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March 2005 - The Essence of Crescents
Seeing her behind the counter bolstered my enthusiasm for another long distance sojourn knowing we'd be continuing our journey with bellies contented. The girl ordered her usual cup of exquisitely brewed coffee while I went for the usual fare, which just happens to be one of the best steak sandwiches you'll find anywhere in this fair land. With our appetites sated and the girl driving I dozed off for an hour or so, despite the constant yapping of a small black Kelpie in the rear compartment of our vehicle. I awoke to find the girl had made a fair dent in our progress. As we passed through the small town of Ouyen over the Victorian border I offered to take over the driving and did so at Tooleybuc, which is right on the border of New South Wales and Victoria and has one of the best RSL clubs for dining we ever came across. The long drive from Tooleybuc to Hay was uneventful but for a Sunday there were more than the usual amount of large trucks coming from the opposite direction. Our almost new vehicle performed superbly but I was a little concerned about our boards, as every time we passed a truck I noticed some movement, which was a bit unnerving. It wasn't until we reached Hay to fill up with fuel and clean the windscreen that the girl noticed the front right hand tyre was flat as a tack. Immediately the horror of the thought of what might have happened hit me, as I'd been driving at quite high speed over the plain and I felt rather stupid. After refueling and re-filling the deflated tyre with air we went through the main part of town, parked in a shaded spot and replaced it in a great team effort with the spare. I continued driving with more caution but just outside the town of Goolgowi we passed an oncoming truck which threw up a rock that hit the windscreen on the girl's side like a bullet. The sound of the impact stunned us for a few seconds. I thought any second the windscreen would shatter but to our good fortune it didn't although it did put a dent in our mood of safety. We were starting to wonder what was going to happen next, as bad luck usually travels in threes. With
this added experience we continued our journey with more caution and
a dash of trepidation until we reached our evening stopover town of
Dubbo. Dubbo is aptly named, as on a Sunday night and most nights
we've stopped there everything is closed and you can't get a decent
feed anywhere. In the end we settled for the local Railway club, which
had a menu more suited to an Asian taste and I got the impression
from some of the locals they'd prefer a good steak rather than what
the girl described as "overpriced, fast expressed greasy glugg".
I guess I can be an old cantankerous fart at times but every time
we go into one of the country clubs I've been asked to remove my cap
which really pisses me off. So when I was approached this time I lied
saying, When travelling long distances you expect to find somewhere decent to eat without any hassles. For anybody reading this: one of those places to avoid is the town of Dubbo. In the end and after the girl's request I relented, took off my cap and proceeded to fill my stomach with some much needed glugg. I suppose the only saving grace about the town of Dubbo was the cabin we were staying in. For a reasonable price the cabin was clean, every appliance seemed to be new and the people running the park hospitable. It's a pity this park was in the middle of the country, as to use my good friend the Towelling's words to have a cabin like this overlooking an ocean view, "would be lovely"!" We left in the early hours of the morning long before sunrise and made good time to our next brekky stop, Coonabarrabran. Being a spot for many truckies you'd think the food would be of good quality and of a proportion apt to their needs but I'm sorry to say once again I was grossly disappointed. But food is food, good or bad we all need it to carry on with our bits and pieces in life. Once again I took a nap while the girl steered our wounded vehicle towards our oceanic destination. When I awoke with the taste in my mouth similar to that of the bottom of a cocky's cage we had reached the outskirts of Tamworth where I took over the driving and a sliver of Listerine to freshen my breath. Tamworth is what I call "nunganung country", as it's the capital of Australian country music, which I'm no great fan of. Give me a bit of good old rhythm and blues music, rock and roll with a few old tunes from the fifties thrown in and you've won me. There's no doubt about it but travelling through this part of the country at this time of year is so pleasing to the eye. I wouldn't be the only one to agree that autumn in this country I love so much looks at its best just before the leaves of the non-native trees start to fall and everything is so lush and green. From Tamworth we started our climb into the New England ranges, the road starts to have more bends in it. Memories of previous trips start to creep into a person's mind, especially when your navigator is either engrossed in reading the paper or having a nap. Every time we pass through this part of the land I remember from my childhood