Over the next few days I'm thiinking of getting a few torture instruments. Barbed wire undies, single nail earmuffs, that sort of thing.

Might as well since I began the habit with a visit to the coast yesterday while unable to surf.

Unfortunately I had to take a look at what was on offer and as they say on facebook.. OMG!!

A soft offshore and the afternoon tide filling meant the hordes who'd inhabited the name breaks had exited to recoup, have a coffee, cuddle up to a significant other, or flop in a beanbag and drift off to dreamland.

Yesterday afternoon dreamland was in the water as apart from Winki, everywhere was empty and all was Perfect. Bells, maybe 6 out, tops. Centreside, none. Perfect right just up coast, none. Boobs left, none, right 5.

Shots, some snaps in no particular order of empty perfection, a trembling handed grab bag at what was on offer on our lovely coast.

When we made Musica Surfica one of the great characters on the shoot was Dane Beevor.

Dane really, really loved a beer and a party, any party, had him drawn to it like bees to the beer, er.. honey pot.

His surfing, what ever his state, post fun, was always on. One of those natural talents that never seem to have an off button. It was hard to let shine given the event was finless, but even then as with all the guys on the trip, the talent sparkled. On the odd occasion when he took a finned board out, something special happened and luckily we got a bit of that in the film, a dazzling counterpoint to our very steep finless learning curve.

Rarely seen on film, I came across this clip of Dane in Sumatra via the Kurungabaa site. This sort of surfing I could watch all day and Dane I think, like Occy and Curren, has that ability to do the right thing at the right time with elegance and power. The wedgey left he's riding reminds me of a favourite right down the coast, though I never in my wildest dreams rode it as well as he does here.

If Blogger crops this oddly click on through to you tube to get the full picture.

I was contacted the other day by Jon Kolker from an organisation called explore, "a philanthropic community whose mission is to champion the selfless acts of others, to create a portal into the soul of humanity and to inspire lifelong learning."

Well amen to that. Jon asked if I'd give them a plug on the blog, so this is it.

If they'd been remotely god bothery or evangelistic I'd have told them to go jump, but reading of the work they do I can only give them as much support as I can. With a philosophy focused on the breaking down of barriers between 'us' and the 'other', the recognition of common humanity and more importantly the fact that we are on this blue pill together is perhaps the most important lesson any of us can learn.

There's a competition to win a board or some music from Jack Johnson, and there's the site to explore, which seems to be becoming an ever expanding window to the best of our world.

A bit of a wait between drinks in blog land as I've been away visiting my Dear Old Dad on Queensland... and nursing a very bung shoulder that is going to keep me away from anything like an aquatic ripple for the best part of five weeks.

Like I really needed that.

As was suggested to me by Ed Sloane I need to write something about the perils of cold water surfing.

More like the mixed perils of helping ladies on buses and daydreaming while taking your hood off, then going surfing while the two pings that became the problem became one big ping by paddling about and trying to pretend I'm twenty again.

So what is a ping?

Ping number one on the bus to the long term carpark at Melbourne airport, the lady standing next to me has a big back she can't get to so I dutifully stiff arm it off the rack, it's a heavy bugger... ping! in a tiny spot in my shoulder...ooh that didn't feel so flash, never mind, what a shame.

One week later after a surf at Winki, wandering through the carpark while trying to get my hood off with one hand, pulling distractedly, daydreaming, the hood neck down in the neck of the wetsuit creating suction that would make your eyes pop, then PING!, that really didn't feel flash at all and damn it's hard to get my arm out of the wetty without screaming.

A few days go by and the Big Wednesday with it but relatively Big Thursday with a bit of side chop is offering so I just have to give it a hit and the shoulder disassembles and I head off to the physio where I get the bad news.


Pic for today? I'm struggling so I might just go with my Sue about to chop onions.

Yesterday after hearing of all the great waves being had I cleared my desk and dove down for a quick splash. What a waste of time... feeling like I'd aged thirty years and was no longer the limber whipper snapper that I once was..

Hold on.. I have... and I aren't!

To top it off, I pulled a shoulder muscle trying to get my hood off.

Dangerous things, them thar hoods.

Deciding to retreat to the safety of a computer screen I was pleasantly surprised by a touch base from an old friend, Mike Jenkins.

Mike I've known for a very long time, we rarely see each other, but I had heard he had a mid life renaissance as an artist. After having a chat and checking out his site I thought it worth sharing as he is having a fair amount of success and it is lovely stuff. Another interesting side bar to Mike is he is brother in law to the legendary Wayne Lynch, though that doesn't stop him from being a very decent surfer himself, when he finds time, what with all the creative juices keeping the inspiration burning and therefore limiting his water time.

Pics, all by MJ.

I meant to add this to my last post.

That restless lens, Ed Sloane, posted this of a sand bottomed point on our coast that only rarely shows its form. Ed claims he is a neophyte in the shooting moving pictures department but to me he sure demonstrates a fine aesthetic.

Love the music, and with local ballet dancer Sasha Leitmanis being balanced by blow in noseriding diva B.Baggs, its a lovely little show.

Sand Bottom Point from Sloane Photos on Vimeo.

I was talking to a mate the other day, about the Bells area and its hinterland.

He intrigued me when he mentioned a little secret valley nearby, a path following a creek line, a path lined with rare orchards, untouched by the casual visitor and indeed rarely trodden by anyone. He'd recently been introduced to it by a naturalist friend and had been astounded as the bushland opened onto a lush green field with kangaroos a bounding.

So there I was yesterday, sitting on the tailgate of my car, prying off a wetsuit booty, back to the sea and looking out over the Bells back blocks after a couple of hours and a few waves at Winkipop. A fun three or four feet with the very odd bigger one, the aftermath of the whopping day before that saw occasional ten foot sets at both Bells and Winki, a day I'm glad I missed as I think in my current state of fitness I'd have drowned.

Anyway, as I said, there I am gazing into the distance when the sun strikes though the clouds onto this patch of emerald populated, as I could barely make out, by a mob of very content kangaroos. I grabbed the camera and snapped a couple off, looked to the screen to enlarge what my pinholes of eyes couldn't resolve. Sure enough, roos lolling about everywhere, grazing, looking or just doing that wonderful roo elbow on the ground, taking in the world.

Pics: A Winki bomb, and the Green.