6:30 am and getting outta bed was the hardest thing of the day, it was too bloody warm.

 

A quick cuppa and in the blink of an eye I’m at good old Pandanus Point. Some of the mob had already arrived and were just lolling around in the Sun, taking it all in. Everyone was smiling. It looked like it was gonna be a good one. And it was!

 

The morning was crisp with blue skies, softening towards the horizon where, tinted a soft bruised mauve, the ghosts of clouds hung. The sea sparkled with a billion diamonds, cast down by the early morning Sun. A gentle southerly breathed softly, as it caressed the incoming waves.

 

The 4 foot waves were absolutely beautiful, as they wrapped their way around and down the point. Every now and again, a set would pour through with long walls holding up all the way through Middies into Racetrack. Man, those gems were smooth walled and barrelling down the line, just like ya daydream about.

 

I was so deep in contemplation, meditating on how perfectly nice it all was when suddenly, I get dragged outta paradise by me short and curlies, annoyingly, by the sound of this alien voice, sounding gratingly like a hacksaw blade on rusty iron. ‘Here, your doing nuttin’, take the coffee and roll orders.’ It was Fergo shoving a clipboard into me hands.

 

A lesser person mighta taken affront, but actually, I found I was great at it. I took to it like a duck to water. I was so good I’d taken eleven orders before someone pointed out there were only eight of us there. In my enthusiasm, I’d got orders from three dudes that weren’t even a part of the comp. Go figure? Oh well, I was having fun while it lasted.

 

Yep, the clipboard was given to someone more responsible, it coulda been George Cooper’s granddaughter I think. Thank God! The responsibility was dragging me down to tell the truth.

 

More of the guys arrived, and it was on!

 

The first of the heats hit the water at 8:30 am. The waves had backed off a bit but were still good quality.

 

Paul Pod O’Donnell dominated the first half of the heat with superior wave selection and a bit of fun stylin’. He was, ‘Wahoooing’, as he raced around sections and onto walls, again and again, all the while throwing his arms up in jubilation as he passed anyone he knew. I think he may have been a wee bit stoked. Waddya reckon?

 

Anyway, at this stage, I had me money on Pod. He was a dead cert to take it out and win the laurel of glory or in this case, our club’s equivalent is the burger of glory.

 

Next minute, Pods come in early! I picked up the megaphone, ‘Hey, you in the blue, ya got fifteen more minutes to go. Get back out there!’

 

Pod just waves me off with a big smile on his dial, and that’s, that. The cocky little kiwi! How’s that for confidence? Fifteen minutes of killing it, and then he’d had his fun in the sun. Well, I spose, that’s what it’s all about anyway. Good onya mate! Pod had plenty of waves too. He coulda been a contender though.

 

In a reduced field, Bob Standing stayed true to form and decided the matter by giving us devotees what we’d been waiting for, his trademark headstand. It was a bloody beauty too!!

 

Pity, he fell off, before he could get right way up again. Anyway, I reckon his nickname should be changed to Head, i.e. Bob Head Standing. Ah, but for nostalgia’s sake, I vote we still stick to calling him Burger. Good old Burger.

 

Cripes, the way I hand out nicknames, everyone in Cresso’ll have five … except me. Talking about nicknames, wait’ll I get to “Hollywood.” Now there’s a story.

 

Shit, the heat hasn’t ended yet!!!! …… now, where was I? Ah, yes ……..

 

Young Bryce Parker paddled out with the first heat. Probably thought he was there to help the old fellas, as they fart-arsed around and finally fell into the water. He got to feel what it’d be like to paddle out with ya grandfather or two or three in this case.

 

Bryce showed a lotta heart but, in the end, the well-seasoned grandads won out. Hmm … but then again, someone in the heat coulda slung him a bag of boiled lollies or something to take a dive. And don’t think that couldn’t happen!

 

Despite how they may have got their placings, this is how Heat 1 panned out:

 

1st        Bob Head Standing

2nd       Mumbles Cunliffe

3rd        Pod O’Donnell,

4th        Bryce Parker   …… enjoy those lollies.