the story of the little boy lost. For the next 100 kilometres or so you're engrossed in your own thoughts and every now and again you see a change in the landscape which has changed from the last time you travelled this way. With the windows wound up and air conditioning on with some quiet music playing in the background one becomes complacent of the speed they're travelling at. There are no small towns around to halt your progress but as you near the Great Dividing Range the local fauna attracts your attention as you go from hillside type terrain to a rain forest environment. The rise from the Tamworth type landscape which is almost totally granite-like becomes almost barren as you rise higher into the ranges. The panorama is almost devoid of life and the only testament of man here are fence posts and the many abandoned old farms and graffiti by some very ordinary artists. As you climb higher small ferns appear like lost sheep, seemingly crowded by tall eucalypts which despite the local farmer's attempts persist. Here and there are patches of swamp where nothing grows and even though there are fences one cannot fathom why they should be there, because as far as you can see there is no livestock grazing. Clouds above promise rain but at this time of year they'll not deliver, as it's too soon in the season. As the topography changes, so does my mood and my wonderment of time and space in this ancient environment. There are trees and possibly other types of fauna that having been growing here long before white settlement and the thought of this makes me feel very small in the scheme of things…I feel like another intruder, like a discarded can or other refuse. From the turn-off at Moonbi there's not much of an opportunity to relieve one's bladder as the road is so narrow and winding with nary a place to stop and do so. So with bellies empty with the lack of food and bladders full we continued our journey until we reached a spot where we could release some bladder pressure. The girl picked a spot, which from past experience is generally devoid of any traffic. It was a little bend in the road, which crosses over a small creek, and the reason she chose this spot was because she thought she saw some fish and wanted to take some pics. Just as I was about to point Percy at the girl's perch the traffic over this little bridge took on the proportions of the vehicles crossing Sydney Harbour. So tucking the old fellow back in place I pretended to be admiring the scenery but I'm positive that every person who crossed that bridge knew our motives for doing so. As they passed they gave us the thumbs up, and all of a sudden my desire to relieve myself became secondary. After that embarrassing moment we motored and to my pleasure I found relief in a grotty toilet right at Telegraph Point, on the turn off from Port Macquarie to Kempsey. For a bloke my age having a piss after so many kilometres can make your day. We continued on to Crescent Head, not bothering about where we were going to stay the night as we both wanted to see if there was a wave going. I must admit I teased the girl and I really shouldn't do it but she kept on asking me what the surf was going to be like. All I could say was I had no gut feeling in the pit of my body, knowing full well there'd be a wave but the quality of it I was unsure of. After travelling 1800 plus kilometres we made the final turn to find Crescents working a treat with a slight cross onshore breeze. Within minutes of our arrival the boards were off and despite our long journey we found solace once again in the warm waters of the Pacific Ocean. It was 12.30 PM on Monday with the surf around 4-6 foot. Despite the crowd I had a glorious session and countless great rides. Most of the locals who gather every day were watching the tourists making fools of themselves. Some of the faces I'd seen before but rarely out in the water. Speaking about fools, there was one bloke who had a striking resemblance to Daryl Robinson, a surfing mate from back in the old days, but Daryl had much more class and a lot more respect for others surfing around him. This bloke's main interest was in snaking every other surfer in the lineup, be it friend or foe. If per chance you have the misfortune to be in the water when he's around feel free to give him a serve. On second thought don't bother, as time and his attitude usually takes care of arseholes like him. The next sentence should please our friend the Towelling back home, as there were two whoopee-do yahoo surfers out there, wearing golf ball helmets. One was wearing a white lid while the other was wearing a shitty brown one and both were surfing with the same style; catch a wave by dropping in and when wipeout time came they abandoned their boards without any respect for those around them. It amazes me that blokes like this go to all the bother to buy to most expensive surf clobber and surf so badly without any respect for others in the water. My
first wave of the trip was a good looking wave of a large set. Not
having ridden Crescents' for over a year I failed to make a critical
section and almost collided with another surfer paddling out. When
I surfaced I apologised and said, "Are you alright mate?"
