Some things are sent to try us.

I've come over as sick as a dog. I hope it passes before I need to leave on my much awaited surf trip to the Banyaks, otherwise said trip will be dust.

A Sunday jaunt amidst rain and cold turned into a special little surf today.

Well, we got down, the rain had stopped, the sun was coming out and there was plenty of swell, albeit a little inconsistent. Into the wettie, board out of bag and d'oh, no legrope. Now Bells is a long swim so I wasn't happy, but Rich coerced me to ask the girl in the camper van parked next to us if they had a loaner.

Turns out she and her boyfriend (both from Spain) were doing the grand surf tour of Oz, and had got lucky so far. He was paddling out at pretty damn good Bells and they were off to Indo for another couple of months once they did the east coast run over the next month or so.

Lucky for some. Oh to be young again.

So she found me a leash, and out I went.

Turned into a great session even though over nearly three hours I only got about 6 waves. A couple of duffed takeoffs not withstanding, I managed a 200 yard screamer from outside Rincon all the way through the bowl, and three belters from outside Bells, with lots of fun and games through to the shorey.

And, as is my predilection, I had a nice cup of tea and chat out the back with wizened surf guru, sage and writer Jack Finlay. Almost the best part of the whole surf.

To top it off my last wave wasn't half bad, finishing off with a nice reentry into the dump and prone to the beach. Got in and discovered my Spanish maiden leg rope loaner was also a pretty handy photographer and had managed to capture said reo on camera.

Joy of joys.

I then discovered, while feeling a bit full of myself, that my friend Stefan, who'd caught the wave just after mine, had scored a filthy pigdog barrel. Not bad in itself, in fact pretty fine indeed, even better when you think he's just recovered from open heart surgery and a new valve that was the result of acute endocarditis, a bacterial heart infection that nearly killed him. More power to you mate.

Anyway, I traded emails with my new friends from Spain and with luck at a date in the not too distant future I'll be able to share my good fortune.

Next week the water will be 29 degrees C and the air... about the same.
If only I didn't feel so guilty about going.

Here's hoping I snag a bit more work this week to keep the hounds at bay.

PS: The shot is just a phone snap before I paddled out... it was way better than it looked.

A week and a half since the last entry.

Bad blogger. Bad, bad blogger.

That feels better. Nothing like a bit of self flagellation to set the tone for a bit of banter. Sorry for the gap folks... and Dad. Just been a bit preoccupied.

Over the last couple of weeks, at least, I've been trying to get the extras done for the film, and make a buck. We've edited all the bits we want to put in, like Finned and Finless so that the waves that hit the cutting room floor through no fault of their own might see the light of day. As well, we've done a little feature section on Warren Pfeiffer on his mat, because everyone that sees it loves it. I thinks it might be the intriguing simplicity of the form.

Also, an extra music section to show want went down when Richard Tognetti arced up on his violectra... sort of Hendrix meets Paganini. A great fun piece.

And for the shaping boffins we've got a bit of the mid event reshaping as some new ideas, and interesting glassing techniques, were employed to advance the finless cause. On the spot R&D if you like.

With all of these I'm doing a voice over, to give some background on who, what, where and why with the spanner in the works being time.

Like the other day I'm halfway through recording one... I'm doing them quietly by myself at home (no stage nerves there) and in bursts the number one son.

"Hey Dad, whatcha doing'? Why are you talking to yourself?"

I suppose I could have said its what you do when you're old, but I was too busy swearing.

Anyway I hope to finish all that this week. I hope.

The end of next week, ie: the beginning of May, I'm off to the Banyaks for a short surf trip.

For practice, as if I needed an excuse, Joey and I headed down for a Father/Son surf today.
We scored a lovely little left/right peak, mostly by ourselves, only about three feet, but great fun, and he filmed the end of one on the phone when he came in.

Terrible quality, and the picture isn't that flash either, but with two to four guys out, it was a great little session.

A quick post to keep the meter ticking and indicate there is a pulse beneath this wizened frame.

Last weekend I took my son Joey for a surf, with me, in my protective, fatherly way, trying to find a spot that fit the bill. Not too hard, but not too easy. A wave that would help a young goofy footer on his path to better surfing.

I chose a mellow reef called the Big Left, the forecast was pretty mild in the size department and I felt it a good match. We arrived to find it way bigger than expected, bomb sets and an unusually powerful swell, but a bit messed up at the same time.

Now as a concerned dad I wanted to keep an eye out for the dear boy, and naturally, in those circumstances, my concentration was a bit off.

I got caught by more sets than a penguin with a nail in it's foot, while Joey blissfully sat inside a bit and scored wave after wave.

Then a really big set turned up and we both got blasted shorewards, he decided to throw in the towel as his shoulder popped (again) and I headed over to a nearby right, joined the ridiculous crowd, managed to get a couple of good 'uns amidst the throng, while listening to the torrents of abuse being hurled skywards by some local boof head who insisted everyone else in the water was a kook except him.

