No Goats - No Glory

Got an email the other day (slight editing to prevent lawsuits) from goofyfooter Mark (above) who is currently on a solo surfari south with his Southcoast Longboard quiver - 

"Monday - A cracker though very weird. Only 8 waves in two and a half hours, but they were some of the best I have had there. Not much of a crowd, but the sets were rare and only two waves to the set. Me and this other old coot sat way outside and waited ages for these monster sets that came through very infrequently. The old coot actually talked me into sitting out there with him. He was right - the wait was endless but when the waves came they were steep and hollow all the way to the fish trap marker."

Goofyfooter Mark 23 June 2010

(no idea)

Epic Fail (like herding cats)

Two aborted surf missions lately. Number one - mate's car broke down about 5 minutes after we left the Brinecave ion a mission for multi-point perfection.
Number two - a different crew. We were supposed to hit the spot above, which is several hours and quite a few tunes on the 8 Track cassette deck  away. But it would have been easier to herd cats into a barrel. I developed dodgy teeth, got two fillings and a jaw that was still sore a week later. Mate had to stay home to look after kids. Other mate had tradespeople lined up to do renovation job.
But when the planets line up and the cats get herded, we'll be having a ball. It's like Greenough said in an interview - surfing with friends in scrappy waves is better than surfing alone on good waves. Have a great weekend.

Talking to a Stranger*

Roadside disasters and mechanical malfunctions are part of the lore of surfing. We all have a tale or three about surfaris gone wrong. It's strange how the distance of time make them more tolerable, funny even.

On Friday morning my deadly treadly bicycle decided to eat some broken glass resulting in a flat tyre in the middle of nowhere and the only prep I had was a mobile phone. So I ring home and get the boring sound of my own voice on a machine telling me that I can't get to the phone right now, while Ms Brine, obviously smarter than I, was sleeping in. Start walking and jogging while the summer sun beat down on my sweatiness. A tiny patch of rubber and I'm rolling again. And I'm taking the repair kit/pump now.

Photo: Hughie Winter 1972

I got up at 300am on Saturday to be the passenger on a weekend surfari to wet the fin(s) and witness mates H and Vita getting married. Before we were out of Brineville, the car was making malevolent sounds like a demon had possessed the engine. Needless to say we missed the surf and our mate's wedding. (Sorry H, you can drop in on Dean next time you see him on a wave!)

So yesterday I gave a stranger a $1000 to make sure our one and only surf wagon doesn't break down. Who knows what they did under that bonnet? About all I can manage is putting in the petrol and that radiator green stuff that used to be water (and free). At least the surf is still rolling in.

(* "Talking to a Stranger" was one of the first singles by Aussie band Hunters and Collectors and featured a bizarre film clip and a vast array of percussion instruments)

Bunch of Three's

They say bad things happen in threes. I'd like to think that good things happen in three as well. So here's three pics of three's. 2009 has been the toughest year of my life. When I have been overwhelmed with grief, there's always been a friend or three to make me laugh, to inspire me to wax up or to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Big thanks to the Cremorne Road Goats who took me and the Bride of Brine on a long long surfari to glide and laugh and take cheesey photos together. Photo by Mrs Brine.
Winter 2009