Well I hope the Festive Season was a happy one for all and not too stacked with the lunacy and angst that usually accompanies the end of the year.

My main hope, though, for all of you who read this, and all of you who don't, is that it has been safe. 

For us... we risked life and limb on a drive to Mordor, my name for a beloved stretch of coast, a chance to catch up with some dear old friends and their boys, who I love dearly, having watched them rise from twinkles in an eye to twinkly eyed young men. My two young men have grown up with them so this reunion of sorts was heartening and sobering too. Time has really flown.

In the village at the Trading Company, Old Bill continues to cast his sea crackled eye at the passing throng, throws out the odd nugget of wisdom, and even the odd hug, as he near squeezed a tear from my eye in memory of my Dear Old Dad. Good on you Billy. I was very touched.

One morning, too, we were gifted with some cracking waves, a little gap in a bit of a horror run typical of this time of year, what with early morning onshores and small swells.

Banks everywhere and one very sucky, hollow right was mine! mine!! mine!!! for an hour or two at the bottom of one of the most rugged shorelines on the earth. Jagged, angular and near beach less, but breathtaking too. I could go on. Suffice to say it was not perfect but perfect moments don't need to be.

To sit out there, gaze at the constantly shifting horizon and just be... was the best present I could imagine.

Pics today, some snaps of a divine morning, courtesy of being at the right place at the right time.

This time last week the weather was wild.

Relentless bands of lightning storms, so distant they were silent. I had a camera, albeit an inexpensive one, and a yen to experiment.

This meant happy accidents became the method to my madness as I'd have to be mad to expect anything sharp, but luck can play into you hands.. After all, with digital, all you lose is a press of a button.

So out on the front porch for a few minutes, ducking the rain and trying to hold still leaning on a pole, the usual 'how the hell do I do this?' internal questions coupled with incomplete mastery of my tools resulting in a couple of shots that I like for their painterly oddball-ness.

It was fun, and as I've heard said before by a slightly crazed friend, fun is the key. The more Jackson Pollock of the two came about as I thought the shutter had closed and I'd wandered about, camera in hand.

Soon they may stink, the test of time a bitter mistress, but having a noodle with an idea... playing... well it beats lying down with unseeing eyes staring at the lid of a box, and if you cant' play, then go for a walk.

Which leads me to my next digression in this ramble.

Going for a walk has meant my eyes have been on the ground saving me from tripping, stepping in dog do and/or falling off a cliff.

It does lead you to the bottom of them though and there I found the 'split in two' rock on the left in the pic below. It was in western Spain at the eastern edge of Playa Rodiles, the home of a ridiculous left, and the former home of large gatherings, as I was about to discover, of ammonites, a nautilus like shellfish, though that was around 300 million years back. On a hunch I'd thrown it hard to the ground, breaking it open. Inside was this ammonite, my distant cousin, via an even more distant shared ancestor. 

An ain't life wonderful moment.

A couple of years later, some k's inland from the Moroccan coast near Agadir, at an altitude of maybe 600ft, a glance towards the path side cliff face revealed a not very fresh oyster. I have yet to research the geology of the spot but I bet old Bishop Usher is well off his creation of the world date of 6000 odd years back as this particular mollusc bit the bullet well before Adam was a boy.

That too was an ain't life wonderful moment, bitter sweet in a way though as I love oysters and this one looked like it was a beauty. 

Once.

Why am I going on with all this?

I suppose just a couple of examples of being in the moment.

You never know what you might see, or have fall into your lap, or wished you'd eaten when you had the chance... when you were an ammonite.

Pics for today: Experiments, rocks, and Winki a couple of days back, the first good waves in a few weeks,  hungry crowd just out of the frame.

Little adventures present themselves occasionally, and should be treasured when they land thudding in your lap.

On Friday a lunchtime phone call offering a chance to surf a not so secret but very hard to access wave that I'd last surfed maybe thirty five years back was not to be sniffed at. 

The winds were not quite right, with the anticipated crowds far different to those encountered when we'd sneak in through an army base risking arrest and board confiscation way back when... but I still said yes.

How was it? Not perfect, but still pretty epic. The crowd was testy, the wind was up, and most surfers were way more at ease with it even though I will guarantee I first surfed it well before many of them were born. 

How did I go? Not as well as I'd have liked, and not as bad as I might have, though if I am brutally honest with myself you could say I copped a flogging but kept a smile.

It was so beautiful just to be there it was worth the submarine tours of the sandbank.

I need to go back, re-acquaint myself with the place, perhaps earn a place in the youthful lineup and learn how to pig-dog with more finesse.

