NOW THAT'S A FLATHEAD!!

This is what I have been spending a considerable amount of time chasing all over Lake Macquarie. Haven't caught one this big yet, but I can be be a pretty stubborn bastard. In all honesty though, if ever I did land one like this beauty, I would more than likely release it as it would be a female capable of producing thousands of more little lizards throughout the lake during its remaining lifetime.

As mentioned below, I have just sold the boat to someone who I feel sure will put it to better use than me. As soon as my legs improve I am certain that something a wee bit smaller will be purchased and the never ending search for a decent feed will continue.

The Tinnie (I've just flogged it......Jan. 13th.)

The Merewether Baths

As close to the surf as I dare to go

Gone are the days when one could scream across the face of a Dee Why Point barrel on ones malibu, or a left hander at North Avalon. Even my body surfing days appear to be behind me as the blood has way too many obstacles in my tired and aching legs to find its way through. At least twice a week Gabi and I drive to the Merewether Baths, which takes around 25 minutes and spend around an hour or so swimming and wading in the brisk ocean water, then leave for home at 7pm or close to it and arrive home before 7:30 pm. We both prefer the salt water than the chlorinated pools that are much nearer to home.

What is comforting however is the fact that the missus and I are indeed living in Paradise and I suppose more importantly simply living. Not having to contend with the horrendous Sydney traffic is most certainly a bonus and blessing. Everything we required and desired in Sydney is available where we are now and our standard of living has vastly improved. I am so pleased that my late parents made the right decision to sell up and move to Wangi as their last several years were in many ways, the best in their lives, as they both kept on saying, almost ad nauseum. They too were convinced that they were indeed living in Paradise.

You only live once and I most certainly have done that. The brakes are now on and speeding through life has turned into a slow crawl. The good and the bad years are all in the past, thankfully most of them were good. Regrets remain to haunt ones conscience regarding some of the stupid,almost insane acts committed all those years ago, but thankfully memories of the odd worthwhile contribution to my fellow man enables one to achieve peace and satisfaction with what is left of ones life.

Just found out that a former surf club captain is still riding a malibu at age 70+, bloody hell it makes me feel old and decrepit.....Come to think of it, I AM old and decrepit. Both my parents have passed on leaving a large gap in both my life and Gabi's, but life must go on and watching the twinnies Sarah and Renae growing up makes that life worthwhile.

It did not seem the same celebrating the Festive season without the folks and immediate family this year, but, at least it was quiet and uneventful. The best part was stumbling across several of my former friends from the Avalon club who are still SLSA proficient and who are showing me up by still being able to be embraced by the sacred surf......bloody show offs. Queensland's gain and I suppose Avalon's loss.

Oh how the mighty have fallen. My only contribution is at the occasional special event frying the onions on the boat shed barbie and pointing out to surf club management that tea cakes and coffee after the AGM are a bit rich. As I made known at the last meeting I attended,

"What no beer? Oh my God! Things have really changed since I was here last." Sigh!!! 

"Fair go, what else is there?"

"You're kidding, what is this?..... the Twilight Zone?"

"Ah!.......Now that's more like it."

                                                         

Douglas Gordon Wells

DOUGLAS GORDON WELLS

  
A tribute to an absent friend

He was born and christened Douglas Gordon Wells, but to all of us he was simply known as Kegs......or sometimes Guts......occasionally Doberman and quite often as The Fat Man. He was a wharf labourer, but preferred to be called a Cargo'ologist. He quickly became a local legend along the Northern Beaches and when on patrol at Avalon when rostered, beachgoers at times were convinced a sperm whale had been stranded on the dry sand, whereas 'twas only Doug sunbaking to improve his tan.

Kegs was not your typical iconic bronzed Aussie surf lifesaver, six foot two inches tall, tanned nut brown complexion and a taut well defined body that bullets would bounce off. On the contrary, some unkind people were known to say that if you shoved a greased stick up his bum and spun him around, he would resemble a large oversize globe of the world.

If anyone in the club had a secret they were too embarrassed to reveal openly, all they had to do was tell Kegs and it would no longer be a secret, the whole club would know. He was known to enjoy the odd ice cold beer on the odd occasion, usually 17 schooners every third day at one sitting. He also had a nasty habit of becoming quite aggressive after downing quantities of amber liquid capable of sinking the QE2 in under an hour. Whenever Kegs began laughing and snorting in a manner that only he could, it was a wise move to give him a wide berth. His snorting laughter sounded like a cud chewing Bactrian camel attempting to clear the phlegm from its throat by blowing it out its arsehole. Whenever he started using his weather balloon sized stomach to bump people backwards, it was time to make oneself scarce......and fast.

