Arrived in Anchorage International Airport after a gruelling forty hours of transit. Were pleased to find a group of bearded men waiting to greet us in the arrival lounge, and briefly exchanged stories about our experiences of having a beard. As we commuted to our hotel from the airport, we spotted several civilians sporting beards. We were thusly pleased.

The beautiful Alaskan scenery  


Johann gets up close to a real Alaskan moose

 

 

Woke up and measured our beards. Good news – they were slightly longer than the day before, John’s growing an entire quarter-millimetre overnight! That could be the difference when it comes to the competition on Saturday.

 

With a fresh burst of confidence, we took a walk downtown, and were immediately struck by the amount of bearded men roaming around. With each knowing nod and warm handshake, we began to feel more and more like we had reached our true home.

 

That evening, we attended the official welcoming barbeque hosted by the South Central Alaskan Beard & Moustache Club. We had the pleasure of feasting on various forms of native wildlife, freshly killed by local bearded hunters. The animals killed did not have beards, so we all felt pretty good about eating them.

 

Looking forward to performing at the official opening ceremony on friday night!

Welcome BBQ Photos:


The Beards with members of the German beard team


The Beards with bearded Canadian legend Darrell


Nathaniel meets some of his competition


John meets Bob from The South Central Alaskan Beard and Moustache Club

 

 

Woke up to find our hotel lobby rapidly filling with bearded men. We could hear languages from all corners of the globe, yet every man in that lobby was also speaking the universal language of having a beard.

 

As the sun rose higher and the arctic air warmed, more and more bearded people entered the town, sporting all manner of beard: Full Natural, Alaskan Whaler, even the Orientally-inspired Fu Man Chu. We noticed as the city filled with beards, the beardless members of the community were becoming uneasy – some of them even leaving town for the weekend to escape the influx of facial hair. It was clear that this week belonged to the bearded.

 

 

 

The day began early with a sound check for the most important performance of our careers. This would be our first time performing our beard-related songs in front of a majority-bearded audience. Our role here would not be to recruit people to the bearded way, but to celebrate it with those who were already converted. We had our ceremonial pre-gig communal shower and beard-grooming session, and felt ready to impress the world’s best beards.

 

Next we gathered in the city centre for the Grand Parade. Adorned with Australian flags, draped in green and gold, and imbued with national beard-pride, we joined the nations of the world and marched proudly through the streets of Anchorage. Spectators – both bearded and shaven – cheered and applauded, many throwing themselves at our feet and offering us rare spices and precious metals. As we marched alongside the world’s mightiest beards, we truly felt like gods among other gods.

 

At the end of Grand Parade, we assembled in the town square for the official opening of the event. Unfortunately, this ceremony was marred by the city’s acting mayor, Michael Clayman, who had the audacity to make the welcoming speech with a freshly shaven face. He was promptly booed off the stage and later, we assume, stripped of his powers and possibly killed.

Street Parade Photos:

The Beards meet Moses


The Beards with a crazy bearded man at the street parade


ZZ top even made it down for the event, but they were not allowed to play on the count of their songs are not about beards.

 

With Clayman out of the way it was time for us – The Beards – to step up for our moment of glory. As the participants and spectators crowded into the cavernous Convention Centre for the Opening Ceremony, we proceeded to warm up for our show by drinking impressive amounts of the event’s official ale – Old Whiskers Heifferwiesen. After one final beard check, and one last communal shower, we took to the stage to thunderous applause. As we launched into our opening number, ‘Growing a Beard’, we looked out into the audience. What we saw was a sea of bearded faces from all over the world (except for Asia, Africa, South America, Europe’s eastern block and all known Arab nations). They were nodding in approval, and we knew that our long, expensive voyage had been worthwhile. It did not matter what happened tomorrow in the official competition, the world’s bearded elite had accepted us, and we were at that moment a part of bearded history.

 

Later that night, we got quite, quite drunk.

 

 

 

 

Today was the main event – the 2009 World Beard & Moustache Championships. We sprang out of bed, and after an extra long communal shower, began preparing our beards to be judged on the highest stage known to the sport of professional beard-growing. Six of us were set to represent Australia, and each of us was confident that he would go home empty handed. We knew that our beards were not as impressive as the beards of more established nations like Germany, Belgium and the USA. Nevertheless, we combed and straightened, applied gels and sprays, and prepared ourselves for the moment of truth.

As predicted, none of us placed. But as we stood on the catwalk before the two thousand-strong crowd, we knew that the competitors who had defeated us were not our enemies, but our peers, and that the real winner on the day was the beard.

 

We revelled long into the night – dancing away the stigma, drinking away the pre-conceptions, and singing together in one bearded voice.

 John and Nathaniel with Jack Passion on competition day


John with Phil Olsen captain of Beard Team USA

 

 

Today was a sad day, for the festivities were officially over. As the friends we had met gradually trickled out of town and out of our lives, the beardless residents who had fled for the week sheepishly crept back from their mountain hideaways. The sun still shone – but it did so reluctantly. The local children still played – but without spirit. The birds still chirped – but with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. 

 

During the past week, this sleepy port town came to life. For us, it has been the realisation of a long-held dream. A dream where bearded men rise above cultural oppression, where the hirsute walk hand in hand down the streets, where men set aside their political differences and join together in bearded unity. It will be a shame to return to the beardless reality that is modern-day Australia, but we as a band are energised to keep fighting our fight, providing a voice for the bearded man and constantly campaigning for a bearded future.

 

Keep on growing.

 

The Beards

May, 2009.