He replied with a reassuring grin, "Yep, no worries, I never
felt any thud so I guess we're ok". In the meanwhile the girl was having not much luck and I knew how much she was looking forward to riding a wave with a bit more oomph but in the end she managed to catch one or two which brought the smile back to her face. With the tide going out and conditions rapidly deteriorating most others were not reading the break so well and a lot of waves were coming through unridden, and it breaks my heart to see this. What can a person say about the surf on Tuesday? How can a bloke get so lucky? With the girl's holiday window being so fixed there was no choice but to go and accept what the elements of this part of the East Coast had to offer. With the morning light creeping over the trees in the front yard of the residence we were staying at I could hear every now and then the sound of a wave breaking, which gladdened my heart. Looking at the sky with a gazillion stars above me and with barely the softest of breeze caressing the fauna I had a strong feeling we were in for another day with ideal conditions and good surf. The only bad thing about our accommodation was me being attacked by every mozzie and March fly in the area and woke up looking like a big blotch with tiny bits of skin holding the rest of my body together. On reaching Crescents we found the surf smaller than the previous day but I guess it was because the tide was still coming in and I had a good feeling once the ebb started going out conditions would improve and so would the increase of the usual suspects. So we sat around and waited and watched as the early morning crew who wanted a quick wave before work meandered past, making their way out in what I would consider very ordinary light conditions. The locals gathered with cups of coffee in hand alongside of us, none saying G'day or whatever but at the same time making no attempt to hit the water themselves. Eventually
the tide suited our needs and as the early morning crew started to
come in we donned our surfing attire, waxed our boards and made our
way down to the point. On reaching the usual departure area from land
to the sea I noticed the tide was still high and not wanting to christen
my board with its first ding I enticed the girl to go forth, which
she didn't. With great caution I clambered over the barnacle encrusted
slimy rocks only to find the girl right up my ginger. With a look
of disdain back towards her and some loving words, Finally
I made it out and on reaching clear water I made a quick check to
see if I had enough flesh left on my body to carry on with. On inspection
I could see most of my limbs still in working order and after a few
seconds of doing so I caught my first wave which I completely made
a fool of myself by taking off on a fast pitching, close to the rocks
style. The wipeout from shore must have looked spectacular but as
my right foot came in contact with the jagged rocks below I felt another
sensation of pain on my right foot again. With grim determination
I persisted and after another perusal of my newly acquired wounds
I managed to pick up a wave of quality and got a reasonable long ride
out of it. After that wave I decided to paddle inside and catch the
leftovers which turned out to be better than the ones that most blokes
were catching out the back. In the meantime I kept an eye on the girl
and judging by the expression on her face I could see she was not
enjoying herself. Here was the girl who had been saying over the last
few months, "I want to ride a wave with a bit more to it, I need
a challenge, I'm sick and tired of riding the crappy waves on the
South Coast". The girl decided we should go and check out Big Hill, as she has a passion for the break. Personally I couldn't care less as I'll ride any wave as long as I get my share. Unfortunately the road to Big Hill is mostly dirt and some of the potholes on this track are to say the least, bone rattling. I was a little concerned as we were travelling on this corrugated so called road without a spare tyre the possibility of another puncture was more than evident. After 10 kilometres of bone jarring trekking we arrived at the Racecourse where we stopped for a wee break and took a few pics. Looking to the north I noticed the dreaded northeasterly already starting to take its toll and the sooner we got to our destination the better. Ten minutes later we arrived at Big Hill to find the tide and wind unfavorable. There was one other bloke who had just come in after having a surf and despite his good nature it did little to enthuse our decision for going out for a wave. I climbed up the side of the hill to have a gander for myself and take a few pics only to be set upon by what seemed a horde of March flies. To be fair dinkum I'd rather be attacked by a great white than these sneaky little buggers. With great haste and the laughter of the girl ringing in my ears I made a mad dash for the safety of the car. Even inside our vehicle I could see one of those little bludgers clawing at the tint of the window trying to get at me. I daresay it was a great disappointment for the girl, as she'd been talking about surfing Big Hill for quite some time. I tried to reassure her with logic that if Crescents was small the next day we'd come back again and have another look. From there we went back to Crescent Head, checked it out for an hour or so then went into Kempsey to buy some supplies, pay a few bills, have our tyre fixed and check out the swell situation at the library. From the information gathered at the library I estimated the surf was on the rise and according to a fairly reliable source of young Benny Matson from Swellnet.com we were in for one of the best days of surfing on Wednesday. That evening we dined at home and regardless of how many mozzies bit me I sure did enjoy just sitting back enjoying a glass or six of Sacred Hill Traminer Riesling and listening to peasant tunes from the local radio station. Strangely enough we both slept in on Wednesday and didn't get to the point until just after sunrise. I put it down to the amount of energy expended fighting the plague of insects that seemed to have a long lasting infatuation for my gorgeous body. Mind you, the girl would tell you different. Wednesday was by far the best day of our trip surfwise! The swell had risen a millimetre or two in size and the forecast was for offshore winds all day which gave us time to indulge in a breakfast at Malibu Munchies. Once again the girl ordered coffee while I settled for some bacon and eggs. Out of all the places to dine at