 

Seeing Bryce surf, ya can see he’ll settle down soon enough. He’ll get used to being in comps with cranky, old bastards, then he’ll work it out and start to get it all down pat. Then watch out!

 

Heat 2 blitzed it, with a powerhouse of surfers such as Tony Willock, Peter Lobbe and Max Lobbe. For the terminally slow, yes, the Lobbe’s are related. Then there was Fergo ………..

 

Moving on.

 

Peter Lobbe was untouchable with a great display of powerhouse mixed with traditional. A powerhouse hang 5, now that I’d like to see!

 

Pete’s first wave put his stamp on the heat. It was a great wave and a great ride. Peter kept the pressure on by picking up high scoring wave, after high scoring wave. He killed it with lots of work on every wave. Indeed, a most impressive act.

 

Tony Big Daddy Willock must’ve had a curse on him. Honestly, he never had a chance to really do what he can do well, and that’s surf. I think, only two waves came Tony’s way in the whole heat, so his score was heaps lower than what it shoulda been. Bad luck Tony, rooster one day, feather duster the next.

 

In a surf contest, it’s your skill against the luck of the other competitors. I reckon that’s about right too.

 

Max Lobbe put on a great display of switch-footin’ with a nice coffin ride thrown in to boot. He caught one really, really nice wave and went for the barrel, but got swatted for his efforts. Max, you’ve got the ticker, so keep up the good work!

 

Meanwhile, while all this great surfing was going down, Fergo, now called Hollywood for obvious reasons, is sitting out off Surge, beating his chest like a silverback, scaring off all the non- competitors and doing a fair job of it too.

 

A big set swings through. Hollywood turns around. He then gives a coupla deep, warning grunts as he sights a young girl, deep inside, going for the wave. His back hairs start to bristle. How dare anyone!!! 

 

“Oh thank you, thank you God, thank you!” little Annie silently prays in gratitude, as she takes off on the best wave she’s ever caught in her young life.

 

“Lookit me Mum!!! Lookit me Dad!!!!’ Annie cries out with unparalleled joy to her proud parents watching from the lookout.

 

A big swooping bottom turn and she’s racing the lip for the wall. She knows for cert she’s gonna make it all the way through, absolutely no troubles.    

 

Little did she realise, Hollywood had other ideas. Swinging around he takes off, totally regardless of Annie’s priority and claims the wave as his.

 

Like an old mole on turps, Hollywood slowly lurches to his feet, takes aim and hurtles down on top of little Annie like ten bags of wet cement.

 

KERRUNCH!!! Down they both go. Down goes poor Annie’s dreams of her best wave ever. Down goes poor Annie’s self esteem in front of her parents. Down goes poor Annie’s desire to ever enter the ocean again. Crushed, all crushed. Good one, Hollwood!

 

Hollywood surfaces, and begins shaking his head back and forth like a Rottweiler worrying a pound of steak. The look on his face woulda scared a pit-bull out of a butcher’s shop, and he’s looking straight at poor, little Annie.

 

Understandably, she’s terrified. In her panic to get away, poor little Annie scrambles up and over the closest rocks, all the while dragging her board behind her as she goes. Finally, looking like a drowned rat, covered in cuts and scratches, poor little Annie collapses into the refuge of her distraught Mother’s arms.

 

Yes, Annie’s family did pack up and leave that morning. They cut short their first, hard earned holiday in five years and drove back to Sydney, in silence. A silence only broken, by the occasional sob coming from the back seat. Poor, little Annie. Good one again, Hollywood!

 

In one foul swoop, Hollywoods gone and done for tourism and goodwill in Crescent Head, what Pol Pot did for higher education and inner city housing in Cambodia. Not a bad effort, Hollywood!

 

And to cap it all off, he get’s placed second in the heat! The devil really does look after his own, doesn’t he.

