Okay, he didn’t win – in fact he didn’t even make the final – but make no mistake, last week’s Vans Pipeline Masters belonged to our Harry Bryant.
And okay, he isn’t really “ours” anymore either, having flown the coop years ago to chase slabs way down south, or travel the world for sponsors like Vans and Monster Children, but Noosa is still home to his loving family, and if you’ve caught him backsiding the points and punting an exclamation mark on every wave on one of his visits home in the past couple of years (which always seem to coincide with a swell), then you’ll know he still owns Noosa even if we no longer own him.
But back to the beach at Pipe, where the invitees seem to stagger onto the beach each morning on wobbly legs and stinking like a brewery, if you can believe the reports. And some of them make our North Shore shenanigans back in the ‘70s and ‘80s look like mere child’s play. But they blink into the morning sun, check the lineup for a bit, paddle out and rip the bag out of it, girls and boys, dedicated athletes and class clowns like our Harry.
For all his quirks and zaniness, however, Harry Bryant has an incredible depth of natural talent and a box of amazing tricks to go with it. “Never doubt Harry Bryant,” Makua Rothman said on commentary after watching yet another replay of Harry’s perfect score 30 (don’t ask, some crazy triple score format, just think perfect 10) in solid conditions in the third round of the Masters.
The score rocketed Harry from 13th to fifth place, just outside the top-four leaderboard, needing a modest 12.6 to get a place in the four-man final, but the wave never came. John Florence won the men’s and Moana Jones Wong the women’s, but the talking point of finals day remained Harry’s guts-up late drop down a windswept face to disappear truly, madly, deeply inside the barrel as he skated over the jagged reef. Was it the wave of the winter? Bit early to tell, but I’ll bet it’s a contender.
“The vision inside that tube was crazy,” Harry told one on-the-beach reporter. “I can’t even really believe it happened.” The report continued: “‘I felt like I was in the barrel with him,’ said Mikey February, who peeked into Harry’s tube from the shoulder. ‘I was staring into his eyes. I thought he wasn’t going to make it, then he got spat out. I’m so stoked for him.’”
After accepting accolades from Nathan Florence, Makua Rothman and Keala Kennelly, among many, Harry accepted his prize money and a 12-pack of Fat Tire Ale and left with a wink and one last grab for the cameras: “It’s going to be a good afternoon, he grinned.”
One last thought on Harry’s Pipe performance. You have to see the video because no still I’ve seen goes close to doing it justice. Then you have to think, here’s a guy coming back from a fibula snap from one of those ridiculous airs that might have ended a career, riding a board made by a shaper mate from Penong, near Cactus, and untried in North Shore power. All stacked against him, just the way Harry likes it.
Oh, and check out Motel Hell, his latest vid.
Vale Sue, a force of nature
There’s no good time of year to lose a dear friend, but the lead-up to Christmas seems particularly cruel, especially when the friend of almost 50 years lived for love and laughter.
Susan Helen Cummings, who died last week after a fall at her home at Sydney’s Palm Beach, was the craziest, funniest, smartest and most generous-spirited person I have ever known. We’ve shared adventures and laughter (always that) all over the world, but particularly in recent decades at her home in Bali, where from a little poolside office I’ve written four books and produced two documentary films. Sue would never dream of accepting rent for these long stays, just a contribution to staff tips was all she asked. And when we ran out of funding to complete our human rights film about Timor Leste, the money was in the bank before we’d even discussed it.
A girl from SCEGGS Darlinghurst, given to gold bling and strings of pearls, she peppered her conversation with antiquated Aussie phrases like “fair dinkum” and “strewth”, which may have been a ploy to be under-estimated at the negotiating table, because she was hugely successful in business, first helping partner Rodney to build Newport Scientific, a company that developed technology to grade cereals and grain, sold around the world. Later she turned her attention to building an impressive international real estate portfolio.
Although we were near neighbours on Sydney’s Northern Beaches peninsula, it was a shared love of Bali that really brought us together. I remember that even as Newport Scientific was getting off the ground with instrument sales in China and the US, she and Rodney seemed more interested in our little side-project, trying to establish an English-language tourist magazine with the Bali Post newspaper. (It never eventuated, but provided us with ample excuses to loll about and surf.)
Sue came late to motherhood, and not always easily, but with Rodney, who died some years ago, raised two children, Morgan and Charley who have both become fine people.
Balinese businessman Wayan Agus Parwita, mentored by Sue for many years and now president of Kori Dewata Karya group, wrote in tribute: “Sue, your spirit and unwavering dedication will continue to guide us as we carry your vision forward. Rest in peace, dear Sue. We will forever hold you in our hearts and minds. Amor ring Acintya” (rest in peace).
