Motoring through his 72nd year on the planet, for your columnist surfing has become both a pleasure and a pain.
Every surf hurts, but as long as the worst of the pain comes after you’ve grabbed a few bombs, well, at our age we’re ahead of the game. Those of you who surf with me know that I’m out there for a good time, not a long time.
Sometimes it’s because I have work obligations, but mostly it’s because after 20 minutes the lower back kicks in and after half an hour the computer neck starts to seize up. If I last an hour I know I’m gonna need a nanna nap to recover.
But who’s complaining?
Not me.
If it hurts a bit, well, to paraphrase an old adage, if I’d known I was going to surf this long, I would have taken better care of myself.
But who knew? When I started surfing in the early 1960s, virtually no-one surfed beyond 30, let alone 40, 50, 60 or 70.
Let’s not forget that when Nat Young won the world title in San Diego in 1966, our previous and first world champion the late Midget Farrelly was considered a has-been. At least until he came second at the next two world titles and went on to surf beautifully all his life.
For mere mortals, however, in the ‘60s there were so many competing pressures of study, work and family that once you’d conformed and settled down, this strange passion for riding waves was supposed to just fade away, and with it those hideous board bumps under your knee caps.
I got lucky young.
While I was never remotely good enough to make a living around surfing – getting thrashed by Mark Warren and others in the NSW Schoolboys convinced me of that – I found I could write about surfing and a new magazine called Tracks would publish it.
After surfing my way around Europe in ’73 and discovering Bali in ’74, I decided that yes, I could make a living around surfing.
It didn’t always work out like that, of course, and there were periods where life got in the way.
But by the time we moved to Noosa 33 years ago, when I was nudging 40, I made the amazing discovery that everyone over 40 in this town still surfed with no intention of giving up. And we’re still out there doing it.
My all-time heroes for longevity are the great Bob McTavish, still surfing with grace, style and a sense of fun as he nears 80, and the late, great Barry Magoo McGuigan, who continued to surf competitively until a year before cancer claimed him at 85.
Locally I’m surrounded by septuagenarian heroes and lucky enough to surf with them most days.
Sure, there’s a lot of talk about medical procedures sitting out the back between sets, and sure, some of the gang are a bit scarce when the points get hectic and there’s a sweep that’s stronger than an old man’s paddling arms, but hey, we’re still out there, still stoked.
Everyone’s favourite surf photographer, Fenna De King, has been shooting us wrecks for years, and sometimes she even gets a good one. I asked her to put together a pictorial tribute to Noosa’s Half-Dead Surf Club, based on a couple of fun recent swells, and maybe one or two from last year’s Wrecks and Relics.
First Point the way it was
Searching through the Heritage Noosa photo archives for something completely different, I stumbled upon this awesome postcard from 1910.
Shot by a Gympie photographer named Fegan, it shows First Point the way we wish we could see it today – tide still a little high, but clean lines just starting to peel down the rock line, no one out and no one likely to be any time soon.
I reckon we haven’t seen First Point break like this for almost four years, thanks to the immoveable sand drift. Maybe one day soon.
Meanwhile, a bloke called Harry bought the card and sent it off to a lady called Al without even thinking about what future generations might make of the photo.
In fact the idea of riding the pretty little wave it depicts never even occurred to him.
He wrote: “Having a very fine time. The weather is very hot. Hope you enjoyed your Christmas. Have visited nearly all the places down here. Went to Coolum Beach yesterday and am dead tired today.”
Paid a penny for a stamp and posted it.
