Although he lived almost his entire life in the enormous shadow of his older brother, the great Michael Peterson, Tommy Peterson, who died last week, was a legendary figure in Australian surfing in his own right.
MP, who died in 2012, was arguably the best competitive surfer in the world for a handful of years in the 1970s, while Tommy was usually the bridesmaid in Queensland junior finals over the same period.
He could certainly surf, but he didn’t have his brother’s conviction to winning at all costs. The difference in their temperaments was often evidenced in wild and very public brawls or dastardly and damaging pranks pulled on each other during contests.
But MP spent his latter years shattered by schizophrenia and in the care of his mother, Joan, while Tom enjoyed a stellar career as a surfboard designer, justly famous for his five-foot-seven Fireball Fish, which Tom Curren rode to glory on the Rip Curl Search back in the ‘90s. In more recent times he had made something of an art out of creating replicas of some of this late brother’s most famous boards, like the triple flyer fangtail.
In his mature years, Tommy was also famous for being an enthusiastic pub raconteur whose stories tended to get rowdier with every round.
But what an amazing memory he had! Tommy could recall heats he or Michael surfed in from 50 years ago, and whenever we caught up for an ale or three he would invariably take me apart for getting the details wrong in a report I wrote for Tracks in 1976.
He could remember every heat he ever surfed in, who else was in it and how they conspired to beat him, the exact dimensions of the board he rode that day and what the tide was doing.
One of the many classic quotes from Tommy in Sean Doherty’s excellent book MP Untold, is this: “The best I ever saw Michael surf outside of Australia was on 3 November 1973 at three o’clock in the afternoon at Backdoor Pipeline. I was going left, he was going right.”
That’s pure Tommy Peterson, and the better you got to know him, the more you realised he was not your average idiot savant!
Although I knew Tommy for many years, and always understood that there was more going on upstairs than sometimes revealed to the naked eye, I never really equated his conversational skills with academic skills, so I am indebted to Andrew McKinnon for mentioning in his tribute that when he and Tommy were in the same class at Miami High in 1970, Tom was a brilliant science student and an expert on World War II fighter planes, building kit models of them when he wasn’t surfing. Hence the Fireball surfboard.
As I write this I’m scrolling back through Tommy’s late night texts over the past decade or so. Some sad enough to bring a tear to the eye, some downright hilarious, many, ah, somewhat confused.
“Might come up to Noosa contest, get me a ticket to the ball for free and I will attend. Got no money like you old mate. Thomas Peterson over and out.”
“My birthday party is at Kirra Football Club Sunday 10 Feb. I’m 65 so you better attend.” “Send me a book as you make money off my brother. Okay or ru broke? Mum is good, 91 now.”
When MP was farewelled in 2012 I sat with Tommy at the wake at Snapper Rocks Surf Club and we watched a beautiful rainbow sunset illuminate near-perfect lines bending around the rock. By the time you read this Tommy will have had his own farewell at Kirra and although I couldn’t be there, I hope Tommy was granted a rainbow sunset, too. He was worthy of it.
RIP, old mate.
Nazaré fizzles
To be honest, apart from The Eddie, I can’t wrap my head around specific big wave events, even at beautiful and dramatic Praia do Norte, Nazaré, Portugal.
I get it that the surfers are risking life and limb and for the tribe who make it their sole surfing passion and the filmers and photographers who document it, I’m sure it’s incredibly exciting, and quite possibly life-changing. Yes, some of the drops are insane, but show me three or four and I’m just about done.
But I did try to persevere with the Tudor Big Wave Challenge in the wee small hours last week … and failed after less than an hour. Not only was it just a big fat hamburger with cross-wind chop, but it was only mini-Nazaré, meaning about five times as big as might tempt me as opposed to 20 times when it’s really firing. I was surprised they were running with another six weeks of wait time still there, but there you go.
I caught up with a few highlights the next day and, as per usual, was more impressed with Kai Lenny than anyone else, and he went nowhere, so what would I know! For the record,
France cleaned up with Clement Roseyro winning the Best Men’s Performance and Justine Dupont taking the Women’s Award. Roseryo doubled up winning the Best Team Performance Award with Portugal’s Nic Von Rupp.