Crescent Head the best meal $ wise would have to be the country club. The only thing I couldn't get used to was having raw carrot with my steak sandwich. The meals are good and cheap, the drinks are low in price and the selection of wines are as good, if not better than anywhere we've encountered over many years of travelling. As predicted the wind was coming from a southerly direction and there was a considerable amount of increase in the swell. Without further ado we changed into our super hero outfits and made our way out to the point. I don't know about you and your approach to surfing but when it looks as good as it did there's no stuffing around, you just want to get out there! The tide was still coming in and high tide was expected at around 8.30 AM. I got so many good rides that day it's hard to remember them all but there were a couple I'll never forget. I would describe the lineup out the back at Crescents like a bus stop. Everyone goes for a wave and the last bloke out should automatically be the next one in line for the best of the next set. Not so! Some arseholes who've already had a wave or two try to snake you. Having had a day and a half to get the spot wired I was determined to get the next best looking wave coming through. When it came I started paddling my little arse off despite having two shortboarders on my left trying to snake me. As soon as I realised I'd caught the wave I veered left in order to make sure this wave was mine. I dropped down the face and soon realised I'd have to execute a fairly radical bottom turn. From past experiences there's an inside section when the tide is on its journey either way which makes it almost impossible to get through. With a bit of good luck and the will to make this ride a memorable one I persisted and made the section. Well aware of the slalom ride ahead of me as there were a flock of geese going every which way I managed to get into clear water and oh it felt so good. The rest of the ride was long and challenging but the longer I rode it the more I became in tune with its rhythm. For the next twenty seconds or so the worries of my landlocked existence dissipated. The
next wave I caught was not the wave of my life but it was a ride which
threw up a lot of challenges. And although it's not my forte I did
manage to wander down to the nose to gain a little more acceleration
in some critical situations. When the wave started to wall up and
just after finishing a slight bottom turn I had to race to the nose
to get through and to my delight it was the right decision. There
I was at the bottom of this wave right on the nose of my board as
it broke and I experienced what most surfers wish for a fleeting few
seconds in the green room. Even after this experience I hadn't had
enough although I was near on buggered and as I paddled out to where
the girl was sitting I said to her, "I'll get one more Lovey
and then I'll go in". The rest of the day was spent watching other surfers enjoying themselves. We had successfully managed to secure our favourite parking spot just slightly right of the famous old Pandana tree. The girl took our dogs on another forced march while I grabbed the digital camera hoping to get a couple of candid pics for our records. So there I was with camera in hand sitting on the grass watching other surfers doing the Crescent Head two step over the slimy barnacle encrusted boulders. One bloke in particular caught my eye and as he endeavored to reach the safety of terra firma I found myself barracking for a wave to give him a hurry up. At first I thought he was a local but locals know better than what he was trying to achieve and the further he ventured the more interest I took in his endeavour. Just as I thought he'd reached the safety of dry rock another wave came through which caused him to stumble. There he was, this chubby looking little old bloke, doing everything wrong. First mistake he made was not looking at what the surf was doing, the second mistake was trying to save his board from being dinged without regard to his own chubby little hide. In the end he made it much to my disgust quite safely to the embankment. A few minutes later the girl came back from walking the dogs and I relayed the story about what had just happened. Whether she was listening or not as she backed the car out to go back to out mozzie hacienda I pointed out to her the bloke I had been talking about. As I had another gander at him I realised it was someone I knew. I nudged the girl and said, "Hey that's Rob!" and with a loud yell from the passenger side of the car and a quick response to it he turned around and in his usual laconic manner said G'day. Without failure, every time we travel to the eastern states for a surf we always meet or catch up with and old acquaintance but seeing Rob at Crescents' was such a surprise I felt embarrassed about my attitude, knowing how stressful it must have been for him just going out. My apologies Rob, as suffering from a similar disability I should realise how hard it is to live up to others' expectations. The next few minutes were spent with the girl giving Rob a big hug and myself giving him one of the friendliest handshakes I've enjoyed in ages. I don't think there's anything better in surfing than catching up with a fellow surfer who's been battling to overcome the stress of life and meeting the same person in an environment which is so rewarding. We decided to catch up the next morning for a wave together. That evening we dined once more at the country club but in hindsight of the previous night we ordered wisely and I still maintain for value and service it's a wise choice for any travelling surfer. While
awaiting to be served our meals I tried to relate to the girl how
good one or two of my rides had been the previous day. As usual she
wasn't listening, the conversation went like this… From what I remember of Thursday's surf it was almost the same as the day before. The swell was slightly smaller with the tide being so full to start with but as it regressed the waves improved. I daresay the long trip across and the previous days of surfing had taken their toll and we were just content to hang around and have a surf when we felt like it. Of course we eventually went out but neither of us got any good rides to speak of. Being the positive person I am I got a lot of satisfaction from just some paddling exercise. We
decided to go out for a late surf with Rob and his good mate Al, who
is one of those persons you first meet and take an instant liking
too. I for one wasn't keen for a session, as the surf was ordinary.
