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Photo overlooking Petrel Cove, West Island to the left, Kings Head on the right. Kings Head – 4 September 2001 When we arrived at Middleton on Tuesday morning, the surf was huge and breaking way out, with endless rows of whitewater rolling into the beach. Definitely not tempting to got out – yet! We decided to have a quick look at Bullies because we thought the swell might be big enough and the tide low enough for it to be breaking. Unfortunately this was not the case. I asked Ron where else he’d like to go and he suggested Kings Head. I’d never been there before, so he directed me through Victor Harbor and we turned left into Three Gully Road. Ron had surfed Kings Head back in the dark ages. They used to be able to park their cars in the farmers’ paddocks and climb the fences to get there.
Today and a day back in the earlys sixties. These days it is part of the Heysen Trail and there is no quick access anymore, as we found out driving along gravel roads, past private properties and a mob of roos in the shrub. We parked our car at the end of the road. Overlooking Encounter Bay you could see the Bluff to the left, West Island in the middle and to the right Kings Head.
West Island is not just one of the small granite outcrops which dot the southern coastline but does have a history, as I found out when I was looking for the name of this island. Would you have known? "West
Island rises 40 metres above sea level. It is a conservation park and
was originally used as a quarry in which granite was obtained for the
foundations of Parliament House in South Australia in 1883. Mining ceased
in 1889, however, for a brief period in 1964, the Adelaide University
Regiment used the island as a target for gunnery practice during field
exercises! My adventurous nature got the better of me. On my search for new photographic surfing material I decided to clamber along the path next to the cliffs down to the beach. I was a bit concerned because the soles of my shoes didn’t have any tread on them and I could just picture myself taking an unwanted shortcut, sliding on my bum all the way down to the beach. Carefully I scrambled along the goat treck, until I reached what seemed like an uncrossable abyss, well, a gully actually. Looking ahead I thought, "Well, can’t go any further", when I saw a group of hikers approaching from the opposide direction. They appeared after two minutes, and, looking at their footwear, I asked them whether it was an easy climb down there, to which they nodded and said it was makeable wearing sneakers. I really really wanted to get some shots because from a distance the break looked promising. I could see there were some big waves sneaking around the corner, with a handful of surfers out. I proceeded to tackle the descent, clambering at snail’s pace down the gully, holding on to pieces of rock and grass for support as I went along, crossing wild rivers to get to the other side, well actually it was a little puddle, huffing and puffing up the steep ascent. I would have rather paddled across than hiked! Nice workout for my thighs – I felt muscles I’d taken for granted in the past! Suddenly I was overtaking by Mr. Mountaingoat himself – a surfer, carrying his board, his wetsuit dangling over his shoulder. I remarked what an effort it was to get to the break and he replied, "At least you’re getting warm before you get there". Too right, I thought, wiping the perspiration from my forehead. Now the track lead downhill, very close to the cliffs, and I regretted not having taken my mobile with me, just in case I tumbled down there. Then I figured that would have been of no use anyway because I’d left Ron behind to watch the dogs and he didn’t have a phone! I looked behind me at the slippery, muddy walkway and couldn’t see myself making it back successfully, but then I had the glorious idea that I would probably be better off climbing up there barefoot. Just as I thought this, I went "voooooeeeey" and landed flat on my bum. Undeterred by this delay and glad that I was only wearing tracksuit pants and not a skirt, I continued my treck because the end was approaching. The surfer had long left me behind in a hurry. When I finally arrived at the beach he was in the process of getting changed. We exchanged a few words about him surfing here regularly and then I got my camera out, stood on the rocks and watched as the big waves were mounting around the corner, rolling over huge crags that were sticking out of the water like warning black fingers. It really was a beautiful, remote, deserted beach, which proved to me that there are still determined young blokes out there, willing to take a risk and not satisfied to surf the usual breaks like Middleton or Bullies, but go out of their way to find solitude on uncrowded big waves. After I’d successfully taken some shots and climbed all the way back to the car, we decided to drive back to Middleton. It was breaking much better now , so Ron decided to have a surf there while I continued my photographic exploits!
Sequence of a Ride
Sequence of a Ride
Sunday - 27th July 2003
Thursday, 7th August 2003
Back to Castaway Surfing Home Page Photos and Story Sibylle Martens, © Ron Taylor/S. Martens 2003 |
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