Horseplay ends in tears.

On our first day on Tavarua we experienced a situation that I call “over-froth”. Simply described, over-froth is when you get so excited that you try to do too much in one day.
Within 20 minutes of arriving on Tavarua, Tavarita’s (Tavarua’s version of a margarita) were being consumed at an alarming rate and the participants in the third annual Nixon High Tide Hold’em scattered faster than roaches when the lights get turned on.

The Hawk family surfed Kiddieland and then Cloudbreak in the space of two hours, Dylan Graves and Dusty Payne went on two fishing expeditions in one afternoon (Dusty hooked a Marlin, but was unable to land it) Cheyne Magnusson, Brandon Lillard, and Mike Escamilla went spear fishing and the rest of us, including Claire Bevilacqua, Andy Irons, Tony Hawk, et al. surfed funky-but-fun Cloudbreak.

Everyone rendezvoused back at the hot tub for a ritualistic piss-up, the highlights of which included rubbing lime into Lyn-z Adams Hawkins's reef wounds and “body-gloving” people (slapping your hand on someone so it leaves a mark) with the most severe sunburn imaginable.
The event fizzled out though, when fatigue and the lingering affects of over-froth made their presence felt.

Today is a new day though, and one would hope that we can temper ourselves somewhat. One would hope…

Check back tomorrow for Danny Way's fisherman's tale and the first ever parachute jump onto Tavarua

“If you don’t stop your bragging,” the pilot said in the cockpit, “I’m gonna turn this jet around and take you all back home.”
Unfortunately, the assembled crew for the Nixon High Tide Hold’em were either oblivious to his threats (which is very likely since, in actuality, he did not say anything of the sort) or we were all too wrapped up in our collective excitement to take notice. Beers were being charged, laughter was everywhere, small servings of something resembling food were being ignorantly consumed. Then, two and a half hours into the flight he did it. He turned that sucker right around and after 5 hours of flying we found our gloating, bragging asses back on the tarmac at LAX.

That’s what you get for bragging.
That’s what you get for gloating.

For 10 days now I have been harping on to everyone I know about how jealous they should be of me because I’m going to Tavarua for the Nixon High Tide Hold’em, and for ten days I have been reveling in the collective animosity that has been shown towards me. Now, tired, frustrated and generally downtrodden I know why my mom told me never to brag. She knew that if you boast about things, you’d one day find yourself back where you started while Cloudbreak rifles through unridden.

The 5 hour flight to nowhere was actually a lot more harrowing than you might think. Engine trouble–something about some broken fuel pumps not being able to transfer fuel around the plane–had forced the pilot to turn around. Then, after circling in LAX’s holding pattern for what must have been an hour, we attempted a landing. But still grossly overweight from not burning enough fuel, we landed with way too much heat. Within minutes fire trucks surrounded our plane and began hosing down the wheels.

“Our brakes are a little hot,” said the pilot in mock assurance, “nothing to be worried about.”
Still, I worry whenever I’m on the receiving end of a fireman’s hose.
Now, having rented a car and driven home I’m waiting for our second attempt at going to Tavarua, which is supposed to happen tonight in the same plane that failed us so miserably last night. Which reminds me, I’ve got to go–I’m off to the pharmacy to get a sprawling collection of tranquilizers and sedatives.

Next Stop Tavarua, hopefully.

A lineup worth frothing over.

I am about to be the envy of everyone that reads this. Why? Because on the 12th of February I’m going to Tavarua for the Nixon High Tide Hold ’Em. After months of being trapped in a windowless concrete block churning out magazines, I’m finally going to go partake in the activity that lured me into this building in the first place. I’m going to go surfing. A week in tropical paradise with a bunch of pros shouldn’t be too tough either. Apart from surfing, I’ll go fishing, snorkeling, ping-ponging, and I’ll drink more than a few cocktails with little straw umbrellas sticking out of them.
The short version: It’s going to be sick.

Luckily for you, you can check back here as the week progresses for daily updates, as well as numerous photo galleries from acclaimed SURFER lensmen Tom Servais and Anthony Ghiglia—who knows, we might throw a few videos your way too. I’ll see if I can find time in my busy schedule for it.

As always, Nixon has put together an insane crew for this year’s trip. Some of the names include: Andy Irons, Dusty Payne, Cheyne Magnussen, Claire Bevilacqua, Tony Hawk, Danny Way, Travis Rice, Todd Richards, Hana Beaman, and more…

Feeling sorry for me at this juncture? I didn’t think so.
But if you really want to hate me (which I suspect most of you already do) then check out the highlights from last year’s event.