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Constantine Bay Surf Store
CONSTANTINE BAYPADSTOWCORNWALL PL28 8JJUNITED KINGDOM
Tel & Fax: +44 (0)1841 520250Email: des@constantinesurf.com

"....one of the best shops in the county", Wavelength surf mag November 2006

Slo Bloke to Nowhere.

Any ideas that my little forray down under may become some great travel adventure were soon put into perspective as Mick from NQ rentals' Sydney depot chucked me the keys to the camper with a, "ah you're going nowhere mate, it's only a coupla thousand kilometres even with the zigging and zagging". Hmmm, that'll do me. The lovely Kaaaaayyleeeen of NQ's Canberra office had organised the camper down to the last detail, though it was a bit of a shame not having third gear, "but mate, she's godda video and TV", so that was fine.

Circled Sydney in a grunting sort of way (no third gear does that to your driving) and managed to almost get on the Pacific Highway before the spinning, double visioned glare of jetlag kicked in. "Aim for a beach," I thought, "any beach". So avoiding the impulse to aim west in search of the ocean's reassuring comfort, east it was. After a couple of stops to find out where that constant screeching sound was coming from, aaaah, so those ciccadas are indeed that noisy and it wasn't the remainder of the gearbox giving up, I eventually found a picture postcard beach, not unlike Porthcothan I had to admit. Performed the superman-in-a-phonebooth change into boardies and let my screaming feet go loose and bare in the warm sand. A lifeguard wandered past, looking uncannily like Windy. "Nah", I thought, "it's just the hat....though he is over here lifeguarding, so maybe". Of course it wasn't Windy. No, Windy was twenty feet away on his way to get some kit from the tower. "Hi Des, when did you get here?". "Don't know, I'm not exactly sure where I am actually." "Ah, Whale Beach mate. So just arrived then?". How did he figure that?

Arrived at Narrabeen at that funny time of day. Not day but not yet night. "Stay awake" had become the mantra. "Stay awake the first day and the jet lag will be gone by the next". Didn't have a board and there was a one to two foot peak, so bodysurfing it was. Got out and towelling down while a guy skipped down from a big (and I assume his) house. Blade of a board and fully sponsored up, "Aawwright mate, haven't seen you for a while, catchya later". Okay, so I obviously look like somebody else then, or maybe 'a while' means 'ever' over here. Friendly anyway and that's always a good thing.

Dreamland grabbed me by the throat and gave me a good kicking. Woke early and quickly, you know deep, deep sleep then suddenly awake. Not pretty but functioning. Great. A stumble and fumble and found a pretty 2 foot peak with a dozen or so shredding it. That'll do. Right, a board. Easy, peasy, $5aus got me a 6'6" nev for 2 hours. Bit narrow and harder railed than I'd choose but OK. Three hours later (and another $5) It was time for Breakfast. And so it went for the first couple of days. Smallish sessions interspersed with trips to other breaks. Went looking for the long time not seen Mike Newling. Turned up at Newport and, of course, there's Martin (Connolly) guarding a nice little peak. Just missed Danny and Chris, they'd left a day or two ago. But Rankin , Matz and a good few others were around but I missed them and still didn't find Mike. Hear he was off photoing for some fashion mag. That'd be right.

Narrabeen camp site was turning into 'home'. The place to head for in the evening for the (never actually happened) 'glass off'. But becoming weirdly reassuring to see my new old mate, still promising to catch me later. Hot surfer whoever he is. As hot a ripper as most of the other crew including either the Oska or a very good lookalike. The wind went weird and I took a trip down to Manly. A foot or two and squeaky clean offshore. Still no board and so far all the surfshops weren't. Nice clothes but no equipment. That seems to be a global thing now. And I was bonding nicely with my little Nev hireboard, now at a rate of $10 for a full day but didn't have it with me. Checked the guy on the beach hiring foamies. Hired me a battle scarred Mal (9'6" no name) after convincing him that I had surfed once or twice on a real board. Perfect for the conditions, which crapped out after a couple of hours. So went for a stroll into 'town' and found the ferry terminal. Half hour later there's the oft seen but still awe inspiring Opera House-Harbour Bridge double act. Impressed by the mighty bamboos rattling in the wind within the public gardens and the street gang pictures in the modern art museum. Looked a bit wimpy for street gangs but that could be a bias from my misspent youth when we would be entertained by the 'mods and rockers' rumpuses of the sixties and then the Hells Angels gangs of the early seventies, all cavorting on Porthcawl seafront, chains, knives and axes ever to hand. Good pics though.

Couldn't keep up with my new old mate in the surf long enough to find out who we were so decided to add it to the ever increasing enigma list and move on up the coast. A stretch of great surfbreaks with great names; Avoca Beach, Wamberal, Crackneck, Shelley Beach, Pelican, Norah Head, Catherine Hill Bay, I just love those names. Great, great waves too.

