to be somewhat conservative out on the
water, since there were no second chances for me. (According to PWA rules, a competing
sailor can have another sailor launch from the beach and bring out a kit to them, if their
original kit is damaged or lost.)
At about 12PM, my heat was on deck. It was announced that
we were going to be judged on our three best waves and no jumps. I had planned on going
out on my 5.2, but just before my heat, it appeared that the wind had come up. Jocelyn
Hrkach, who is about my size, came in and said that she was powered on her 4.7. I was
already nervous and the changing wind made me panic. Should I go out on my 5.2 and risk
being overpowered and unable to make nice bottom turns, or should I get my 4.7 and risk
being underpowered and unable to get upwind. I decided since we weren’t being scored
on jumps, I didn’t need the extra power and it was better to go out on my smaller
sail. At the last second, a friend ran through the maze of sails and grabbed my 4.7. We
attached it to my board just as my heat began. I made
my way around the Monk Seal that was blocking the launch and headed out. I did exactly
what I had imagined those nights in bed. I went through the channel, tacked, came in and
took a wave. To be honest, I don’t really remember much about the heat… all I
know was that I made conservative bottom and top turns, probably too conservative, but I
didn’t make any major mistakes. I was slightly underpowered and had a little trouble
getting upwind, but I took the necessary three waves and made it through my first PWA
heat. When I came in, I plopped down on the sand with a smile on my face and sighed with
relief. It was over… and although I didn’t sail to my full ability, I felt
content with my performance. A
darn good story The next
four days or so, were spent waiting in the sun for the women’s loser heats to be run,
better known as a double elimination or second chance. The ladder had US-8 and J-11 up in
heat 52. There was no “US…” anymore, and I learned that I was now
US-8… hmmm, I thought… I rather like that number. They ran more men's heats,
slalom heats, etc, and I spent the mornings waiting around to be excused and then sailing
for a couple hours at Kanaha. At some point during all of this, I messed up my shoulder,
which made sailing painful and rigging arduous. In spite of that, I knew I could sail
another 15 minute heat… boy, was I getting my full $150 worth. My loser
heat finally came. I heard them call heats 51 and 52 next, but I assumed they meant heat
51 was next and 52 would be on deck. Each heat had only two people in it, and I was up
against Junko Nagoshi from Japan. The ladder had no indication that both heats would be
run at the same time, but it turns out, (be careful here this is tricky) they were running
two two-person heats in one time frame. The start gun sounded, and not only did heat 51 go
out on the water, but so did J-11, the girl I was up against in my heat. Luckily, I was
ready, and just had to pick up my gear and go out, but it shook me up a little. It’s
somewhat funny, because I’ve heard many stories about people missing their
heats… they were asleep, on the toilet, or some lame excuse like that. I always
wondered what kind of moron would miss their heat, but in all the confusion and tension of
a contest like this, I realized I was either a moron or it was possible to miscalculate
your heat. Nevertheless,
I was confident about what I needed to do and was psyched for this heat. I was in that
sort of zone, where you are slightly nervous, but at the same time looking forward to the
challenge or fight that lies ahead of you. The launch was light and I remember all of us
shlogged towards the channel. At one point, I think all four of us went down in front of
the rocks… we were all trying to waterstart, but the wind was too light. Just as a
set was coming, I caught some wind and planned out of the impact zone, never looking back.
I was slightly overpowered on the wave with my 5.2, which a few friends later remarked was
apparent in my bottom turns, but I caught three nice long waves. At this point, I was
exhausted, my forearms felt like they were going to give and my shoulder was really
aching. I had been keeping an eye on J-11 and hadn’t seen her do anything
spectacular. According to my watch, I had five more minutes to prove I could sail better
than her, so I went out for one last tack. However, when I was coming in on what I thought
was going to be the wave I’d tear up, I was surprised to see the next heat heading
out. My heat was over. I came
in and took a closer look at my watch, and it became apparent that I accidentally hit the
stopwatch button during the heat, because it was stuck at 10:51. Note to self: next time
wear two watches. Anyhow, I felt better about this heat than the last. I was much more
relaxed and enjoying myself this time, and I thought there might be a chance that I would
advance. Unfortunately, J-11 apparently took a huge wave on her last tack, giving her the
advancement. Not advancing was a little disappointing because this competition thing was getting fun and I was looking forward to another heat, but it wasn’t the end of the world. So, I didn’t win and I didn’t even advance, but I had a darn good story to tell the bros back home and I finally had a sail number, US-8.
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text: van Ammers, photos: van Ammers, Nicky Banfield; © windgirls 2001 |