 

But, not quite. As an act of sweet revenge, little Annie’s fin put the sweetest, deepest fin chop in the front of Hollywood’s best longboard. Poor little Annie had an angel smiling down on her after all. God bless you little Annie.

 

Ya know, it’s a strange old world at Cresso, where you still have old dinosaurs beating their chests to stake their claim in the line-up and Mumbles pissing on his front fence to mark his territory.

 

And it’s not just his front fence either. In the surf, Mumbles paddles out to the take-off, stops, stands on his board and pisses in the water to mark his territory there too. And it works, no-one comes near him!

 

Anyway, the northerly started to kick in by 9:00 am, disrupting wave quality during Heat Three. It was that early bird gets the worm thingy, all over again.

 

The range of talent and style differences in Heat Three was a treat. From young, hot gun Dan Johnson, with his loose, classic style to powerhouse Jodie Fowler, just daring the ocean to throw something big her way. Jodie knows, as we all know, that’s when she’s damn, dangerous competition.

 

Max Still, didn’t just surf the waves, he flowed over the waves. What a beautiful display of longboarding from a seasoned performer. Max is always tough competition and proved it, yet again, by being in just the right spot to pick up as many high scoring waves as he wanted.

 

Billy Sorrell surfed with confidence and experience on some very nice waves. Still showing he’s got plenty of ticker, Billy takes on a good sized express train. Way deep, he’s screaming through the inside section and yes, yes, yes he’s gonna get a barrel. …….. Nah, no barrel for Billy Boy, he just gets himself totally smashed. Kamikaze Kaboomba!

 

Meanwhile, Jodie’s just biding her time. She’s sitting way out past Surge, almost right around the corner. Jodie’s waiting … waiting … waiting. We’re all waiting … waiting … waiting. Crikey, she must be doing a crossword out there or something.

 

Well, well, well … daring the ocean to throw something big at ya certainly has its rewards.

 

Around the corner, bearing down on Jodie, is a bloody good, sized set. Bloody oath, it was as mean as a junkyard dog, a big, mongrel of a wave. Jodie’s so deep inside it’s ridiculous, unless you’re Jodie of course or poor little Annie.

 

She takes a steep drop, powers off the bottom and swings a big turn out along the top, right over Surge.

 

Jodie then leans, backhand, into a big, big bottom turn and ..….. Kaboomba!! She joins Billy in a horrible thrashing. The Ocean 1 vs Jodie Fowler 0.

 

No Fear Jodie lived up to her reputation alright and the gutsy effort had everyone hooting.

 

Now let’s slow things down a bit ………

 

You know, ever since The Duke took a penknife and carved his first redwood board, to glide across the waves with timeless style and grace, us lesser mortals have tried to emulate that same style and grace. Few achieve it, though many seek it.

 

Young stylist, Dan Johnson, may just be one of those skilled enough, to eventually achieve that timeless style and grace. The seed is in him and it’s growing.

 

During the heat, Dan performed well on what waves came his way. He put in some very cool, trademark footwork. His only downfall was his wave selection, not his surfing. I reckon, Dan the Man needs some more raw meat mongrel in him. Then he can start hassling his way into better scoring waves and get a few first places, as he well deserves.

 

The wind had now swung around to the NW and things started to settle down again as the waves adjusted to the new conditions.

 

Heat Four and Dundee dominated the wave count. Every wave was a corker and as long as ya’d want. He made good use of the waves and racked up an impressive final score.

 

Sarah ‘Take no Prisoners’ Willock proved herself to be an extremely strong competitor. Sarah jockeyed and fought for every wave and burnt any non-competitor silly enough to paddle for the same wave. Yep, she took no prisoners in a very gutsy performance. She’s another young surfer with lotsa ticker. Sarah’s gonna end up good, ya can see it.

 

Hey, maybe Sarah could give Dan the Man a few pointers about out-hassling people for waves in comps. Ah, but then again, that’s her weapon and she’s unlikely to offer a leg-up to someone of Dan’s emerging capabilities anyway. He is competition after all. Bad luck Dan, seek guidance elsewhere.