Pulled in at Bar Beach, Newcastle and was joined moments later by Slim, raconteur, bon vivant and one time (Wade)bridgeboy. A three foot (and building) swell was being enjoyed by all of Newcastle's finest and there are some seriously fine Newcastle surfers icluding MR, Hoyo and Luke Egan. Slim towers was placed at my disposal. So a quick bellylaugh (provided by the UK weather news on the net) later and we were in the Brewery. I've found myself in much worse places and so stayed a while. Old news was caught up on and twenty something years of who, what, when and where was speedily updated. Australia day weekend loomed almost as large as Stu Aldeman and quite a few other 'old enough to know better' cohorts who we were to meet up with the next evening. Stu's daughter's 18th birthday at 'the Beaches' followed a day out with Justice of the Peace, Slim, touring the Hunter Wine Valley and checking the first press of the newest vineyard and, quirkily, a cold pint or two of guiness in the Irish Brewery. A lovely evening with Stuey, Linda and their family and friends and a lovely highlight with Jean (Stocx) turning up for another recap of life since the mid seventies. By now I could recount St Merryn life in the last quarter of the 20th century in approximately 22minutes without fear of boredom and yet including all the highlights (and omitting only some of the lower lights). The swell picked up and up and all the main Newcastle breaks were firing. Slim kindly introduced me to a few lesser known spots which were just barrelling.

Australia day was interesting, a very low key sort of a holiday but with occasional flurries of big activities. We elected for window seats in the Brewery and watched a hell firework display at the entrance to the harbour. In amongst all the revelry and reacquainting, time out was taken to jump on a boat and check the dolphins out, investigate the newly opened Irish bar (with a bunch of kilt wearing Scottish bagpipe players), finally check MR's boards, laugh at the Newcastle Knights Rugby League team (captain Andrew Johns rips in the surf too) aiming for their flight to the UK and showdown with Bradford (and humiliating defeat I may add). One highlight for me was being barred entry to the 'Kent' (careful how you say that, I asked the ozzy bouncer to repeat it three or four times just to make sure I had it right) for that well known Australian social gaff of wearing 'thongs' (flip flops to you and me). So, you can't wear flip flops into Australian pubs eh? All in all a very good one was had in Newcastle, a great place with great people and great surf. What else would you need?

Slim was back to work and I moved North. Not far though. With the swell now taking hold every break started firing providing the very rare dilemma as to where to surf. I opted for Crescent Head, probably because it was there. A busy but friendly right hand point break (aren't they all?) with camping right where you need it. Then on and up the coast grabbing great waves at pretty much all the stops. Moving on up the coast has a whole different feel to it in ozland. Distances measured by the hour felt better to me when measured by the surfbreak with something to look forward to at journey's end. But when doing that, the bits in between can become less and less important and finally irrelevant. I made the effort to culturally engage and feel that I was amply rewarded. There is indeed a lot of....stuff in Australia. Loads of interesting plants, animals, sea life, architecture, people, trucks, and even simple things like a lot of sea and a lot of land. Sounds dumb but I think it is taken a bit for granted. I guess you notice the 'lot of sea' bit when you have to paddle through so much of it. Same with the land when you choose to drive through it.

Found Scott Dillon's 'Legends Surf Museum' just outside Coffs Harbour. Had to wake him up as he had been surfing all morning and fell asleep in the entrance way. So had his Japanese assistant. How old are you Scott? I guess he's 70+ but looking 50ish. The 1950's big wave shots of him show him in his teens to twenties. Scott is a legend, it's that simple. He raved on about his 5 hour session that morning in 10 feet + perfect rights and very kindly pointed me in the right direction. Luckily it had dropped a bit by the time I got there. Found the campsite right in the trees on the beach with a rickety driftwood bridge over the creek leading to the point. Nobody else camping, no more than half a dozen out. Stayed a couple of days and had great waves.

