Kiwi Foil Froth Downwind Racing
Mon 24th Feb, 2025 @ 9:17 pm
On New Year’s Day, I made a vow—2025 would be the year we kickstarted downwind racing. January disappeared in a blur, but towards the end of the month, I started bouncing ideas around with my para-winging buddy Jono Begg. We’re both all-in on foiling, obsessed with downwinding, and hungry for a real race scene—a chance to compete against other passionate riders for nothing but the thrill.
We quickly realised we wanted this to happen, we’d have to make it happen. The timing felt right. If we could get people together on a raging sea, the genie would be out of the bottle forever. We started sketching out what we wanted from an event—simple, fun, and no red tape—and quietly put things in motion. Expecting to start small, we joked that if 50 riders showed up, we’d have to go fully professional and wouldn’t even get to race ourselves. But at the core of it, this was about getting a pack of frothers together for a screaming downwind run in epic conditions.
We circled the weekend after Valentine’s Day on the calendar but made little actual progress by early February. Then, I started tracking TC16P, an unnamed tropical cyclone, forming a squeeze zone above a massive high-pressure system sitting over NZ. Ten days out, every forecast pointed to a three-day blast of 30-knot Easterlies—smashing through the weekend and into Monday. That was our sign from the wind gods—we had to do this!
With one week to go, I unilaterally committed to Sunday, February 16th, the prime day for conditions. I tried calling Jono, but I just posted the Notice of Race. I knew anyone seeing it would check the weather and think, “Holy shit, this could actually work!” That wild forecast was our secret weapon—it guaranteed that everything and everyone would fall into place.
Sure enough, riders started signing up fast—the perfect blend of a free, low-hassle, guaranteed fun, brand-neutral race in mega bumps, open to four foiling classes. We wanted inclusivity but knew catering to different crafts would be tough—especially wingers, who had the most to say about the format. Some suggested ditching wingfoiling, but I refused. Downwinding is one of the most fun things you can do on a wing, and there are barely any races for it. This was a chance to change that.
We set up a chat group for general race info and a competitor-only pre-registration group for live location sharing, briefings, and race-day updates. As the countdown began, excitement turned into full-blown hype. Entries flooded in, sometimes three or four per hour, then exploded on Saturday and Sunday morning, doubling our fleet from its already solid mid-week numbers.
Mates and total strangers stepped up to help—we suddenly had four jet skis, a timing team, prizes, venues, and racers trekking in from all over the country. It was surreal. Even with an already packed life, I squeezed in a single test run on Saturday with some out-of-towners I’d just met. It turned out to be one of my best downwinders ever—10km of pure bliss, gliding through ultra-long fetch bumps just off the urban coastline of Whangaparaoa Peninsula. That night, I sent a pre-race audio briefing, telling the competitors, “If tomorrow’s half as good, we’ll have world-class racing.”
Sunday morning hit, and I was nervous as hell. Driving to Red Beach, the reality of what we had pulled together sank in—I had no clue how the day would unfold. Heavy rain pounded the beach, where 50 surf-lifesaving nippers and their parents had turned the place into a madhouse. I was worried.
Then, streams of wild-eyed frothers arrived, amped out of their minds. Confidence restored.
We ran a quick briefing, scrawled race numbers on our hands, and headed to the start at Army Bay. Jono and I agreed to launch the wingers first—mixing start zones would be chaos, and I didn’t want a mutiny on my hands.
Jet skis lined them up, and BOOM—downwinders were off! Kosta lit up the start with blistering speed and a massive 10m+ boost upwind, then rocketed downwind with two dozen riders in pursuit. The SUP and foil classes launched five minutes later, and suddenly, 60 downwinders were tearing through the high seas—the race course expanding exponentially by the second.
I joined the action, pumped up my Code 770R, and took an inside line, hooting alongside others as we charged through the energy fields, amplified by an outgoing tide.
Up front, Dylan Bez—the Axis powerhouse—was laying down sub-2-minute kilometres, with Team Armstrong hot on his heels. Trent Jones and Jackson Keon came flying past me before Jackson crashed, giving me a shot to pull ahead. A few minutes later, I also wiped out but recovered fast, weaving through crashing wingers on the final approach to Red Beach.
The finish? Absolute chaos.
Jackson and I split for different lines into the shore, dodging surfers and downed riders. I saw Samantha Bright explode off a wave before locking in on the final 50m sprint—dodging storm surf, dragging gear through a cheering crowd, and collapsing at the finish. Unreal.
After watching fleets roll in, America’s Cup legend Blair Tuke shocked everyone by placing second in winging, shaking my hand in thanks—not something that happens every day!
We extended the race cutoff by 15 minutes, giving more riders a chance to finish. Then, we reloaded and drove upwind for race two.
As we reached Gulf Harbour, we spotted Jono Leonard—stranded in high-vis gear on the roadside, having punctured his wing, swum 1.5km through breaking swell, hiked through rugged terrain, and made it to the highway—basically completing a full triathlon. His legendary endurance made for one of the best stories of the day.
Race two was a different beast. The wind had shifted offshore, making conditions choppy, technical, and brutal. The wingers launched well, but many realised they had overlaid the finish and had to battle upwind to the beach.
Some riders thrived—Nick Humphreys stormed into the top three behind Kosta and Micheal, securing the podium. Others, like Dylan Bez, struggled—he only needed a second or third to claim the title but crashed to tenth, proving no one is untouchable in downwind racing.
As the survivors made their way to Red Beach Surf Club, we celebrated overall winners across all classes, handed out spot prizes, and shared a few emotional speeches. Then, we moved to Kevin Trotter’s clifftop mansion, overlooking the race course, for well-earned drinks and endless pizza.
Now, we wait for the footage—Stefan and drone wizard James captured what’s bound to be an all-time FOMO-inducing edit.
Jono and I will never forget this event. It sparked new friendships, deeper connections, and a movement. The future of downwind racing in NZ is just beginning—and it’s looking bigger and better than ever.
Words: Shaan Miller
Mon 24th Feb, 2025 @ 9:17 pm