One of Kegs fingers had been amputated just below the joint and this became the terror of the women and girls who attended club functions and the Sunday arvo drink sessions known as QY's.

Kegs would have loved Gabi to have worn the above at QY's.

 

Risky

In Danger

 

Dead set flirting with death

 

 Many a female after giving out a loud squeak, was seen to rise and pop up suddenly like a jack in a box, then direct a torrent of abuse at you know who. Kegs never seemed to be offended and simply went into his camel phlegm clearing impersonation. The girls refused to have anything whatsoever to do with him and regarded him as a disgusting predator. He seemed to regard this as understandable and totally acceptable and once again never seemed to take offence. I remember the first time I took my fiance Gabi to the beach and clubhouse. She only brought with her a minimum change of clothing that consisted of an extremelly short blue beach dress with matching blue briefs. After spending the day in and out of the surf, we both adjourned to the clubhouse at 5 pm to get wet on the inside at QY's. She had showered and changed into her blue outfit and sat down on a stool at the QY's bar. When Kegs entered the club, the first thing he noticed was just enough of Gabi's tight fitting blue polyester briefs that happened to be on display, to arouse his primal instincts.

Gabi.   Worth a second look.

"Well I'll be f....d, look at that," he cried, through a mouth almost dribbling with saliva and immediately launched himself towards the bar, his evil eyes glinting whilst sucking his probing stubby.

Also worth a second look.

"Oh shit," I exclaimed and flew over to warn Gabi of the impending assault about to be launched upon her smooth and delightfully shaped, but highly vulnerable rear end.. Too late. I arrived behind the bar just in time to hear her give out a loud squeak and to see her height momentarily increase several inches. Kegs waited for the abuse he was certain would follow, but became puzzled by Gabi's attitude and demeaner. "Oh you must be Kegs," she said ever so sweetly, "Trevor's told me all about you and your overworked little pinkie ." She then added, "Come on big boy, buy me a beer and let's get to know each other."

To this day I have no idea what they were rabbiting on about, but Kegs couldn't believe his luck. For at least the next hour or so the two of them were constantly laughing and joking, whilst ensuring that more space was becoming available in the beer fridge.
Return to   HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER

Around two hours after Gabi's surprised squeak, Kegs pulled me aside and asked me where in Heaven's name had I met her. I informed him that Gabi and I had met at work and after only a few short months made the commitment to get knotted, or should I say tie the knot. He was then forthcoming with some advice, "Whatever you do Pogo, don't lose her, she's one in a million, fantastic personality and a f....ng good sort to boot." Seeing how that was over 37 years ago and I am still using her to correct my many spelling mistakes, I suppose I must have deemed that advice to be worthwhile.

For the oversize lump that he was, Kegs had what could be referred to as a rather weak stomach. Whenever there was a barbecue at the rear of the clubhouse, he would always attempt to barge his way to the front of the queue and grab the first steak, chop or sausage. He got his comeuppance when a strategically placed dog turd sandwich was pilfered, bitten into, then regurgitated all over the barbecue hot plate.

THIS

PLUS THIS

  

EQUALS THIS.

                                                                             

A similar event took place one evening when at least two kilos of witchetty grubs were on the menu. The bulk of these creatures were thrown onto the hot plate while some of the live ones were placed on a sandwich uncooked. You guessed it, after trampling everyone down in the queue, Kegs arrived at the prime position up front and grabbed the first sandwich.....Guess which one?

Once again the hose was required to remove the multi coloured liquid laugh from the food preparation area. 

Bleahh!

When one of the surf clubs senior members sadly passed away, his remains were to be taken out to sea in the Avalon surf boat and deposited in the surf directly off the clubhouse. Kegs was invited to be one of the crew members and was honoured to be selected. The urn containing the ashes was held aloft by Brian Sproule the sweep, whilst the rowers held the oars upright. 

SLSA Burial at sea.

As the ashes were being committed to the sea, a sudden gust of wind blew them in the direction of crew member Kegs. It would be fair to say that not one grain of ash missed him. One of the boat crew comedians commented that Kegs resembled a fat Al Jolson and insisted he sing 'Mammy.' When Kegs realised what had enveloped him a massive technicolour yawn was forthcoming. When the boat returned to shore the crew were ankle deep in what resembled a mixed vegie pack floating in snot. One of the shore based Honour Guard noticed the foul smelling green, yellow and orange coloured lumpy slush and threw up immediately. Kegs witnessed this and could not prevent himself from having another one in sympathy. The breeze happened to be blowing on shore, so there were not too many who hung around any longer than they had to.

