By PHIL JARRATT
AS we get closer to the dedication of the Noosa National Surfing Reserve on Friday 6 March, I feel as though a great weight is about to be lifted from my shoulders, as I’m sure my fellow members of the NNSR steering committee do too.
For although there are some in the community who still seem slightly confused as to what it is and what it might do, and a few who seem totally disinterested, as there always are, the past 18 months of hard slog to get us here has been tough but extremely rewarding because the vast majority of people – whether regular beach users or not – have rallied behind us.
Our appeal for financial help to make this reserve a reality resulted in an incredibly generous response from the business community, the beach user groups and clubs, and individuals who simply thought it sounded like a good idea. One bloke even came up to me at a book signing and said, “I’ve already bought your book, but here’s another $50 for the surfing reserve.”
I can’t list everyone who contributed here (unfortunately) but they will be recognised in another place, and it’s fair to say that the reserve would not have happened without the support of Tourism Noosa, Noosa Heads Surf Club and Noosa Council, while from private enterprise Dowling Neylan Real Estate led the way, with Jive Art and Design Gallery right behind them.
A disparate group of benefactors to be sure, with many others contributing as well, but perhaps all drawn together by their love of the jewel in Noosa’s crown – our superb beaches and point breaks.
Our committee looks forward to thanking all contributors over a cold glass or two at the post-dedication celebration on 6 March.
On the other side of the ledger, I’m still getting communications from some people who think we’re the fun police, or that “Noosa will become crowded now”, as one guy put it while we watched 75 people paddle for the same wave at First Point recently.
To set the record straight once again, the Noosa National Surfing Reserve carries no legal or statutory authority to ban or prevent any activities on our beaches. Rather, we will aim to speak as a representative voice of all beach users to influence decision-making relevant to our beaches.
As far as encouraging more surfers to come to Noosa is concerned, well, that bird has well and truly flown, my friend.
The Noosa National Surfing Reserve will be more concerned with encouraging safe and sensible use of our waves, and in preserving the paradise we have for future generations of beach users.
The dedication of the reserve on the eve of the Cricks Noosa Festival of Surfing, will be celebrated with an afternoon of surfing and surf life saving exhibitions, plus free entertainment on the beach stage into the evening, ahead of a massive after-party at the surf club. Please come along and help us celebrate.
Hancock’s Half Hour
I suspect it was actually more like three hours long, but the much-heralded mini-series House of Hancock was almost as funny as Tony and Sid’s adventures in East Cheam all those many years ago. The spiteful adventures of Gina and Rose made appallingly good TV, made all the more delicious by the fact that Gina for once didn’t get her own way with her abysmal eleventh hour attempt to scuttle the second episode, the one where the claws come out.
But as funny as it was, the House of Hancock didn’t come anywhere near the real thing for sheer gut-twisting hilarity. I was fortunate enough to see the pilot episode of this real-life soap, and although it’s 30 years ago now, I remember it as clearly as yesterday. Or maybe the day before.
The late photographer Rennie Ellis and I were on assignment in the Pilbara for the newly-launched Australian Geographic magazine, founded by Dick Smith, and through Dick’s connections with the high and mighty, we had been invited to visit the minerals tycoon Lang Hancock on his family estate at Wittenoom, a town chiefly famous for killing people from asbestosis.
We flew into Paraburdoo on a stinking hot afternoon, rented a car and filled the centre console with ice and beer, then dodged kangaroos for three hours as we drove the dirt road to Wittenoom into a setting sun.
The following morning we were picked up early and driven to Hancock’s pile, after first being shown the shards of iron ore of Wittenoom Gorge that Hancock and his partner Peter Wright had glimpsed from a light spotting plane in 1952.
The rest, as they say, is history, and so pretty much was old Lang when we were finally ushered into his presence for a formal interview that took place in a room vaguely similar to where I spent 2B, even down to the ink wells and the smell of sour milk.
It was more of a harangue than an interview, but he soon grew tired and was wheeled out.
He seemed in better form at sunset when we all convened in comfy chairs under the trees by the barbecue pit.
This was when we met his recent hire, Rose Lacson, a somewhat stridently sexy housekeeper/minder who actually sat on Lang’s lumpy old lap while she fed him chopped up steak. Rennie and I were speechless, and had to seek solace in the excellent reds of the house cellar.
The young man who poured wine for us was a real estate agent from Perth named Willie Porteous, who also seemed to be on very good terms with Rose, although he could chop his own meat, if you’ll forgive the expression.
Ah, funny mob, the Hancocks, and great Australians, as Chubby Chops keeps reminding us. Bring on series two. There are plenty more funny stories, I can assure you.