Pics. Into the glare. Had no clue what I was shooting until I got home. Thanks for the ride Marky.

It's been a bit of a busy week in Reef Land as both Liquid Notes, the Making of The Reef, and the ABC's broadcast of the Opera House performance have hit the airwaves, and we've been in the edit suite revisiting a few bits, just because we can, and we have the time. 

I've been working with Jonny Frank and Ed Saltau (check his site for some great stuff from the Reef), sitting in our little room, improving on some dreams...after all a good painting is rarely ever completely finished. 

Naturally all this with a view to a near Reef Redux in time for the February East Coast Tour.

Watching the broadcast of the performance I found particularly difficult as I am very close to it, know every moment and so when the cameras cut away from the vision to show the orchestra it was doing my head in, as, naturally, there is meaning invested in every visual and to have it missed was killing me.

Not that I didn't watch it through to the end as catching close up Richard and the rest of the orchestra do their thing gave me other insights that were precious in themselves.

The morning of the Opera House broadcast I spent half an hour on Radio Marinara having a chat with Bron and the team, which was a lot of fun. On hearing the podcast later I had at least managed to sound relaxed, which is a good thing, as sometimes I get a bit tongue tied with a microphone under my nose.

Other than that, very little surf to report, apart from a session at Phillip Island a couple of weeks back that was rewarded with the shot below, and a couple less flattering as my 58 year old tummy is not a six pack any more.. probably because of too many similarly named beverages.

Life. If you can't laugh....

Yesterday saw the end of a long run of great waves and balmy weather.

I'd had things to do most of the day, thankfully, but the late evening check of the water surprised me. Not many out, quite small, but glassy and beautiful too. 'Why not!' I thought, so a quick hour before dark delighted.

I'd taken out my hull, a 6'6" trimming machine. It sort of takes the pressure off. You really just have to go with what the wave dishes up, fly around sections, style a bit, (pause while I stop laughing) and relax. 

The light as the sun shot occasionally through the low clouds was just short of divine, though on one wave the divinity factor shot through the roof, that or someone had slipped me something mildly psychedelic. Trimming along with fingers tracing the chest high lip line, wafts of spot lit spray were coming off the wall ahead. Embedded in them were little saturated rainbows, bright and proud agains the dark blue grey of the cloud reflected water.

As I said in a post a way back... 'the things I see, the things I see'.

A magic dusk, perfect for the festoon of grommits who'd paddled out for afterschool confections far sweeter than a bag of lollies. 

Pics: One lucky guy's solo session further up the reef past Bells, and what was on offer at Winki.

Orawa and other things.

After a request from the Australian Chamber Orchestra to put online (for overseas 'interests') a couple of specific snippets from the Reef a week or so back I uploaded what we call Orawa, named after the music behind it, composed by Wojciech Kilar.

It's one of my favourites, mainly because it took me a fair bit of pain to edit, some 46 hours or so, and perhaps too because there is a certain hypnotic quality to the cut, and the music. It is intended in its positioning in the film as a whole to be a transition from an extended exploration of the inland... back to the sea. After the protracted dry you certainly won't get any wetter unless you jump in yourself.

As to this past week or so, there have been a couple of days of good waves, I've been plugging away at my various 'projects', the world economy is slow and don't I know, but progress is a happening and I have optimism buds a blossoming. We are about to re enter the edit suite for a couple of weeks to do a bit of tweaking for the Reef East Coast Tour. My magazine project now has two partners, one editorial, and one business. A design college is interested in me doing some teaching. Next year looks like it will be full.

Now if only I can convince my darling wife Sue the coast is a nice place to live, even for a city girl from London. So far it is a big ask.

(Sigh)

Today's pics a from a wander to a favourite cliff edge during a a windy day earlier this week. I like watching the wisps off the backs of waves in a blow. Black and white suits I think. All very low key, plus some sticks, and Orawa at the end. ( click on it to watch full screen.. it is worth it, just settle in to the windmill and relaxxxx)

Once this is posted it's onshore slop for me... a slight change from Bells a couple of days back, also included.

Orawa from Mick Sowry on Vimeo.

We're into a run of on shore winds. 

Moments flicker where a wave can be ridden, though my chances have been sabotaged largely as work and family take priority. 

Last week was a little different. I had Richard Tognetti of the ACO down for a holiday so we could combine work and the odd surf in some pretty tasty conditions.

Surfing being the new golf we really could claim productive time as we talked through some tickles to The Reef, and managed to catch some mighty fine waves too.

