Hells Bells
Easter is upon us.
Tomorrow is the kick off for the oldest surf event in the world; the classic, memorable and ever freezing Ripcurl Pro.
Along with the drastic escalation of talent on tinder, our windy paradise has been flooded with surf industry egos and dudes in their “50 years of Bells Beach Pro” jackets worn to bluntly announce their local status.
That they were in the first event. Or built the great ocean road with their bare hands. And if not them, then their father. Or their father’s father. Who also started Ripcurl and surfed in a cardigan in the middle of winter losing their board on the rocks before leg-ropes were invented.
Back when Jesus was still walking on water.
Back in the day.
Anyway, it’s a sizzling time of year. The waves start to pump. People are edgy at the thought of maybe meeting a pro. The hoes edgy at the thought of maybe jumping one. Any sticker will do.
Everyone talking about that time that Kelly did that air and got that ten.
Cold feet in the wet sand while the tide comes in and cleans out the whole beach. An eerie vibe of history and emotional advertising of big brands. Old dudes getting drunk and young dudes trying to prove that they could be on tour too around the corner at Winkipop.
It’s a good time to make cash dollars, working long hours in the day and spending them at the pub at night.
It’s exciting, loaded and oh so exhausting.
If there is one weekend to be in Torquay, it is this one.