Great waves. That conjures up some images. Hooked up with a group of old mates earlier on who took me out for a session, kindly showing me the jump off point from the rocks. Six to eight foot super clean barrells were busy reshaping the rocks beneath us. "I can do this, no probs" ticked the brain pattern shaped from surfing for thirty something years, more than a few of those years in relatively 'real' waves but mainly satisfied with the acceptance that seriously big waves are no longer of great interest. No great drama timing the entry, wait for the set, hop over the last one as it breaks and a dry hair paddle. The actual break was a good half mile to the point on the other side of the bay. "I can do this", the brain signalled, beating off the occasional self preservation thoughts of age and fitness and lack of recent water time. Admittedly the point did look bigger than the jump off spot when we earlier checked it from the nearest vantage point (way higher and a long way away) but nothing and I really do mean nothing, had prepared me for the sheer size and brutal power of this break. And why only 5 others out (including two local legends)? On approach to the take off spot (a swirling chopped up area of probably half an acre) one serious hell set roared through, growling and spitting and not looking at all inviting to this fresh faced pom straight off the plane. Fight or flight is always the reaction to a stressy situation but the flight door was very firmly shut. The paddle out spot was a one way ticket. The return could only be by way of tackling one of these mutant beasts from hell. Sounds really adventurous and maybe a little exotic? Well, no, it wasn't. Once those little brain signals twitch the nerve endings you just know that you're in for a very bad day and my little twitches were telling me this was going to be a memorably bad day on a thirty plus year scale. Confidence is everything and when it ups and goes it does so in a hurry, leaving only instinct and memory. So, all that stuff you automatically learn to deal with dodgy situations, you know; preserve your energy, go with the flow, relax etc, etc,...straight out the window! Rabbit in the headlights, sprint paddle for the horizon at the merest sign of a set, sprint back in to catch a 'baby' set, eventually get one (a mere three times overhead), discover that due to the wrap around the point you are almost back where you started but just that bit further inside for the big sets, which of course are aiming your way right now. Three hours, yep three, to get bundled up the beach (rocks) almost alive. The (borrowed) board more like a flexi foil than a rigid board (creased in 5 places) and a now 25 foot long leash. On the other hand, I made it so next time.....nah.

Back on track and had a good one at Angourie and saw Kylie's rumoured new pad at Yamba. Lennox was going off big time but packed although it was packed by probably the friendliest bunch of surfers around. Every one of them said hi. So I watched and they ripped. All of them, young, old and inbetween, short and longboarders. Didn't see any sponges. Broken Head turned out to be as good as its legend promised.

Byron Bay eh. What's that about? Excellent surf, enormous crowds, plenty of weirdos but somehow just managing to retain its beauty. Steve Williams, who I hadn't seen for about 28 years, has called this home for about 20 of those years off and on. Steve (whose brother, Ron lives up at Burleigh where I was eventually heading) lives as natural a life as I've yet to encounter dieting on fresh fruit and veg (and I mean reach out and pick it fresh) and deciding on a mozzie net enclosure on his several acres of beautiful land as opposed to the restrictions of a house. That has to be the biggest bonus of that climate. Local surfers don't seem to exist at Byron, or so it seems. I met a couple of longboarders who now call it home and they ripped. And there was the kid who always kept his sunglasses on who was awesome. The other few hundred in the water seemed to be transient. Nice little bonus during a really good session, a photographer turned up with a bunch of scantily clad models who got even more scanty and less clad in the shallows and almost every single surfer went in to watch! This during a 4 -5 feet, offshore and barrelling session. There were no more than a dozen of us out for the best part of an hour. Thank you ozzy culture. How do you cope in France?

Drove through a flash flood in Tweed. No brakes and then no engine. Seemed to be the same for everyone though. D'bah was going off in the rain with surprisingly few people out. Very big though. Kirra looked more inviting, green, hollow and relatively friendly. Finally got to the campsite at Burleigh and 'phoned Cheyne. "Where have you been? The surf's been going off!". Really? Hadn't noticed that myself (!). At 5 in the morning awoke to a shuffling outside the camper. Ah, Cheyney boy, long lost son and his mate Tom from 'dahn south where it gets big mate'. So, Snapper then? Okeydokey, no probs. It's only 10 minutes or so to Snapper Rocks and its neighbouring barrells with Cheyne already managing to find number 11 on the volume control of the roughly improvised but fully functioning CDintothecrapcassette music maker and introducing the Stereophonics to anyone who was interested, or not. What a set up, what a line up, what a lot of very, very good surfers. Ah, another one of those clamber over the rocks to the jump off point things. "I can do this", and here we go again. Lucked into a few very good ones, even amongst the crowd, and got that 'stoked to be here' feeling.

Back to Burleigh and hooked up with Ron. Ronnie 'Milk' Williams has called Burleigh home for the last 20ish years and is as involved in surfing as it's possible to be. Surfing at least daily, he is also a key player in the Burleigh Boardriders Club, Surfing Queensland and Surfing Australia, has an interest in South Coast Blanks, organises internet training groups, works the stock market and real estate market and yet still seems to have a cruisy lifestyle surrounded by his family and friends. But Ron really, really was intent on getting me to paddle out to Burleigh from the rocks at the tip of the point, whereas I was completely content to follow the bulk of the crew out from half way down. Showing me his shredded and torn shins, a badge of honour from many a mis-timed dive from the jump off rock, did nothing to persuade me to join him. "They were so badly infected at one stage it was thought they may have to come off but they're OK now, so it ain't that bad". Yeah, OK, I'll take the easier jump with the longer paddle thank you. The most impressive thing about the surf in this area is the power of the water moving down the points. Bodysurfing a couple of times a day gave me a sort of leaning gait from constantly fighting the northwards tow. But that is only an indicator of the true power and majesty of the waves themselves.

