Sunday, September 28, 2008

It Beats Work.

Surf Ski Circa 1950's - 60's. What! no footstraps?

Simply Surfing

Not so simply Surfing. Without doubt the best surfing shot I have ever seen. ( And she's not even an Aussie ). Who said girls can't surf? This Wahine certainly can.

Simply Body Surfing. As pure as it gets.

Speaking of purity, this is simply a Body ( And she's not an Aussie either....Who cares? ) Not all man eaters are white pointers........then again in this instance I wouldn't mind being breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The Avalon Rock Pool

Wedding Cake Island Coogee

This is the stuff that dreams are made of........Onya Alby!

What follows is not meant to be documented history, as a small portion may or may not be 100% accurate. It is however a series of events that took place throughout stages of my life and has been recorded mainly to ensure my dimming memories of the past are not completely eroded by time and distance. Many people have contributed more to their fellow man than I have done, but there are many who have not. It is common to hear certain males and females sing the praises of their job or career by stating how lucky they were to make their living by doing something they loved. Unfortunately, I cannot be classed as one of those blessed with earning my living doing what I absolutely loved, as many of my jobs and places of employment were crappy and shit heaps, to say the least.
Before becoming a responsible human being and settling down to enjoy the fruits of married life with a top sort, there were many years of sowing wild oats and praying for crop failures. The year my life changed for the better was during 1959 when I became an active member of the Avalon Beach Surf Life Saving Club. A new lifestyle lay open ahead of me and I latched onto it with both hands and before long it became a part of me. It evolved into a way of life that literally governed everything I did throughout the years. What had become an essential part of my life was body surfing, surf ski paddling and wave riding, Malibu riding, rowing surfboats, assisting the slower swimmers through their annual test swims in the rock pool and enjoying the odd drop of amber fluid at the local pubs and the Avalon RSL with my mates and occasionaly some of the cuddly well shaped local cuties.

Compared to many, I never had an abundance of females keeping me company on a regular basis, but there were many times spent with the odd soft and cuddly partner, that kept me satisfied. Some of my favourites were not even girlfriends in the normal sense, but meant more to me than some who were. There was Michelle, followed by Lesley and Paula, then Patty, Hillary and the ever present Denise and Lenya. There were others, however my memory simply does not allow me to recall their names. They were great times with wonderful people. Boy, weren't we good at fogging up automobiles in a small space of time. 

The main reason for being here.

The Mooloolaba boys spring into action.
Commencing CPR.
IRB Training.
IRB Rescue.

Board Rescue. The girls are just as good.

                         Oh! and one more thing......

Monday to Friday was the worst part of the week, but perseverance was necessary as these work days helped provide the means for enjoying the only worthwhile time in ones life, the weekend. Just about every Saturday and Sunday were spent at the club, or on the beach and in the surf. Sunday afternoons commencing at 5pm. a few quite beers would be consumed in the clubhouse during what was known as QY’s, to unwind after the hectic weekends activities. Annual holidays were always spent staying at the club and using the club's front verandah and bunkhouse to rest one's weary bones. I preferred outdoors on the verandah. Meals were either purchased at the local coffee lounge, the La Fiesta, or prepared and cooked in the well appointed surf club kitchen. A place to sleep, modern cooking facilities, fridge well stocked with ice cold beer, all situated smack on the beach offering 180 degree uninterrupted views of the ocean and coastline and all for free. Any wonder I could hardly wait for the weekend to arrive.
The front deck. For over 12 years my bedroom.(Weather permitting)
Do not imagine that the following stories are everything that eventuated, as they hardly scratch the surface, but as time rushes on unabated, the memories become less sharp than previous and need to be documented before they all vanish completely.
Read on and become jealous. My God I’ve been a lucky bloke. 

1965 NSW State Championships
Coogee Beach

One enjoys an ice cold beer drank from ones old pewter
Whilst typing sentimental tripe on ones goddam computer
Ones memories all come flooding back when one recalls the past
The bad ones are discarded first, it’s the good ones that will last.
The trouble is the mind plays tricks and memories all start dimming
With many things forgotten from those years of surf and swimming
Therefore all must be put down to keep things clear and ordered
So future folk can read and know all that’s been recorded.
One Saturday back in sixty five the Coogee shore break ruled
Destroying all those smart arse crews who thought they had it fooled
As for us the God of surf decreed some controversy
By allowing us to win both heats showing them no mercy
Instead of visiting the pub, to drink and burp and retch
A sober night was spent by all asleep on Bondi Beach

Come Sunday morn we all awoke raring fit to go
A swim, a meal, then back to Coogee, keen to have a row
The gun went off, we rowed like hell, the quarter had began
Once again we shocked ourselves in front around the can
Coming in we did our best and a lesson we did teach
Ahead by thirty metres when our boat scraped on the beach
The semi final got underway later on that day
With Avalon once again ahead leading all the way
God only knows what gave us strength and had us up and fired
We reached the shore break still in front, we rowed like men inspired
Captain Maxwell picked our swell and asked us quite profusely
“Pull hard you dickless gentlemen, I use the term quite loosely.”
We dipped our oars and had a break as the wave built up behind
All the sweat was more than worth it, along with grunt and grind
Nothing could prevent our win, we all began to gloat
Forgetting on our starboard side there was another boat
That hadn’t rode the wave too straight which horrified its crew
The shore break broke, the boat it shuddered, then to its left it slewed
We trailed our oars and ducked our heads and thought we all were dead
As the broaching boat struck our side and passed by overhead

The two of us were heading south and travelled out of reach
Of where the racing alley ended, before crunching on the beach
The guys in white all dressed in shirts with tailored shorts to match
Caused us to be disqualified, our victory they did snatch
After all our inspired efforts, the surf we’d truly mastered
Only to be rubbed out by some officious white clad bastard
Our protest was dismissed and this was extremely hard to take
To ease the pain we rowed out east to Coogee’s Wedding Cake
We passed the boat race duty boat who thought we all had guts
But when we waited for a wave, they were all convinced we’re nuts
Fifty metres beyond the rocks, the island to our port
We waited for a decent swell able to be caught
The duty boat all called out, “ Here’s one you can try,
“You better ride it straight or else you’re gonna fucking die"
Alby stood up on the chocks and shouted out aloud
“Row you mother fuckers, make an old sweep proud.”
Jimbo rose and grabbed the oar that Alby used to sweep
As down the face the plywood flew, no time to laugh or weep
The wave was roughly twelve foot tall as it crested then it broke
Once again it seemed as though we were all about to croak
Jimbo looked like Astro Boy as his flying body passed
What was going through his mind, it had to be his arse
The boat slewed left and Alby yelled, “Hang on to your cocks”
The boat was heading sou sou -west, directly for the rocks

Just in front the wave had peaked and threw our craft around
And off towards the duty boat we all were sure fire bound
Although the race was underway with boats approaching from the shore
The judges in the duty boat could not have cared no more
What was coming from the west was what concerned them least
What caused their faces to turn white was approaching from the east
As the racing boats began their turns ‘round buoys of their selections
The judges in the duty boat took off in all directions
Their feet and bums all disappeared into the ice cold ocean
Our boat hit theirs and came to rest devoid of forward motion
We swung around and picked up Jim stranded on the rocks
His nose was broke, his shorts were gone, he stood there in his jocks
We headed back to Coogee beach completely thrilled to bits
Leaving all those guys in white with water to their tits
A little later when ashore and loading up our boat
We noticed that the duty boat had long since ceased to float
The occupants were soaked and cold when finally towed ashore
We headed north to sacred soil and were never seen no more.

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