But for the sake of some paddling practice and surfing in good company
I thought the exercise was worth it. I didn't get any waves worth
mentioning; in fact I'd say it was my worst session for the whole
trip. The highlight of this session was the girl dropping in on me
on two really good waves. Instead of being annoyed I spurred her on
with the words, "Go Lovely go!" I caught a couple of mediocre waves from out the back and decided the previous day's surf had taken its toll on my endurance and decided to go in. By the time I got back to our vehicle I looked across to where Rob and Al had set up their campsite in the Caravan Park and noticed Rob standing there and thought, "Well done mate". We went over to have a quick chat and a see you later. I don't think Rob could get over the fact that we were there at Crescents' as he kept on burbling, "I can't believe that you guys are here". We said see you later and left with the promise of catching up with these two top blokes the next day and headed off towards Big Hill, where we thought there might be a late arvo wave going, seeing the swell and tide seemed suitable. As we started down the road I was dreading going over that miserable bone jangling track again but we'd only gone a few metres when we noticed there were two graders working on the road. I thought, "Beaut, we might be in luck and get a late arvo surf" but after travelling less than two kilometres the road ahead was like it was on Tuesday. Nevertheless we gritted our rattling teeth and proceeded only to find Big Hill crowded as hell with approximately 40 or so learners. The disappointment for the girl was devastating, as she was so looking forward to riding this break again. The breaks south of Crescents' are national park and they're now charging $7.00 per day for anyone going into this area. So with a car full of fine dust and a feeling of frustration of such bad luck we headed back to the mozzie hacienda and from there we took a quick trip into Kempsey where we bought some much needed supplies like junk food, some vino, tobacco and of course chocolate goodies for the girl. After dropping off our supplies we had a quick pommie shower then headed back into town for another meal at the country club. Once again we found the food excellent and with full bellies we retired to bed expecting from all reports a really good day's surf the next morning. When I went outside to relieve my bladder In the early hours of the morning and with little or no breeze I got the feeling that the sound of the surf in the distance sounded less loud than on previous mornings. When we arrived the sun was rising over the Nobby and we saw the usual crew who have an early morning surf before work in silhouette form. We occupied our usual spot, which is under the old Norfolk pine next to the almost timeless but famous Pandana. Unfortunately our parking spot was right alongside another expat South Aussie known as Hindu, who has made quite a name for himself as a rotten sod from what we've heard. Knowing he was around and out surfing I grabbed the camera and walked up the Nobby to hide behind the lens. Despite the likes of him I was determined to have a good last day's of surf. The tides had been rather strange all the days we were there, with the low tides being very low and the high tides super high. So after having a last bit of local tucker we decided to go out later in the day just as the tide was starting to drop. The previous day was one of my worst sessions of the trip so I went out with the thought, "Bugger it, I'm going to have a go and if it's another rotten one at least I had a go". Walking out to the point with a number of other surfers I started to feel a bit fatigued, so I stopped just short of the point and had a good gander at what was going on. The tide was high but on the turn towards low and with a what the fuck attitude I did the Crescent Head rock dance towards the water's edge. Still with the paranoia in the back of my brain of trying to save my board from getting its first ding I sacrificed my body and made one of the most ungraceful entries into the surf that I'd witnessed all week. The girl who had walked to the point with me was already out in clear water while I was still fart arsing around and making a fool of myself. With a few more new bruises and some flesh dangling from my lacerated right foot after my excursion over the rocks I finally got out and immediately felt in my element. I thought about paddling out to the point but as the tide was dropping I thought my best option for a wave was inside, as many waves were coming through unridden. The wind at this stage was offshore but was ever so slight and some of the waves were coming in at a strange angle. The blokes out the back where getting onto some nice waves but only a few where going all the way in. Where we were sitting some of the waves were travelling straight east and with the banks and tide just right they were perfect for some great long rides. After five days I was just starting to get the break wired and during this session I caught so many good waves I finally felt satisfied and fired up for more. At one stage I took off on a rather nice looking wave which was on the verge of breaking and having complete