“You’ll never get
waves there, mate—it never breaks, and good luck convincing the airline to take
your boards.”
“I didn’t bring
any boards,” I said.
“Ah, because you know you won’t find surf.”
“I’ve arranged to
borrow one. Have you been there?”
“No, but some
mates of my mates traveled around there for a month or two during swell season,
and they didn’t surf once. I reckon there’s a real reason the Solomons aren’t a
bloody surf destination. It’s a two-hour flight from here, and if it was any
good up there, it’d be bloody swarming
with Aussies.”
“Well, I’m going.”
“Then I hope
you’re into fishing and diving,” he said. “Got your spear gun?”
He was a thirty-something,
gangly, gaunt Sunshine Coaster, with horribly blotched and sun-damaged skin, a
head of kinky red hair, big bloodshot eyes, and an elaborate tattoo of his
name, Caesar, down his left forearm. He was a stonemason by day and a drinker
by night, and it was late at a quiet bar in Brisbane’s airport where we’d met,
awaiting our flights, killing time with peanuts and Victoria Bitter. He was off
to Bali for a fortnight.
“Got a little
‘exotic goods’ shop in Mooloolaba,” he said. “I go to Bali, buy the shit, and
my wife sells it in our little shop at four times the cost. The tourists love
it—right now is our high season, and we’ve just run out of goods, which is why
I’m going up now to get more, before all the tourists go home.”
Caesar was a longboarder whose local
spots included Point Cartwright, Coolum Beach, and, further north, the famous
Noosa Heads. Naturally, the soft, long rights of Tea Tree and First Point are a
strong draw for any longboarder, and coincidentally, that weekend, the Noosa
Festival of Surfing was ongoing in tiny, windblown slop. Caesar had been up
there all day, which showed on his sunburned face.
“Might as well
stay here, mate. Come on, at least you’re guaranteed waves—”
“I think I can do
better.”
“—rent a car, stay
in Noosa, surf the park—”
“I’d love to, but
perhaps another time.”
“—meet some girls,
do a little hiking....”
“Nope.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you then,” he said, wagging a bony finger at me. “You’re not going to get any waves in the Solomons, mate.”