On a more than disgusting note, one of our well known senior mischief makers would entertain those present at many of the club's bucks nights by demonstrating how more than two dozen copper pennies could fit inside his foreskin. At the end of the performance, the pennies would spray all over the floor and on one occasion  a witness to this unique occurence picked up a coin off the floor and dropped it in Keg's beer.......' Kerplonk!' Those present were forced to promptly scatter in all directions to avoid being covered from head to toe with the colorful contents of his well rounded stomach. Ahh! what a refined, cultured lot we all were in those days.

I was present one evening when 27 were packed in tight........Ouch!!

Many of Kegs close personal friends would be able to tell many tall tales about their dubious misadventures with him. The end result would be a novel greater than 'War and Peace.' However there was another side to Dougie Wells.

Kegs loved body surfing and every Sunday morning he would join the hung over clubbies off the rocks at the southern end of the beach. The rock bottom underneath ensured that the waves kept breaking consistently in the same area. Every now and then a loud shout would be given as a warning and everyone would start swimming frantically out the back to avoid the big sets that Huey would send in unexpectedly to keep us on our toes.

Kegs could body surf with the best of them and would be seen screaming down the front of many waves in excess of 8 feet. He took me under his wing and was responsible for me learning the ropes so to speak. Up until this period in time, body surfing to me was standing in waist deep water and pushing forward on a broken wave no more than 3 feet high. Everything I learned about body surfing I owe to him. He suggested I try using a hand board and after doing so I've never been without one. 

While on patrol with him, he saw to it that the first aid knowledge obtained during Bronze Medallion training remained fresh and not forgotten.

When it came to competition, Kegs was almost unbeatable at Pillow Fighting. He took over from Allan Granquist (Pogo Senior) and became a living legend. He even featured in the classic Bruce Brown surfing movie 'The Endless Summer.' Keg's secret at Pillow Fighting was to wind the pillow into a tight ball and strike his opponent with the ball of the hand. Some competitors would spin around the pole twice before landing unconscious onto the sand.

During the 1960's whenever there was any work needed to be done in or around the clubhouse, many members would suddenly go missing in action and reappear after the work was completed. It always appeared to be left to the same dozen or so members to get the work done. Kegs was always one of them. He would pitch in and take on just about anything that required attention. Please note that I said just about anything.

On one clean up day he entered the mens toilet and saw me on my hands and knees cleaning the urinal. He cried out, "Jesus Pogo, how the f'..k can you do that?" He burped then retched and proceeded to cover my spotlessly clean floor with snotty mixed vegies. On the many other clean up days he attended, he was only permitted to enter the toilet during a call of nature and even then only under strict supervision.

Back then the most difficult of all trophies to win was the Patrol Proficiency Pennant. It was later renamed the Patrol Efficiency Pennant. To be awarded this prize required a member to complete all his rostered patrols throughout the season. One was also required not to be even one minute late when signing on. On one occasion I became one of two members to win this award. The other member was Douglas Gordon Wells, but for him it was not a one off occurrence as it was for yours truly. Kegs hardly ever  had a season go by without winning this award. The year I won mine turned out to be the pennants final year, but this did not mean Keg's almost perfect run would end. His patrol attendance remained as a shining example for many other members, up until he opted for Active Reserve membership many years later.

Doug's serious side never arose in general conversation, nor did he brag about his many achievements. Most of the time he would be the butt of many over the top practical jokes, but I can assure you he gave as good as he got.

I believe it was in 1990 Doug suffered a massive stroke that was responsible for him being confined in a wheel chair for the following 3 years. He sadly passed away during 1993 aged 64 and was sorely missed by his many mates in and out of the surf club.

Throughout his life he was a hard worker, but oh boy, he made up for that by playing just as hard.

If ever he runs into those cheeky Philadelphia Cream Cheese eating angels, they better be sitting down with their backs firmly pressed up against the wall.

Hmmm! .............I wonder if angels squeak?

A Way of Life.

GROUNDSWELL

A series of photos, all taken from the Web, that fully explain the infatuation one has for the sun, the sand and the surf. Sadly the years have taken their toll on my ageing rotund body, leaving only memories and wishful thinking. The one and only ability that remains is to sink the odd ice cold ale or lager after a hard day, that today means simply getting out of bed and typing tripe on this stupid computer.

Undoubtably the greatest beverage ever invented and/or created by man or beast. A considerable quantity was consumed throughout the 1960's and 70's. Beer was an essential ingredient that played an important role throughout the whole of the Surf Lifesaving movement. It was consumed in large quantities by all and sundry as it was a dinkum Aussie's drink of choice, unlike the various rocket fuels and effeminate un Australian alcopops the young and dumb are destroying themselves on today, along with their completely unnecessary foul and disgusting drugs.  Even the missus was partial to the odd schooner or three, or five etc., when my raging days drew to an end.  I got the impression the raging was not restricted to only me, as she quite often matched me drink for drink. 