confidence in my board and ability I dropped down the face of it and completed a mild but determined bottom turn. As I started to climb to the top of the wave to gain some momentum for another bottom turn I noticed some dumb shit of a blonde dropping in on me. I had two options; one was to straighten up and let her have the wave and the other was to bypass her by riding above her as she fart arsed around getting to her feet. I chose the latter and in the blink of an eye I passed over the top of her and I daresay she had no idea I'd done so, regardless of the hoots of the encouragement I received from the blokes nearby who saw it. From what I heard later she ended up on the rocks but I swear I heard her talking to some other dill about a water camera while I was paddling back out. I don't know where these people learn their surfing and who the idiots responsible for teaching them about surf etiquette are but the bastards ought to be drawn and quartered. They're the same idiots who'll do anything to get to know a good looking bimbo with a big set of tits. I caught a few more waves and motioned to the girl I was going in, with the tide getting lower the break was starting to deteriorate and I was getting a bit weary. I caught a small wave and never bothered standing up and just let it carry me into shore. As is always my way when I finish every session I look back out to give thanks but this time it was different. I'd had so many good rides over the last five days I had mixed feelings of regret, thankfulness and a final thought of when I'd be fortunate enough to ride this break again. My sombre mood was soon shattered as I reached the car only to find our German Shepherd Rex had spewed his breakfast in the back compartment of our vehicle. The stench was unbelievable and our other dog nearly strangled herself trying to get away from it. It wasn't a pretty sight; the blanket they were lying on was covered with what was the girl's attempt of cooking: a mustard coloured mixture of mushrooms, lentils and god knows what else. With march flies attacking me I managed to drag the blanket out of the car and toss it out of nostril reach, rescue Cindy from a near death experience and tie Rex up where he couldn't spew or bite anyone. I got changed and rolled a couple of durries, as I knew the girl would be in a foul mood after finding out about the latest developments. In fact I was surprised as she took it better than I thought she would. So dragging the spew covered blanket in one hand she walked down to the ladies' ablution block and succeeded in blocking all the drains with some of her homemade spewed up cuisine. After this episode I wasn't real hungry for quite a while and the need of a nice cold Traminer Riesling would be the only medicine my queasy stomach could handle at this stage. That evening we had our final meal at the country club and retired early after deciding to travel south to catch up with the Mountain Man at Mollymook and hopefully a final surf before the long treck home. We left rather late for us at 6.00 AM on Saturday and just over five hours later we were on the other side of Sydney. During our journey south I'd been sending SMS's to various friends about our last five days while keeping in touch with MM about our progress. Instead of going straight to the beach we checked into the Mollymook Caravan Park to make sure we had some accommodation for the night. The price of a cabin in this park was to say the least staggering and double the price of the one at Crescent Head. For the sake of one night we chose a Jerry Springer type caravan and considered ourselves trailer trash. While we were unloading our gear from the car MM strode in, cup of coffee in hand, giving the girl a big hug with the other and a firm handshake for me. It was really great to see our old mate again and he really is the most enigmatic and lovable rogue we've had the pleasure to share our life with. The girl immediately starting brewing a fresh supply of coffee while I uncorked a lovely luke warm bottle of Riesling. Despite our poor accommodation it had little effect on the mood between the three of us as we immediately commenced our conversation from the last time we'd been in contact. One thing the three of us have in common is a great deal of love and stoke towards the surf and it was effing marvellous to share what's been happening surfwise since we last met. With the daylight diminishing and the sun starting to settle over the mountains towards the west, we exchanged a final few words about the next day's prospects and bid MM a goodnight and a promise to see him for dawn patrol. That evening we had a meal at the Marlin Hotel, as in the past we've found it's the best meal in town. Despite the number of thugby types destroying their brain cells near our table and using language my mother wouldn't like we ordered our meal and turned a blind ear. The meal was delicious with the girl ordering a chicken schnitzel while I went for a rump steak with salad, chips and a topping of the chefs own steak diane sauce. By the time we had finished eating we were both yawning, as it had been a long day and we were both weary from our long and fruitless drive down south. By the time we hit the cot it was well after nine