As the Sydney Concert of The Reef is going to be telecast on Australia's ABC next month, and a making of documentary shown the preceding week, I thought it time to give another, extended, taste. More challenging this time. After a delightful blast of Rameau's Les Boreades with Ryan Burch's windy artistry on an unglassed piece of polystyrene, we explore the darker inner land of The Reef with interpretations of Ligeti's Ramifications, and George Crumb's Night of the Electric Insects.

With hundreds of viewings of the closing scenes I am convinced ants speak English in antennae code. It's quite clear they are all saying "honey honey honey honey honey honey honey"

Pic to accompany the clip. Winki last Wednesday. I was getting barrelled at Bells.

Les Boreades/Ramifications/Electric Insects from Mick Sowry on Vimeo.

An odd day yesterday.

The swell had risen and I'd been missing out on the morning offshores because 'I had to stick to my list', that list being my little black book of to do's and thoughts, the Small Dark Dictator of My Days. 

Or one of them at least.

Yesterday the rebel in me said stuff it, revolution time, so I allowed myself a morning surf, while it was still good, instead of a grovel in the sharky dark in the onshore slop. (Note: A four metre Great White cruised through the line up two days ago.)

Winki was busy and a bit odd, but some four to five foot runners were whistling through at times, so it had a lot to say. 

All I had to say was 'just four good waves'. Three good waves out of three had me thinking a jackpot had been hit, knowing the place for over 40 years allowing a well read roaming of the lineup that for once kept yielding payoffs.

Sitting out the back and aiming to go in, I started to daydream about the last wave. "A big one and just wide enough to block the guys up the line. A barrel at the end of a good 200 yards would be nice"

Big Ask.

Blow me down if that is what appeared before me.

A cracker, broke up and out while I paddled for the lip line, catching everyone else inside. I managed a late take off, a long run, with a few happy turns and TWO good tube rides, in out, in out, as I hurtled towards Lowers. Straightened off and virtually stepped onto a low tide rock.

A good way to start a day.

The pics: Bells just after I got out of the water. Winki was better.

It's just come to the end of a very long run of swell down here.

Over the weekend it was very big indeed, and though Responsibility coupled with Catholic Guilt got in the way of abandoning all to the waves, I did manage some fun surfs. Saturday in particular was pretty damn massive, Bells and Winki a highway to hell with a sweep that drove most away, me included, with the few souls who braved it enduring a half mile or more sideways for, in the case of Winki, less than 50 yards out.

Those that did were managing a wave or two an hour so I dove down the coast to Winki's ugly sister, as it offered an easier paddle out if you timed it right, which I did, for a change. 

Eight to ten feet by my call, and after four pretty fun ones including a first very similar in size if not bigger to one I managed there last year. Round two saw me bashed and belted by a series of absolute floggings. I kept at it 'til a good(ish) one to come in on, accompanied by a headache from the beltings that left forty eight hours later.

The swell stayed until yesterday, slowly dropping but keeping the smiles on high beam.

The rest of the time has been spent working towards getting The Reef to its next stage, ie a film release, which is very much in the lap of the gods, and, on a whim, sticking some daydreams up on RedBubble just in case they earn me enough for the next block of wax.

The shot: a departing snap of a random wave just before leaving the car park on Saturday. It was the end of a ride and not a set.

Dusk is the new black it seems.

Since moving down to the coast to create a bit of space the late 'look at the sea' has been my regular evening escape, with oft times a quick dip as well.

A visit to the gym has been supplanted by a surf, something I cannot complain about, and with that betwixt hour comes the light. 

Sitting in the lineup in the darkening, the sights I see, the sights I see. The clear air and the south westerly aspect, facing the fronts, grants an anticipation of what is to come, the next day or more often the next hour as a black wall creeps then roars from the horizon to me, or simply a blast of light erupts as the sun clears the cloud banks. The world just lights up, a shiver of warmth to break the chill before the light fades, the shore beckons.

More often than not I don't have the camera, it not being of the waterproof variety, so the view from the drink is missed, which is sad as so often what a view it is.

The other thing about dusk being the new black is too often lately dusk has been my point of view.

I had a friend point out to me the other day that I am not the happy chappy I used to be, and I tend to gripe about the finances a little too often.

True.

Let's just say putting your life on the line to change it, getting into the arts as opposed to the commercial arts and timing it to coincide with the Big Crunch has done us no favours. Hero to zero. Combine that with a couple of kids full of potential but intent on testing the boundaries of what should not be done, and perhaps going a couple of miles past that and you have a happy man made very grumpy.