Why can't people just sit there quietly and contemplate their navels?

Attached a couple of shots retrieved from my long dead camera, circa our January trip to the South Coast.

One, of me gazing wistfully towards a flat horizon, the other, a couple of days later as my prayers were answered.. with the lovely Pink Rocks showing a bit of form.

Oooooooh what an interesting few days.

Sunday I went for a splash with Richard and Satu from the ACO, down for a few days to hook up with Derek Hynd to do an little extra filming for an upcoming Jack McCoy flick. We ended up having a surf together at Winki, my surf being drastically shortened when, coming round the whitewater after barely surviving a late drop on a 4ft 'bomb', a guy blind to my presence, took off, lost it slightly as in back on his heels and struggling to regain balance (he was a good surfer, just a bad moment)... completely cleaned me up. Bleeding nose and my board was rooted, fin flapping, big gauge in rail... so relegated to the viewing platform for a bit.

That night, Derek drove the 700 miles down, and for the next 2 days, for them, it was on. I, unfortunately, had the extreme guilts, so spent that day and the next morning on the phone trying to drum up some work as I'd just paid the kids school fees, looked at the bank balance and freaked.

Fortunately I scored some work art directing a Honda shoot, so later I belted down for a quick'un in the afternoon of Tuesday to be greeted by perfect 4-6ft Bells.

I was only able to stay for a short surf but I can say that Derek is getting better and better, and Richard is is getting very very good too on the finless. I mistook him for Derek on one wave, only to have Derek catch the following one and blow my mind. Believe me finless is legit... fast, fluid, very different and it's own kind of extreme.

It is beautiful to watch.

Yesterday, booked to do the photo shoot, I headed out at 5.45 in the morning, for a two hour drive out to the west, the wind getting stronger and stronger, to a dormant volcano top location at a place called Red Rocks.

Our timing was exquisite.

Picture the Perfect Storm, a confluence of two weather systems, and we had, on our little patch of bare hill, 160kmh winds as we tried to shoot a car. First a monumental dust storm tracked in from the north, and then, as the system moved around us, the winds tracked through the north west,and through to west, bringing rain, lightening and thunder. The wind didn't abate.

Victoria and Tasmania got trashed.

One inch waves in my coffee as the wind blowing over the top sucked all the coffee out. The original storm in a teacup.

I even peed on my face. (Mmmmm.... salty!)

The drive home, it rained red mud as the water mixed with the dust storm. Galvanised iron sheets flew across the road in front of me. Powerlines down, trees uprooted. It truly was all on.

Down the coast it was flat as the system blew north (strong offshore) through most of the day... only for this morning to dawn on the biggest Bells, I'm told, since 1981. I spoke to Maurice Cole this afternoon, and he called it 10-12, maybe 15 feet on a set or two. For him to call that it was pretty damn big as he is a master of understatement.
And down at Cape Sorrell, on Tasmania's North West corner, the buoys touched 17 metres.

Attached is a bit of video of what it was like up there. We got the shot by the way.

Well now I might just stay away from the old poetry given the limited response. Beware the muse lurking in the bushes.

Still, my Dad liked it.

I had a pretty interesting weekend surfwise. Lured down south by my mate Rod (visit his site listed at left) I was lucky enough to be gifted with a pretty special few days.

Rod, Hazel, Tris, Marcus and Ben live at Port Campbell, an isolated fishing hamlet famous for the Twelve Apostles, and to us folks of the surfing persuasion, waves of the mighty and fine variety. This weekend we got both.

A late run down on Saturday meant no waves then but in the morning, after a lazy start, we headed off to surf a spot that is as famous for it's entry and exit as for the wave itself. Entry, via a 10 odd foot jump into a nook in the rocks, exit via two body sized caves that you attempt to crawl into while dodging the sets. The wave is a serious double up take off followed by a fast hollow wall. Heaps of power and fun.

Unfortunately, a bit crossed up as far as swell direction goes, and hard to find the right one, but I got one screamer, really happy, and with Joey filming from the cliff top, I thought 'you bloody beauty... a good one on film.' When I looked up at the end of the ride I realised the dear boy was gazing at the break across the channel through the zoom, and when I later saw the footage, he managed to get me paddling back after the ride. Those rides he did film confirmed my opinion of myself as a doddering old fool. Young Marcus, however, was seen to rip it to bits.

Next day though,I got up early and headed out for an early surf check.

On leaving Rod's there is a spot where you can check the bombies from the road as you drive, and as I rubbernecked down the road I noticed a fair amount of action.

Checked the obvious spot when this is the case and was greeted with a raging 10-12ft right, barreling off it's nut and no one out.

One guy drives up and begins to suit up and I dive back into the car and head back to get my 'other' board, since this needs more than a six two.