 

Aw shit! Please, don’t ever let me hear Dan’s gone to see Hollywood for tips on getting waves!! That’d be like meeting the devil at the crossroads and bargaining away ya soul.

 

The old trickster, Benard Zombie Olde, well, wave choice was his downfall. Mother Ocean wasn’t too kind to the Zombie and was only half willing to throw a few poor quality waves his way.

 

He did what he could, switch-footin’ and all, but was unable to give us even one measly coffin ride. Come on Zombie, not even one!!! It’s funny how, now all we expect to see from Benard is a coffin ride, just like we have similar expectations of Bob Head Standing. So you two, fair warning, get ya act’s down pat and don’t disappoint the fans. We won’t settle for anything less.

 

The placings for Heat 4 were:

 

1st        Dundee

2nd       Sarah Willock

3rd        Benard Zombie Olde

  

As all this was going down, and while me dicky-knee was still mending, I was spotter. Before the first heat, Bob hands me our new club binoculars. Cripes! They were violent yellow and the size of the Humboldt Space Telescope! They musta weighed in at about a dead set 15kg! I needed a back brace to lift the bloody things!

 

Impressive, but at that time of morning I also didn’t need to be looking into the Sun at 800X magnification either. The bastards weren’t even polarised! By the end of the comp, my retinas were burnt and both pupils shrivelled like dried sultanas. I had to use about 4 litres of Murex before I could make sense of the world again.

 

Heat Five was a mixed bag of retro and old mal. There were only two competitors in each division, so to save time and effort we put them in the water together.

 

In the old mal division, Peter Lobbe rode what at first he thought to be an old clunker. By the end of the heat, Peter was loving the old gal. You’d swear he was on a much newer performer as he surfed the clunker with the same skill he shows on his modern longboard.

 

Bruce Mumbles Cunliffe’s wave choice was crook. He chose to take off too deep on too many of his rides. All totally unmakeable, he couldn’t do anything except fight whitewater. He definitely wasn’t in usual form.

 

Over in the retro division, the ever versatile, Dan The Man Johnson proved he was at home in both extremes. Swapping his longboard for a 5 foot something 1970’s twinnie, he put the little toothpick through its paces and it all came up trumps in the end.

 

Max Lobbe was hot on Dan’s heels with some nice rides in fast deteriorating conditions.

 

It’s good to see the young guns like Dan, Max, Sarah and Bryce, all giving our club a good, solid future. We’re proud to have ya’s, so keep up the good work all of ya’s.   

 

The placings for Heat 5, Retro and Old Mal were:

 

Retro

 

1st        Dan The Man Johnson

2nd       Max Lobbe

 

Old Mal

 

1st        Peter Lobbe

2nd       Mumbles Cunliffe

 

The various judges, and one spotter, were glad to get away in the end. No matter where we sat, we were sitting in a dog turd graveyard. It’s where dog turds come to die. Turds, big un’s too, were everywhere, under ya chair under ya feet, it all stank and was going nowhere. That is, until Mumbles walked over to the outdoor shower and picked up the dog’s water bowl to use as a shit scooper. He moved all the mounds of dog shit alright, then put the shit caked water bowl back where he found it.

 

When I commented on the shitty bowl, Mumble’s no nonsense response was, ‘Well, they’re the ones that shit here, aren’t they?’ Fair enough I spose.

 

Someone washed the bowl out in the end anyway. It mighta tasted a bit nutty to the next pooch drinking from it, but there ya go.

 

Another fun day at the local comp and everyone went away smiling. Well, except for poor little Annie that is.

 

 

Disclaimer:  The above report is written with a fair amount of writer's licence, i.e. not all the tales in the report are as they seem, not all people in the report are as they have been depicted, not all scenarios are exactly as happened. I leave it up to the reader's common sense to sift out the truth from the false. I write with the motto, "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story," and so be it.

 

The views expressed in this report are those of the author and may not be those of the Crescent Head Malibu Club.