Premium Jam

Friday, July 30, 2010

Jammin pizza and the World Champs of Insulin (WCI)

A full on Catalina establishment, Jammin Pizza worked hard for its money. Epic wood fired pizzas, couple magnums of Chilean red wine and we were good to settle in.

But it seems its pretty tough to have a good wholesome fun these days, without things escalating. We got back to the surf camp, had a few beers and Taylor posed to question to Ricky, “what would happen if we had some of your insulin” to which Ricky replied, “my mates always ask me, but no-ones ever tried. Welcome to the 2010 World Championships of Insulin in Santa Catalina. We went straight to the final to see Taylor from Australia battle it out with John from Canada, who could get to 105 units first (the normal dosage for a diabetic is 12 units). During the heated contest, blood sugar levels were monitored closely, oranges, ice-cream and coconuts were on hand regulate blood sugar. With injections ranging from 15-30 units, I posed the question “Guys, this may or may not be safe”. But in the spirit of patriotism, the contest went on. Both contestants dropped below 4 on their blood sugar level (not at all stable) before the final round. With a big effort by Taylor, taking in a massive 50 units at once, it was all over and Australia has won the world championship. The customary feast of oranges, bread and ice-cream proceeded the final ward off any chance of a hypo. The contestants shook hands. And we went to bed. Taylor had a hypo anyway. What did we learn out of this little experiment? If non-diabetics take more that 10 times the normal dosage of insulin in a short space of time, they’ll find their way to the freezer looking for ice-cream.

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Thursday, July 29, 2010

La Punta afternoon perspective

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Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Fingers in Santa Catalina

So Raf got his ear pierced. It wasn’t totally a spur of the moment decision. Even though he exceeded his RDI of cervezas, a major driver of the stud in his right lobe was the fact that his bloodline can be tracked back to pirates.

Things began in the afternoon when Captain Rack Sparrow and his first mate Big Shoulders Lawrence ducked into town to collect 1 red emperor, 12 red snappers, a array of vegies, a wheel barrow of cervezas and a couple bottles of rum. A feast was about to be prepared. A few lads got on the grill, a few lads prepared the salad, the girls... didn’t do anything, but dinner was served.

Post feast and knee deep in beers, the finger game was introduced. Its an extremely social game, getting players and the crowd amped up and super hammered. It also has the potential to get out of hand - something I learned at my last job at TBWA...

As things were heading like they were about to get out of hand, Raf had come to the realisation that he needed to follow the footsteps of his ancestors. Calling on Qualified Keil to perform to operation, the surgical team prepped:

1 safety pin for piercing
1 lighter for sterilisation
Ice to numb the lobe
1 mango to sit behind the ear as support

We soon realised that Qualified Keil did not possess what was needed for the procedure. So Unqualified Keil was fired. In comes Sterile Scotty who in a frenzy raised the pin high into the air, charging it through Raf’s ear lobe, into the mango. Raf calmly requested the earring, and before you know it Captain Rack Sparrow was on his feet drinking rum from the bottle.

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Up early down late

With limited sleep and a sore head, I was damn impressed by the way we collected ourselves at 6am to get waves at La Punta. Scored it glassy, uncrowded and 3-4ft - well worth the effort. As initial hype began to wear off after 2 hours, the thought of Yann’s chocolate breakfast crepes made their way into my head and it was time to bail.

Post breakie, we went in search of Punta Brava - apparently a pretty rad right reef over the next headland. With vague instructions on how to get there from a few different people, of us mobilised on foot east. Upon arriving all we saw was a mess breaking on a rock platform, but potential around the next corner... maybe Punta Brava was around there. With the sand disappearing and only the sharpest rocks of all time to walk on (and no shoes) the was a surprising amount of enthusiasm from the lads to keep trucking and find the wave. 40 mins later, 4 more next corners and super sore feet, we realised we messed up bigtime - Punta Brava was the first reef. Shit. Massive deflated walk home. The consolation prize was a mushy 3ft El Estero out the front of our place. By that point we just needed to get into the water before heat exhaustion set in.

The afternoon activities were split, half the crew went to a local bar in town to get loose, and a few of us joined Yann at La Punta - great sacrifice for not drinking, 4ft glassy walls for about an hour. Then the afternoon storm set in which rivaled a cyclone, tearing Santa Catalina apart for 3 hours. Battling the storm, the rest of the crew arrives back to th e surf camp looking like wet dogs carrying 150 Balboa cervezas, prepping for the nights events.

A few solid drinking games then Julio got up for a DJ session. By this point there was about 20 of us - our crew, a bunch of Americans and there owners family. Then out of nowhere Yann brought out about 10 masks and things really stepped up. Notable mention goes to Keil and his girl for the night Jenny. Deciding they would get to know each other on the top bunk above where Jonny was passed out didn’t go down too well. The supports collapsed and Jonny woke to 2 adults, a mattress and a heap of wood crashing down on top of him.

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Monday, July 26, 2010

Getting busy

Waking up pretty ordinary, a surf at Playa El Estero was on the cards. Raf had dumped about 6 red Berocca’s into a litre bottle of water which was perfect for my headspace. I went off to grab some boardies, and came back with a craving for Berocca. The bottle seemed to have been moved to next to a water cooler so I took hold and had another massive drink. Shock fucking horror. Turned out to be a different water bottle filled with a red cleaning agent - too late for me I’d swallowed it all. Feeling dazed I drank a heap of water to try dilute it, but felt okay to walk to the surf. 15 minutes though the walk with Dan, Ricky and Jimmy, I started loosing my shit, violent throw ups, spinning head... Thought I was going to die, I was pretty cut. Nearly at El Estero, we looked behind and Ricky was having hypo, ready to kiel over to - needing sugar bigtime! We made it to Surfpoint Surf Camp, where French owner Yann rounded up oranges and water for us dead men walking. After a bit of rest, we got our bundles together and got out for waves. Stoked on the coolest French guy ever, and the awesome set up of the surf camp, we came back and sorted enough room for 11 of us to stay for 5 days.

Surfed a sweet session at La Punta (Catalina Point) about 4ft in the arv, then back to Surfpoint for a family dinner - guests included Tony Montana the 8kg Red Emperor and another 121 beers.

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Hauling 10 to Santa Catalina

Getting 10 of us to Santa Catalina was a solid mission, but with the cyclonic conditions, it was by far the best day to travel. From Panama you need to get the bus from the Albrook terminal to Sona, then Sona to Sta Catalina. All up the trip is about 7 hours.

The aircon was cold as hell on the bus, so our Mageiver influence had us remove the curtains for warmth as make shift blankets. Getting to Sona we, ran into another Aussie Dan, who jumped on board the crew Sta Catalina. Apart from a connecting bus and a corner store, there isn’t anything in Sona.

We bunked down at local surfer Rollo’s cabins for $10 each, which was a cool little place. A few seppo girls at Rollo’s were keen for a bit of a party, so who were we to deny. Feeling as through the massive bus trip was an accomplishment, we treated ourselves to whole fried fish and chips for $3 each and 121 $0.70 beers.