and without too much bother we laid our heads to rest and slept most soundly despite the size of the bed and the many mozzies attacking our already weathered bodies. Dawn came too soon for me as I had to get up at around about three AM for a snake's hiss, only to find the girl had already been to the ladies' amenities block. The outside lighting was non-existant apart from a dim lamp above the toilet block, so when I went to relieve my system of the previous day's intake I took a torch to find the way. When I eventually found the destination, to my bladder's and other extremities' relief I was delighted to find the lights on. The first cubicle was occupied by a large huntsman type spider and being a conservationist at heart I tried the next one which had no toilet paper in it. Finally I went to the third which had no spiders, very little toilet paper but just enough for my needs. This ablution block was so clean I felt guilty having a crap in it despite the messages of love and devotion written on the back of the door facing me. Golly gosh, now I've got about 20 phone numbers of anybody who wants to have their cock sucked in the Mollymook area. On
leaving this palace of poo poetry with torch in hand I made my way
back to our caravan and at the same time taking note of what the wind
was doing and trying to hear the sound of the surf. Even in the state
of blissful relief my doubts of a surf in a few hours were on the
negative side. When
we finally got ourselves organised and eventually joined him we agreed
none of us would have a surf this day. After hanging around for the
sun to rise and see if it would be in our favour we noticed other
surfers coming down and checking it out like brown's cows for an early
morning milking. We would have loved to have another surf before heading
home but with the size of the swell, tide and crowd factor plus the
long drive home I thought it wise to say to MM, After leaving MM we drove south and despite much advice from the locals at Ulladulla for somewhere to get an early morning serve of tucker we had to drive another x amount of kilometres to finally get a feed at Cullendulla just outside of Batemans Bay. After having some tucker I tend to doze of for an hour, so I don't remember much of the next couple of hundred kilometres. When I finally awoke from my early morning after brekky nap I had the most urgent need to have a snake's hiss. With the countryside being so open and not many opportunities to do so we pulled over to the side of the road where there was a small grove of trees and all four of us in turn did our business and continued our journey. The mood in the car was one of quiet reflection on what had transpired over the last seven days and I was thinking of some of the wonderful rides I had at Crescents. Just before the border between Victoria and South Australia a few kilometres the other side of Pinnaroo we encountered a stop sign for fruit fly control. I was driving when this person who was manning the post approached our car. Our two dogs in the back went mental, as I don't think they care too much about anybody with an officious approach or attire. When this slightly overweight middle aged female asked us if we were carrying any fruit or plants from interstate the girl said, "No"! This officious inspector then requested we open the boot to do an inspection of which the girl replied, "Ok, if you want to loose a limb as our dogs are not too keen about people invading their space". With that sound advice she opened up one of the bags lying in the back seat only to find nothing but a week's worth of dirty underwear. I guess the smell of that lot would put anybody off and in her case it did but not before she offered the girl a brochure about fruit flies. I daresay the long driving over the last day or so had taken its toll on the girls' usual good nature, as she refused the brochure and added query to the inspector, "How do the fruit flies know where the border is?" The inspector tried to reply but I guess the girl wasn't particularly interested in any answer, as she politely thrust the brochure back into the chubby inspector's hand and we crossed the border back into civilization. I'm
not quite sure how many times I've travelled east for a wave but I
wouldn't mind a dollar for each time I've done so. With the girl coming
into my life and her enthusiasm for travel and her love of surfing
being equal to mine I reckon we're millionaires. As we travel the
last 50 or so kilometres towards home the atmosphere in our vehicle
is generally quiet. I have no idea of what the girl is thinking but
I for one drift off into a mood of reflection of the prominent events
which I'd sooner not forget. Why have I written such a long narrative
of this trip you may well ask? Well during those last few kilometres
on our homeward run I thought back to all the trips we've done together
and thought that this one was the best of all. As time goes on and
I read back through what I've written so far I feel the same as I
do when I start a surf trip interstate with the girl…i.e., I've
missed something with my fading memory…and I'd like to hope someone
would read what I've written and learn some of the do's and don'ts!
© Ron Taylor & Sibylle Martens |
bravenet.com