Surfing in it's purest form..... Body Surfing.  Every Sunday morning from 7 am. onwards, at least 30% of the club would be seen treading water off the rock pool at the southern end of the beach at Avalon waiting for Huey to send in another big one. Doug, or should I say Kegs taught me what to do and how to do it. Even today,when I have the odd body wave, I'm never without my handboard and flippers, the latter being essential for my survival in the surf. Yonks ago, one avoided getting caught in a rip, however today, one requires a rip to make it out the back without drowning.

These blokes did not duck when the large rocks were thrown at them.  Typical Boaties. These are the Burnie boys, who I am sure would have undergone the same selection process as most other crews in Tassie and on the mainland.

For me, this was the most exhilarating form of surfing.....Riding a Malibu. Only someone who has surfed would fully comprehend and be able to describe the feeling.
Eventually had to give up riding the Mal as too many of the top spots were overcrowded. Things haven't changed much going on the next photo that was taken somewhere along the NSW coast.

The modern short board. Sorry, I'm way too old....Pity!

The Boogie Board.  Not as easy as it looks.

The Double Surf Ski.  Not too many of them left today.

The Wave Ski, or Goat Boat......Great fun.

Aah! Memories....and that's all that's left, Memories, Sigh!! In actual fact, even back in those days of raging, this was all a figment of ones imagination most of the time........ but every once in a while.......Nah! You can read about it elsewhere. 

More memories.  This time of young Paula/Polly. A highly skilled and extremely pretty Wahine. I have not seen her for 45 years....Long gone, but not forgotten. I miss her sister Lesley/Lulu just as much. Two exceptional girls. Great times.

The view from in front of the clubhouse.  Three reasons why I hardly missed a weekend. There was very rarely a time when we did not have something worthwhile to feast our lustful eyes upon. This was what the schoolgirls looked like before they matured......WOW!  Two years later......Triple WOW!!!  Cheeky things.

Another common scene frequently seen on the beach. One of the duties required of us guys was the application of coconut oil on the backs of the local Wahines. The girls would hand you the oil, roll over onto their stomachs, undo the bra top and then tell you to do your worst. 

"Well, you did say lower."

After the stimulating and exciting service was provided and accomplished, one would then be forced to wait 10 to 15 minutes for an important part of ones anatomy to return to normal before wandering off to pursue other activities......It was indeed a busy time in ones life for a young red blooded teenage lad. 

Whenever January 26th rolled around some of the girls tended to experience feelings of patriotism and would dress up accordingly. Having us guys handy and ever so willing to provide them with an all over coating of oil gave them almost as much excitement as it gave us. Couldn't understand though, why we were never permitted to lower the flag to half mast while providing our unselfish service.

All rise for the National Anthem.

I suppose I should not complain about my current physical disabilities. At least in the past I got to do things with people I loved and was blessed to have done so. Good mates, good sorts, good surf, good weather, brilliant way of life, along with providing a worthwhile public service free of charge. You only live once and I've had my turn. I have never been overseas as there was no need or reason to do so, more than everything I required was here and still is...... Australia! You bloody beauty!

Double Trouble

It was around 1962 - 63 that the old hollow 16 foot plywood long boards had reached their used by date. The balsa and fibreglass Ockanuis had replaced them and the foam and fibreglass Malibus were now all the go. Today the Malibus are simply known as Mals or long boards, but back then they were short boards. The single surf ski remained as a rescue board and even today the highly evolved variations of those ancient plywood skis are still being used, but mainly for competition. Despite becoming a completely hooked Mal rider, I nonetheless kept on surfing on my racing surf ski with fellow troublemaker Tom. Did we stir and upset those Malibu riders at North Avalon? You bet we did.

All hollow plywood construction and pre Malibu.

My main reason for purchasing a Mal was so I could spend many a surfing session with the beautiful bikini clad surfer girl Paula and this I was able to do on a regular basis, lucky me. We never became an item but, we were kissin' cousins, so to speak, who enjoyed a frequent snuggle at various Drive Ins etc., to keep warm on a cold winters evening, double lucky me.

More on Paula (Polly) at Friends and Partners.

