Well another week goes by and yesterdays surf a carbon copy of the pic in the last post, maybe a bit bigger. Highlight of the day,in a pathetic way, was me chasing down a lovely peak being pursued by Taj Burrow who wanted it almost as much as I did.

Thankfully I held him off, got it, and didn't stuff it up. Very nice wave, which I thanked him for afterwards. Friendly guy, absolutely ripping as you would expect. The water was littered with high quality surfing, given that Bells starts next weekend.

Not to get a too big a head, I did do my requisite flail down the face on a late one. Still, good practice for indo.

On another note, I've chosen a couple of clips from Musica Surfica to share. This one is part of the film's introduction to Derek Hynd.

Now if only I could get it to download in wide screen instead of the poxy compression that happens.

Anyway... Enjoy the clip!

Again, I feel like a man with one less arm.

This time because there are moments when you just wish you had that camera.

Since we shot Musica Surfica, one of the rituals that has developed is a concert tour Monday morning surf run with Richard Tognetti, Satu, and Julian Thompson, who was also down on King Island with us.

Dutifully, we trotted off and we were greeted by some lovely 3-4ft beachies at 13th, and everyone scored, amidst the frenzy of shifting peak barrels and a lot of fellow wave hunters. The joy of the shifty peak, naturally, is that sooner or later, one comes to YOU.

I managed to get 4 or five beauties and emerged a very happy chappie. Low wave count, high quality is not always a bad thing. Equally, I also had my mandatory couple on the head and flails down the face, but hey, I've just had a birthday that hurls me even further down the well of geriatric incompetence.

On returning to the car, though, I was greeted by a sight I never thought I'd ever encounter.

Standing in front of each other, bare chested and tensed, stood Richard, Lead Violin and Artistic Director of the Australian Chamber Orchestra, taking shots at the exposed six pack (and I use the term loosely) of one Julian Thompson, cellist.

Julian was in no danger, that's all I'll say.

Satu, wisely, was ignoring the shenanigans and reading a book.

Later that night Sue and I went to a sublime performance of the Orchestra, which, in typical ACO fashion, mixed Elgar with Radiohead. The events of earlier that day never quite left my head.

The shot is 13th, but from a carbon copy day sometime in the middle of last year.

Another week and this one a little more significant as I had another birthday.

Yay.

Waves wise I was gifted with delightful weather and gutless crap, but managed to get wet, keeping the hounds at bay for another week.

As is the case with birthdays, though, I had the odd visitor to help me celebrate.

My mate Mo dropped by, and over a coffee we were having a bit of a laugh, me griping and sounding very much like my Dad as I moaned about the kids need to low ride... the belt of their jeans sitting two thirds of the way down their bum crack. I was being laughed down, the conversation lurched into our fashion disasters, with Mo confessing to glitter and eye makeup during his "Sly and the Family Stone' period. Mo's big, and black, and the mental picture had me packing up until he fixed me with a bemused glance and said...

"The dressing gown... that's all I'll say."

"Oh"

Nearly twenty years ago Sue and I had a very rough patch, and in that twilight zone before I actually moved out for a bit of a break, we were tolerating each other, but I was still 'around'.

On the day in question she'd come home and said she'd bumped into an old boyfriend, an actor, who she hadn't seen for ages, and was it cool by me if she had a catch up dinner with him.

No problem says I... I quiet night at home, watch a vid, all that.

So off goes Sue, I see the vid, it's winter, I'll hop into bed and read a book. Can't be bothered with that, start reading a surf mag, then pick up one of Sue's Women's Weekly's just because it's there. By this time it's a bit chilly so I've popped on Sue's Japanese print dressing gown as I don't have one and what the heck I'm by myself and yikes that some fart coming on so I let her rip and boy is it a paint peeler when I hear the door open and Sue saying..

"Come on in and meet Mick, he'd love to say hello'

and I'm going "No, no, noooooo ' inside and in walks this guy I've never met, who steps into the bedroom with me in an effing Kimono for Gods sake, and reading a Womens Weekly, and smelling like the Port-a-loo at a Hells Angels Convention.

We shook hands, he smiled weakly and backed out, right out... the door, and the house.

Never seen him again.

I was back with Sue six months later and Joey turned up about 10 months after that.

God I'm a smooth bastard.

A blown out and fairly large swell left me few options when my Window of Opportunity came on the weekend.

In these conditions there is one spot that can be relied on to produce some fun... a little break called the Pines, on the Hoax Coast, which, on it's day does a fair imitation of a California point break, even though it's a reef jutting out from a point.