Burleigh really is that good. Hard work but that good. Entertaining crew as well. The barbee pits come alive when the swell is on with a multi generational cheering gallery providing merciless banter and instantaneous cheers and hooting as spitting barrell after barrell are torn apart. The Burleigh boys really do have that lifestyle thing completely wired and are so easygoing. You boys have the life! Ron's mate and Cheyne's landlord, Paul 'Fester' Lester, former ozzy champ, allround great bloke with a sorted view of life and a hell backhand bottom turn loaned me a 6'8" Chris Garrett pintail which enabled me to whail backhand across many of the Gold Coast's finest walls and even slot my way into the odd tourquoise barrell. His kids, Micah and Joel are in the hot, hot crew of the Gold Coast which is currently one of the hottest talent pools on the planet. Friday morning, 6 a.m., Snapper Rocks with Fester, Ron, Wayne (yet another legendary character whose business card describes him as a 'soulsurfer'), Tom and Cheyne. Oh, and already out there is Occy, Fanning, Layne Beachley, and about another dozen of the current ASP top 20. With their mates. And their mates as well. And a few dozen other red hot surfers. "I can do this". Yeah righto. But the rest of the crew were on it, no worries. And I eventually again lucked into a few leftovers which were better than most of the waves I'd had all year at home. A few cold ones and a seafood tower helped fill in the gaps along with plenty of often surreal conversation.

South Stradbroke Island. There's a place. Climb down the boulders? Paddle across the (allegedly) shark infested rivermouth (look out for the boats!)? Climb up the boulders on the other side? Surf the searing 5 feet pits from hell? Get pitched out 8 feet and down 10 feet? Three hours enough for you sir? Right, now paddle back. Oh and by the way, check the tide or you'll be swept past the landing point. "I can do this". I never used to suffer from panic attacks. "You're sooo old" was Cheyne's reassuring and strangely calming response to my profanity-shrieking-boulderscraping-two-step-fandango on the rocks, "and ageing by the minute, son. Ageing by the minute". It was only much later that I discovered there was a boat to take sensible surfers to dream's end but that it was laid up while I was there. So, saved a quid or so there then. Lucky me. Cheyne came out from a session at D'bah and bumped into Ali Daniels from home who had been up to Noosa. As they exchanged surftales, over the sand strolled Scott Crump and his wife Danelle from Half Moon Bay in California. Scott shapes Sol Life Surfboards and LK boards and was over for a month's shaping for Kirra Surf. And just how very bloody tiny is this world?

Dumped the camper off in Brisbane and planned to hook up with Dave 'Bear' Pritchard, another 'fugee from the old country who I hadn't seen for a couple of decades. But got to the airport to deposit my baggage and discovered I was only eighteen hours late for my flight. Thank you Singapore Airlines for not letting this be a problem. Next flight out and a row of seats to myself all the way to sunny Singapore. Sorry Bear, we'll hook up next time.

North Shore Greatness 20004

Back from the mythical North Shore of Oahu and what an almost life changing (not to mention life endangering) trip was had. Great, great waves, great people, great place....just great really! Way too much stuff was going on there to throw it all in here so I'll get something on the 'Tales from the Tube' page soon. But a couple of highlights included watching Pancho win the Backdoor Shootout (pictured right. More superb pics can be seen at www.surfphotos.com), surviving Rocky Point, The Bodysurfing Champs at Pipeline, surviving Haleiwa, the Bodyboarding Champs at Pipeline, surviving Ehukai, meeting up with Jeff Bushman (and getting some boards off him!) and generally surviving each session. The turtles in the lineup, the whales breaching

out back, watching the tow-ins at Phantoms, the rainbows, the moonbow, getting drilled on the reefs, aah all just great. Dave (Ortiz) and Ben (Ruben) were getting into it on their bodyboards along with Jeff. All of them getting into some meaty barrels. Safa transplant Mark (Johnson) and Gary were standing up to Sunset and leftovers, Duncan was happy getting it on at Freddie's, I enjoyed a couple of good thrashings at Rocky's and just loved the reefs the other side of Haleiwa, while we all seemed to enjoy the (relatively) more tranquil Pussy Point (aka Pua'ena Point).

Funny how everyone just gets settled in their favourite little spots. Good too to hook up with Ollie Howe out there on his round-the-worlder as well. And he was charging. What is it with British bodyboarders? Generally you can spot a Brit standup abroad as, lets face it, with only a few exceptions our standard isn't quite as high as elsewhere. But the spongers are right up there internationally. And the longboarders. Oh, and here's the viewfrom the balcony (picture right).

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