The Malibus were nowhere near as manoeuverable as the modern thrusters and could be up to 20 kilos in weight. The sight of two surf club ratbags on 18 foot long planks of plywood bearing down upon you was more than enough to bring on an unexpected bowel movement from many a shortboard rider. Shouted comments made Gordon Ramsey sound as though he was reciting Shakespeare or quoting verses from the Bible. The beautiful Paula used her noggin and would surf with Tom and I and would wait for the two of us to crack a wave then follow behind us......Smart girl. It was amazing how over tanned surfers faces changed colour to a flat white as either Tom or I and sometimes both of us were about to pass over the top of them. Despite this, no one was ever hurt, how I'll never know.

During the years surf board design has evolved to the point where even the present day Mals weigh in around 3 to 5 kilos maximum. In 1962 my Mal weighed in at 19 kilo and was over 8 foot in length.

Although a better than average surf ski rider, I had never competed in an Open or Restricted Surf Carnival. One reason for this was the fact that I happened to be a member of the brain dead Surf Boat Crew. One day however, Tom and I began to pay closer attention to a huge plywood double surf ski that belonged to the clubs two senior paddlers, Max and Jackie Watt. We were given permission to use it, but were warned that it had a few leaks..... What an understatement. Tom and I would paddle out the back, swing the ski around hoping that a wave appeared within the next 60 seconds, otherwise it was shades of the Titanic all over again. On some occasions when full of water, the bow would submerge and with the added weight of all the Tasman Sea within, we would literally transform into a wooden submarine. The boardriders at North Avalon were safe from harrasment as our craft was incapable of reaching that part of the beach without sinking like a blacksmiths anvil. The ones who ventured south for a less crowded wave only did it once as the possibility of being crushed to death by a water filled uncontrollable missile made the northern end of the beach a much safer place to surf.

I think it was in 1962 or 63, Max Watt was laid low by a stomach virus. His younger brother Jackie was disappointed as it meant they would be unable to compete in the Metropolitan Championships being held at Palm Beach over the weekend. Seeing me on the beach, Jack grabbed hold of me and literally kidnapped me and threw me into his car, that I noticed had the SS Titanic tied on the roof. Jackie was aware that I was a fair to middling ski rider and as far as he was concerned, I was now his brother's replacement on the Double Ski. I informed him that I had never raced my single ski, let alone the leaky double, but all I was told was to simply do whatever he did.....So much for extensive training.

Arriving at Palmy, we deposited the monster in the marshalling area and I set about checking some of our competitors skis. It was possible for a single guy to lift and carry the other skis, whereas our one weighed a ton and was an effort for two people even to simply lift it off the ground. Eventually we were called to our starting position and Jackie wanted me to be up front, but I argued that it would be better for me to be at the back so I could do everything that he did during the course of the race. We were both hoping to reach the turning buoys before descending to Davy Jones Locker and meeting Huey.

Thank God it was a small surf. The Starter's pistol fired and at least 12 two man crews took off like a rocket.

We were all packed in fairly tight and I am certain that at times we were on top of some of the others and it was this that kept us floating when we rounded the can in second place a mere half length behind the leader. The ski became hard to keep ones balance on as we commenced heading for the shore. At one stage we actually hit the lead, then it was the Dambusters all over again. Several of those WW2 bouncing bombs must have exploded next to us, because we were becoming uncontrollable as the Tasman Sea poured in through gaps you could row a boat through.

We headed north, we headed south, we even did a full 360 degree turn and just as we were being overtaken by several vessels, I fell off. What a disaster....Not really, as I landed on top of one of the overtaking skis, causing it to slew north and completely destroy most of the other overtaking competitors. Using language unheard of even today, Jack requested that I resume my position on our submarine so we could continue on.

Luck was on our side, we had reached the shallow sand bank that was only inches deep and disembarking we commenced to drag the ski towards the shore. It weighed a ton as it was now full to the brim with ocean. Jack and I dived for cover when the waterlogged craft swung around at right angles and was responsible for a massive pile up of timber that had been following us. Can anyone remember the police car pile up towards the end of the Blues Brothers movie?
 

We reached the shore, but needed four other guys to drag the ski up the beach. It was all too much, there was a creak, followed by a groan, then the side panel fell off that released a sudden rush of water that swept away two young toddlers, who happened to be standing nearby.

Jack and I were more than pleased to have survived, but when we discovered we had finished in third place we were gobsmacked and elated. Not only had we performed admirably, we had also entertained the public with skills and a unique demonstration very rarely seen at such events. By gee, didn't we get some evil looks from many of the failed competitors when we were presented with our Bronze medals.

 
 I am certain that at some time in the not too distant future the infamous Double Ski simply self destructed on it's rack in the club's boatshed and came in very handy when the clubs barbecue was fired up. Another era in Avalon's Surf Lifesaving history came to an end during a sausage sizzle at the rear of the clubhouse.