Now since most of what we create comes from our point of view, I've decided to change mine. My good mate Richie, one of three good mates named Richie, points out often enough, '...what is the glass? Half full or half empty?"

Indeed.

From the risks some great things have happened, some epic projects and absolutely incredible people to work with.

So today it's half full, the sun is shining, my kids are healthy, my wife still loves me, mad fool that she is, and I discover the other day The Reef is touring east coast Australia next year.

I may go for a little surf in the little waves later, but now, though it is Sunday and Fathers Day, I've got some work to do.

Pics: Dusks, and the surf from last week. It was rather good.

After the Reef and back into the real world, the last weeks have been spent dealing with the odd paying job coming in while working on developing 'its next stage", which, if we manage what I have in mind, will be a cracker to do.

Some of this paying job stuff has been pretty low budget. Farming out the work is a no go, so, in the instance below, where I needed an illustration of a rather aggressive looking carnivorous plant (don't ask), it was up to me. As I rarely do this sort of thing the result drew an internal smile and filled a cold and blustery afternoon.

It's been a long winter, the water down to around 12 or 13 degrees celsius, which, if you come from Nova Scotia or New York might be deemed downright tropical as far as winters go, but mix it with 5 degree air and a 30 knot offshore and it will still invoke sharp intakes of breath accompanied by the more than occasional ice cream headache.

Along with all the shivering has been a pretty sporadic collection of swells, the usual outcome of a weather curiosity that goes hand in hand with a pumping surf season on Australia's east coast. One of the great years in memory again means the Vicco coast gets a little bit skunked.

It's all relative though, as the other pic attests. A very nice four foot day at Winkipop last week and at last a snap of this particular vaguely porky near senior citizen doing a half decent top turn courtesy of local snapper Steve Ryan.

I'd resisted posting any more clips from The Reef as, out of context, it is easy to misconstrue what it is all about.

Then I discover Jonny Frank has posted the piece I called The American Boy on his site.

It had been the logical choice for a new addition so I was stoked in a way he'd taken the plunge.

The reason I'd referred to it in this way was that my edit to the opening of the third movement of George Crumb’s Black Angels (God Music) was a reaction to the time the piece was written (during the Vietnam war) and the presence amongst us of an American Boy in the form of the virtuosic Ryan Burch.

I was aware of the circumstances behind the piece and I'd been thinking of the impact of war on the lives of so many young men through the ages. Ryan, at 23, is a soldierly age, but to see his constant, joyful expression of life and possibility throws the waste of war into a very bitter focus.

Born in another time he could have been standing in a padi field in Vietnam.

Here he rejoices in being young, alive, very goofy, and doing what he was so clearly born to do.

As ever working with the brilliant vision Jon was so constantly providing made it an absolute blast to work on, and the music, played on cello and wine glasses, is, well, God Music.

*Please note.. it opens in silence as it transitions from the previous sequence in The Reef.

God Music from 'The Reef' starring Ryan Burch from Jon Frank on Vimeo.

Almost a month, again, since the last post, but what a month.

We left the cold of south eastern Australia in winter to begin our tour of The Reef in the far north, in Darwin, before heading across and south through outback towns and cities, giving a different world a taste of the places we play, and musical delights they might never, ever get a a chance to hear.

The response has been phenomenal, with standing ovations almost every where, for a program that the musicians themselves said was one of the most diverse and challenging they'd ever played.

Two days ago the 2012 tour ended at the Sydney Opera House Concert Hall, sold out, over 3000 people and again, we received a standing ovation. I'd never have imagined standing on that stage, would not even have considered it as a bucket list note, and there I was, with Richard Tognetti, Jonny Frank and the Orchestra, doing a schoolboy bow in my new shoes and shirt.

I had intended going to the show in my green polo shirt, blue and green sneakers and jeans, but Jonny took one look at me, said 'you look like bloody Kermit the Frog, go buy a dark shirt'... so I did. 

Along with some new shoes.

Beau Brummell is under no threat from me but for once I can thank my credit card for something.

It exploded shortly after.

From what I understand plans are already a foot to take The Reef to other Australian states next year, and overseas too. I even heard California mentioned, so fingers crossed Cali pals as that would be a blast. I'd truly love Ryan Burch and his parents along as the guy is an out and out National Treasure, and provided a lightness of being that only care free and twenty three can bring.

In between all that we also had a run of all time waves that young Derek Hynd lucked into while he and I did a few tweaks to a couple of the Reef pieces. Riding my finless board better than I ever dreamt, DH tore up some very sizeable waves and I managed six days straight that almost got this fat boy slim.

Ahhh well.

