The Day Fear Turned to Freedom: My First Jetski Adventure

Terrifying and Mesmerizing

There's something both terrifying and mesmerizing about watching someone you love chase their passion, especially when that passion involves hurling themselves and a 500-pound machine into angry waves. Back in 2019, I found myself in exactly that position, watching Joe live his dream on his newly acquired Yamaha Wave Raider 1100.

Joe's jetski journey had started with a string of smaller, more aggressive skis - the beastly Seadoo XPDI, a solo monster, the nimble 1990 SP and 1991 Seadoo XP, and various other models that were perfect for solo riding but less ideal for sharing the experience. The Wave Raider wasn't just any jetski - it marked a turning point. It was Joe's first larger ski, chosen specifically because it could comfortably carry both of us, a declaration that he wanted to share this passion of his.

Before I'd even agreed to venture out on the water, he'd arrived home one day with arms full of gear: a sleek wetsuit, a properly fitted life jacket, and matching gloves and boots that made me feel like I was suiting up for a mission. Each piece was carefully chosen, a silent promise that I belonged in this world of his, even if I wasn't quite sure of it myself.

Our first real adventure together was meant to be at Exmouth. You know those days that start with such promise and quickly spiral into what feels like a cosmic joke? This was one of those. We arrived to find the sea had apparently decided to take a holiday - low tide meant a two-hour wait. Mother Nature, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor: as we waited, the weather turned steadily worse, Joe's dad took an unfortunate tumble onto his arm, and the waves... oh, the waves. They weren't just waves; they were liquid mountains, dark and brooding, each one seeming to say, "Just try it, I dare you."

Of course, Joe saw something entirely different. Where I saw chaos, he saw playground. While I clutched my camera like a safety blanket, he was out there for what felt like an eternity, turning those intimidating waves into his personal launch ramps. The footage I captured (which you can see right here - yes, Joe, I'm still doing the video plugs) shows someone completely in their element, free in a way that only comes when you're doing exactly what you're meant to do.

Standing there on the shore, I had a moment of clarity. Here was someone who loved something so much that he'd bought a bigger ski just so he could share it, who'd spent hours picking out gear so I'd feel comfortable, who'd driven us all this way just for the chance to show me his world. The least I could do was try to understand why.

So when he finally came in, I did the unexpected - I suited up. The look on his face in that moment is something I'll never forget: pure joy mixed with genuine surprise, like a kid who'd just been told Christmas was coming twice this year.

Those fifteen minutes that followed were transformative. The spray in my face, the roar of the engine, the moment of weightlessness at the crest of each wave - it was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. For a brief moment, I got it. I understood why he loved this so much.

Then came the plot twist. Joe, my fearless captain, turned a shade of green. Two hours of wave jumping had finally caught up with him, and suddenly he was being sick all over his newly acquired beloved Wave Raider. Of course Joe was more concerned with reaching down to scoop water to splash away the sick, vs. taking the time to recognise he was being violently ill, but it served as a demonstration how much he wanted to be out there riding with me. He later admitted at the point I hoped on 15 minutes earlier, he was already feeling terrible.

What followed was a comedy of errors that would have made great television - trying to get a jetski back on a 20 year old trailer in waves that seemed determined to make it as difficult as possible. It was a harsh lesson in the importance of proper equipment, one we laugh about now but wasn't quite so amusing at the time.

Yet somehow, as we sat later on the seafront, eating proper British fish and chips with salt-crusted hair and aching muscles, I found myself staring back at those waves with longing rather than fear. Something had shifted. Maybe it was exposure to the fun it could behold, or maybe it was seeing Joe's passion up close, but I wanted more.

Looking back now in 2023, this day marks the beginning of something I never expected - my own love affair with jetskiing. It wasn't love at first sight; it was messier, more real than that. It was about facing fears, trusting someone else's vision, and finding something of myself in the process.

That day planted the seed for what would eventually become my Seadoo Spark campaign to get Joe onto a newer ski. But more importantly, it taught me that sometimes the best things in life start with being absolutely terrified, saying yes anyway, and ending up with a story worth telling.

And yes, we did eventually figure out how to get a jetski on a trailer properly. But that's a story for another day.

‘Keeping these classic alive’!

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