Driving back I start to question my motives... is this for fun, why are you doing this, should you do this, the last time you surfed here you had a two wave hold down, busted a board the time before that, it's a kilometre swim back to shore, there's effing big sharks all along this coast... blah bah blah.

But.

I love this wave. Being out there, the cliffs, the sheer majesty as one of these things thunders by...it's why I surf. One or two, a couple on the head, it's such a blast.

Needless to say my answer to self was 'yes, it's for fun, I do it for fun, yes I should, and shite there's only one guy out."

So down the track, get to the jump of spot, it's low tide and about 15 ft down to the barely covered rocks.

To get in you jump when a wave comes through, then paddle like hell. It's low tide and it looks really shallow and for the first time I'm shitting myself as there's far less water that usual.

So...here comes a set wave, out I go...(and... you've got to jump between a couple of rocks, it's a bit deeper there, and fall shallow).... hit the water and bang, my hand hits a rock on the way down but only sore for a minute or two, better hand than head, and out I go.

Four hundred yard paddle around and out to the lineup.

My old friend Russ (the break's most passionate surfer... he'll be out there onshore and what he calls fifteen but it's really bloody twenty), another local, and me.

Now I was feeling a bit tentative, but the first one I got was a bloody screamer, super long fast ride, and the 8'10 felt pretty good. Naturally I thought 'this is alright!' and shortly after paddled for another, stood up early and this time the thought was 'fuck this isn't looking too flash' as I was held for a moment in the lip, but leaned into a now sheer face... hoping for the best. An absolutely killer drop, and a couple hundred yards later I pulled out, didn't really remember the ride, but I smiled as I settled on to the board in front of another mate Richard, who'd just jumped in.

As it turned out those were my two best... Typically I got eaten a couple of times on take off sliding most of the way down the face as I watched the lip arc over me, and got lucky duck diving the 8'10 (it ain't easy) through a very big wave only to find a much bigger one about to get the lot of us. No one around me and no chance to get through so I turfed the board to the side and dove, looking up to see where the lip might land. It kaboomed just land side of me, the bounce somehow missed the board so minimal pull, and we both popped up without too much drama.

A few more reasonable ones, then I started to get tired and slower, so one more, then paddled across to the bombie on the other side of the channel and in. Sat out where I thought the take off might be, only to see this huge peak heading my way.

It broke way outside, so I turned thinking I'll snag the whitewater and just head in. Keep in mind I'm about 400 metres out from the cliff line so the free ride is gratefully received. Unfortunately this white water didn't sound, or look, quite right.

It had deep blue bits in it and roared.

My first impression..."this will be interesting" was confirmed as it steamrolled me and the board, end over end, before ripping it away and backing off shortly after. So a little more humbled I dragged myself in a bit further before catching a smaller one through the the inside break, and then on to the beach.

Then the 3 k walk back to the car.

Session time... in the water at 8.30 am. Back to car at 2.30 pm..

The place is an epic from start to finish.

Next day, after taking the kids for a more manageable surf/skate on the way home, I snagged a quick splash at Winki, at the time heavily populated with sickeningly hot pros, amongst them Jordy Smith, who seemed to be trying to alleviate the drought single handedly given the amount of water he was hurling skywards.

Needless to say the density of youthful vigour reminded me of my earlier perception of myself as a doddering old fool.

Again no pictures so here, instead, is the next trailer from Musica Surfica.

A belated heading off down the coast ahead this morning. Friday's Easter traffic held no allure and the swell, though up, was affected by on-shores, plus I couldn't be stuffed.

So today, me and the two boys (excuse the grammar, but it is the case as I'm practically dragging Tom) are heading down without Mum (she wants us out of her hair) to the Deeper South, hopefully some waves, with the odd stop at skateparks (to pacify Tom). I'm struggling to reconnect him to the water, his love of concrete pretty intense at the moment.

I'd been thinking about what it is we love about our passions, and somehow, in the middle of the night, 'affectionate water' appeared in my head.

I tried to keep it there for the morning and the, oh god not another one, Poem Idea popped up.
So here folks, is my instinctive, flawed stab at....


Affectionate Water


Long horizon, distantly spread
before slow lifting lines
that lope towards me. A thread
leading long, strong and fine

To a foreign storm, cracking
Silently, lives away.
This salted wall, it’s gift, stacking
high as a breeze lifts

Lace from its face. I rise
to glide down the wind dappled
skin of The Wave, my eyes
searching for that curve graced

to send me on that slow
swift flight of joy and wanting,
lifting me to greet the throw
of the wave’s arc sculpting

this finest of curves, it’s caress
along chest arm and finger
the loving, threatening touch
of my blessed, affectionate, water.



The frame grab, though I've shown it before, is Heath Joske on an alaia from Musica Surfica.
It is appropriate as it will feature in the next trailer of the film, coming very soon, and is pretty much my favourite image from the film.