Pics.: A pic from rehearsals in Darwin, a slice of a two hundred metre queue waiting to get into the Broome concert, and some local colour from one of the smaller days last week at Bells and Winki. And that was not a typo. These from the smaller days, from four minutes from my front door.

I kind of wish my Dear Old Dad had made it through to this year.

We finished the edit of The Reef yesterday... a solid month of Jon Frank, Ed Saltau and yours truly (notice I refrained from Old Fatboy.. I've hardly eaten) hiding away editing, grading and generally thinking thinking thinking for ten hours a day, seven days a week and not much sunlight.

The results are still gestating as, though we did work to the music to be used, it now has to be rehearsed and developed, to those very set time signatures, for performance by an entire orchestra. 

Yes, a unique position to be in and all of us pinch ourselves a bit, but the pressure is on Richard Tognetti and his formidable team as the musical program is challenging in the extreme. To pull it off will require all the considerable talents being brought to the table.

Naturally they will do it.

Finally now we have a little vision to share.. though that is all it may remain, as The Reef is a work that is intended to be seen as a unit, so taking any one part will naturally force a missing of the point.

With that in mind this excerpt has been chosen as it features the sublime Vocalise by Rachmanninoff, and it is easily explained.

The Reef has been conceived as a series of musical chapters loosely analogous to our lives. This piece, which we naturally call Vocalise, is dedicated to Heroic Failure and the need to pick yourself up, and have another go.

Next Thursday it has its World Premier in Darwin, then through the top end of Australia to Perth and on to a sold out concert at of all places, the Sydney Opera House.

Who would have believed?

Maybe Dad.

Other pics are stills from the show.. 

The Reef. Vocalise. from The Reef on Vimeo.

How do you tell a story in one blog post that would take a chapter in a book?

What a trip.

Australia, living in it as I have for a lifetime that is getting longer, is big, but occasionally you need the odd reminder.

A three hour flight and a twelve hour drive over two days got us to our destination. One hundred kilometre or more stretches of no bends at all. No rises or dips in the road. Just straight and flat. Massive skies with wisps miles above. Stars at night like a living astronomical map with shooting starts by the minute.

A hour nd a half at 120 kms per hour over wild dirt to get to the nearest town.

Farms so big at one or two MILLION acres it takes hours to drive up "the drive".

Air interstellar clean, water gin clear and glove warm.

Alien sunsets.

Ancient reef cliffs and coral sand beaches.

Waves that can play and crush one set apart.

A crew of players, musical and board, of creativity and virtuosity, from across Australia and, in a young genius named Ryan Burch, from little old Encinitas in So Cal.

Jacques Cousteau's  dear old chef.

It was that good.

Now back in reality, sitting in front of an edit and wondering where to from here. Three torrid weeks, rehearsals and then an Australian tour, followed by the world.

I'm holding onto my hat. It is going to be quite a ride.

Pics: Local flavour, more to come.

An extended silence again. All because of preparations for The Reef.

In two days we jump on a plane and fly to the far north west of our wide brown land, and discover what is in store as we bury ourselves in the waters and desert in preparation for a national tour of live performances of Orchestra and Film which will later tour the world.

The project is in a way a follow up to Musica Surfica. Some of the same team in Richard Tognetti with his Australian Chamber Orchestra, Jon Frank, the matchless Derek Hynd and the Old Coot writing this as Director. To add insult to injury I'm producing it too, and this has provided more than a few headaches as I discover the joys of detail, and the clenching horror of Signing the Contract.

Occupational Health and Safety cast a shot across my bow and getting a realistic assessment of life in a desert surf camp has been an eye opener. The people I've been talking to are true professionals, but I have a very dim view of the bureaucracies that nanny the life out of our lives.

Bring back the days when we all took responsibility for our own stupidity (adventurousness).

One of my happiest memories is as a 7 year old on top of my mate's dad's car, lying on the roof racks, arms outstretched, as he careened down the road at 40mph, my best friend and I playing superman as dear old Tom (his dad) cackled gleefully in the driver's seat below.

Now he'd be locked up.

It's all a bit sad. 

But back to the Reef.

Keep an eye on the web. It's getting national coverage, with a Making Of Documentary happening at the same time, and journos from the big media coming to cover it.

Do I feel a little under the pump?

A bit, as do we all, but I will be glad to get my feet wet and discover what is in store.

Wish us all luck, and believe me it is going to be full of surprises. Because that part has already started.

But that is another story. (Think Derek Hynd)

Pic: Some idea scribbles for the opening, from my little black book. Most likely it won't be this, as first thoughts rarely are.