Cave Rock.

Happy New Year people and thank you so much for your support and kind words. It's such a human trait to fear and it takes not only personal courage but encouragement from friends, relatives and peers to overcome it. Look after yourselves and look after each other. See ya next year!!

It was New Year’s day 2004 and it was the first morning since we’d been staying at Rudy’s place that I had to wake him up rather than him disturbing my dreams. The bloke is a certified Grom for life. Dawn every morning he’d rattle the tent “Gaz, wake up Bru, it’s looking lekker”. Rudy and his family run a backpackers hostel on Ansteys beach and I was camped in the garden. I had to find him, it was looking slightly more than lekker to me and Cave rock was firing. For the previous week he’d mentored me on the shifty peaks right out front but today it had lined up and was shutting down in one pre-dawn slow motion closeout. 

We walked South down the seafront, Rudy frothing not only on the waves but also the fact that today was traditionally the day everyone, and I mean everyone, comes to the beach with all their extended family, and barbecue all day long. I was finding it hard to concentrate on what he was saying. The butterflies in my stomach were trying to smash their way out and the voices in my head were asking me too many questions to keep up with. Of course everyone there knew Rudy and everyone there was asking him questions. If you mention Cave Rock to a Saffa they’ll name Rudy as the man. I felt privileged, fucking shit scared, but privileged. 

Eventually we jump in the channel, there were definitely more watchers than takers but a few others were strapping leggies on as the sun started to peak over the horizon out to sea. I don’t even remember having to duck dive but in no time we were on the spot and Rudy, before I’d even had a chance to sit up on my board, was calling me into the rising darkness looming in front of us. My head said “you’re not ready” my heart said “boom boom” in rapidly increasing frequency and Rudy was saying, loudly, “go man, go”. I had no choice.

I made the drop, I made the turn and I got my line. I had every intention of gunning it for the shoulder and getting out as quick as possible but the wave had other ideas. It threw, massively, and without warning. The shoulder got further away and the wall I was dragging my hand along suddenly illuminated bright green, the lip that was behind my left shoulder was now in front of it and the view of the beach was framed in an oval. Then someone turned a power shower on behind me and as it hit my bare back and engulfed me I heard hoots. 

Then it was sunny. 

I kicked over the back and as I did so my knees turned to jelly, I didn’t so much drop back down on to my board as collapse. The hooter’s mouths were moving but I couldn’t hear them, my arms were paddling but I couldn’t feel them. Rudy was laughing and I couldn’t even speak. Never before had I felt the spit on my back. Never before had I been that deep (with my eyes open!). I stayed out but I don’t remember getting anymore waves, I don’t think my legs would have supported me.  When I got to the beach it was like a scene from Milius’s masterpiece. Smoke shrouded the whole seafront and breathing was a struggle. My eyes were watering. The barbecues were being lit. The rest of the day? No idea. 

Sometimes when I fall asleep, I twitch and I’m there. 

The first of June.

Sorry folks, it's been a while! Time to lively up myself I think but not too quickly; so I'll start with a piece that was commissioned by White Horses for their 'Winterfell' issue (#6). The charge was for all the regular contributors to write/paint/photograph something all on the same day (June 1st) and the mag was put together in a time line of that day. It worked out great I reckon but you should buy it and see for yourself!

Any way like I said, I'm not gonna get too cheery on ya first up following my last post (I briefly thought of removing it, but it was/is a reflection of my thoughts right at that moment and I can tell you they've been through a whole plethora of ups and downs since, and if I'm honest they've almost come back to right where that post was). 

Come on Gazza get on with it......


The Editor somewhat (I feel) disengenously titled this 'Whinging Pom' and this was before the cricket! But he sends the cheque so I ain't gonna argue too much.  

Jeez, what a bloody miserable morning. It reminds me of the UK. Cold, damp and slightly on-shore. It’s drizzling and although there’s swell, it’s all over the place. The messy waves I can cope with but the cold… I didn’t move to Australia to stand shivering on a beach watching the sun make a feeble attempt at penetrating clouds in an effort to convince me it’s trying to make a dawn. If you want to draw positives from the scene you could say it looked Turner-esq but that would just remind me of my old home again. 

Pete’s there, as is Graham. They both live close by, Graham close enough to cycle. He used to drive but since his hernia op he now sticks his board on his pushie and gets a bit of exercise. It has to be pretty inhospitable outside for Graham not to be checking it in the morning. He’s only got one board and I reckon he’s had it a fair while. It’s not white anymore. He tends not to push himself too much when it gets bigger and is happy to sit and watch but up to 3’ he’ll be getting as many waves as anyone.

Pete points out that it’s the first day of winter. Fuck, it was only just Christmas wasn’t it? June 1^st, 16 days until my birthday, always a summer occasion, but not now I’m upside down. Pete’s what girls would call sweet. He’s no spring chicken but there aren’t too many young’uns that surf here unless the Old’s bring ‘em. You have to have a ride. I like Pete, he’s mild mannered, doesn’t curse and he always asks questions, not just out of politeness either. He’s off to Bali for the first time in September. I hope he likes it but let’s face it, Bali in September can be hard work. He worries a bit too. When it’s big he always tells you to be careful when you paddle out.  

The kneelo fella and his son are next to turn up for a squizz. Funny buggers, kneelos that is. I reckon there are two types of kneelos; the eccentric loners that appear almost embarrassed by their choice of slide. They shuffle down the beach wearing a brand of wetsuit you’ve never heard of and occasionally some sort of random head gear then walk backwards into the surf like they’re retreating from the real world. The other is this fella, he’s proud, he doesn’t wear fins and he paddles around people to get waves. His son is late teens and in love with Craig Anderson. I know this ‘cos he tries his bloody hardest to look like the bendy boy from Newcastle in and out of the water. He even kicks off his waves and does stupid little pirouettes and shit. I feel bad now, it’s my own prejudices. They always say hello. 

My pocket’s buzzing; it’s one of two people at this time in the morning. Brian O’Brian or Sensei. There’s a few Brian’s and this one’s Irish, his real name’s Foster, but that’s too boring. Anyway it’s not him it’s the other… Sensei. Wayne got me into Yoga, he’s got an air-con business and when he needs some lifting and shifting I help him out. He’s trying his hardest to teach me refrigeration, so Sensei he is. He tips the balance of whether I should paddle out or not. A cold room door at the Uni needs replacing he can only access it on a weekend and he could do with a hand, should only be a couple of hours he reckons. 

He was right. Two hours pocket money for me. In the mean time I’ve missed a call from the other one. He’s excited when I call him back, the winds swung more South and it’s cleaning up. Poor old Sensei has to go and do a quote in the hinterlands so I head to Maroochydore to meet Brian alone. It’s 3’ on the sets and the winds across and off. To me, it rarely looks inviting in the bay. I guess it’s a combination of things; I never go there when it’s really good ‘cos the less crowded beaches will be better, so, I only ever see it when the winds got too much south for elsewhere.  A river mouth at both ends of the beach means the water is rarely clear, plus being a town there’s always a few out too. But you know what? I always have a good surf there, and despite the crowd, the sky, the colour and the date, today is no exception. Cheers for the call Brian.

Footnote. The next day was the polar opposite! Stunning sunrise, a whiff of a West grooming head high peaks up and down the whole coast. I surfed with Brian and two other guys for 3 1/2hrs in the morning then went back to the same spot in the arvi for another 2hrs on my own before dark. I got home sunburnt and had tap nose, in bed by nine I was twitching as I fell asleep.

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