Always frequented by a flotilla of longboards, and a few guys on short boards kidding themselves they might actually get a wave, I opted for a longboard sesh and dragged out the 9'2" Nat. The only longboard I've ever owned, it adorned the roof as I blasted (well, drove carefully within the speed limit...Dad) down for a bit of fun.

I had a great time,with enough waves to have me completely rooted after two hours, and then home.

On another note, we are in the throws of getting Musica Surfica out there, working on distribution, the DVD with assorted extras, and selling it internationally. We haven't had a bad review yet and indeed, I've sent the odd copy off OS for unbiased peer appraisal. Some are still to go, but as I write this Ted at Six Foot and Perfect has a copy and has now posted his thoughts, Seamouse in England, Ras will have one soon over in Nova Scotia (Kuh Yah) and a couple others that I'm waiting on dubs for. Keep an eye out for what they have to say.

Also Tom Wegener has just seen it and it will be covered on his website soon.

If you want one, expressions of interest gratefully accepted and I'm sure the first few buyers will qualify for Special Introductory Offers. I'm also working on the Musica Surfica website, but until then Safetosea is it by proxy.

For now though. here's a picture of the Pines courtesy of the Hoax Coast website and also what might be the cover for the DVD.


*As reviews come up I'll liven the links up... just to make it easier.

Yikes... nearly two weeks since my last post. Sorry the two of you who drop in to read my meanderings.

It's been on of those times, shitting myself about money, trying to get things sorted in marketing Musica Surfica and neglecting fun.. like the blog.

First things first, the waves on the weekend were surrounded by delightful weather, but I managed to pick the time when the swell was powderpuff weak and dropping. Tide against me, but strangely a very enjoyable session.

Three different breaks in the one surf, paddling from peak to peak as they turned off successively. The first, got a couple, but had a nice chat with an old fart out the back. His son sounds as though he's going to be the next Tiger Woods.

Next peak, a left, another chat with another old fart, on the benefits of longboards, he riding a particularly lovely McTavish, me on a 6'2'' MC. Then on to the next peak, righthander this time, and a looong conversation in crystalline water with a really old fart, almost as old as me, about life.

A musician who's wife had just left him,.."your music's shit, and you're good for nothing".

He said to me, with a smile.." it's what I do, I've got the kids, what else do I need?"

I hope his album goes well... he was a really great guy.

Then the waves completely dried up and and I paddled in, walked up the beach, got changed and had a Curry at the Cafe with Richie. Sounds like a good title for a song.

No pictures again, since the camera went spoffo I feel like I've lost an arm.. so here's a picture of me at Mundaka in Spain from November 1980!! Now how scary is that?

Rather serendipitously a couple of my best friends have put up websites to service their respective businesses.

The two R's, Rod and Richie, Photographer and Graphic Designer, are two of the three people I''ve shared the most waves with over the past twenty years. Rod, who's nickname is Ten Men, is a paddling machine without peer, his nickname coming from the fact that no sooner has he caught a wave he is back in the line up. His kids, Tris, Marcus and Benjamin have all become very hot young surfers, and they seem to share that paddling gene. Can you imagine... now it's forty of them, all in one car.

Rod makes his living writing books on, and shooting, the Great Ocean Road, the marvel that to me is the lifeline to my God's (if I believed in such things) country. If you have a yen to vicariously enjoy the delights of this coast, drop into his site, and maybe buy a book or calendar. You can't mistake the surfer's eye in the shots, and I note the shot below as an example. The wave that appears tiny in the middle ground is probably a good six feet, but the sheer mass of the coast relegates it to something Lillipution.

As for Richie, who's nickname is ..er...Richie, he is my design conscience, and I his. He's a Design Gun, passionate about it with very definite views... a black and white guy in a colorful world. Whenever we have a query, or a misgiving we call on each other to just say, "whadda ya reckon about this?". Rod pops in often, as well, with a new clutch of shots, echoing the same refrain. Of course it's up to the individual to take on the advice, and we sometimes walk away wounded after Rich has said ... "that's shit" when all he really meant was that he thought the letter spacing was a bit tight, or wide, or... whatever.

This year we are all off, with a few others, on a Boat to the Banyaks, another two weeks of wave soaked bliss.

I can't wait for May.

A couple of years back some a couple of guys decided to paddle out at one of our local tow spots. The tow boys were right peed of as you might imagine as it was cranking. Still they did the right thing and let the paddle surfers do it the simpler way.

Luckily the second string spot nearby wasn't bad, but not nearly as good.

This is the crap wave.

Can you imagine what the good one was like?

As ever, no names, and I'll get my arse kicked probably, but isn't it lovely such delights exist out there for those lucky enough to have the resources (and balls) to take them on?