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CHAPTER I
He had to admit it, this was about the last place he expected to be. Jack “Nugget” Mitchell crouched on a large black granite boulder, his surfboard laying across his knees, his arms resting across the deck of his surfboard. He was perched twenty metres above the water line on a protruding rock and it gave him an uninterrupted view. The sky was now crystal blue as compared to the turbulent cyclonic grey of the last few days. A narrow line of white cumulus clouds bubbled on the horizon, the remnants of Cyclone Daisy that was now heading south east. He could see from Coolangatta in the south to the blue hues of South Stradbroke Island on the horizon in the north. All the patterns in the ocean and the waves that ran around the point of Burleigh Heads were in front of him. In the distance behind the white sandy beaches of the Gold Coast, protruded the tall high-rise buildings of Surfers Paradise, a stark contrast to the national park towering up behind him. Burleigh was world famous for it waves, and like its mirror cousin, Diamond Head, in Hawaii, was a spectacular backdrop to great surfing arena.
The waves smashed onto the black granite boulders sending plumes of sparkling spray cascading into the air. Nugget was fascinated by the ocean, had been since he was pushed into his first wave by his uncle Reggie when he was four years old. He watched the wind create textured patterns on the surface of the ocean and made a mental note of the intervals between the larger sets of waves. The water was so clear that even the ripples on the white sandy bottom were magnified in the concave face of the breaking waves. A sandbank had been formed around the headland by the northerly sweep of the current and after a few days of swell, had now become ruler edge straight from the tip of the cove running all the way down the point. The final section of the wave was like a racetrack. The wave just got faster and faster until the rider had to decide to pull into the unmakeable barrel or straighten out and head to the beach.
Nugget absorbed the scenery, all the colours were so clean and fresh. The salt spray on his skin felt invigorating. The creamy white colour of the Gold Coast sand was so different from the golden orange sand of his home beach of Avalon on Sydney’s northern beaches. The grains of the Queensland beaches were so fine they squeaked as you walked on them. The beach and the surf were Nuggets domain. Whenever he would go to the beach as a young child he would be full of questions. He always wanted to know more about the ocean and waves. Where did they come from, why did they break in a certain way? His mum would say “ask uncle Reggie, he’s the surfer.” Reggie would explained how the whole of nature works together, from the smallest to the largest part, it was a delicate balance. The land, the sky, the weather and, whenever Reggie mentioned the ocean or waves, Nuggets eyes would light up and he would pay extra attention.Every weekend Nugget couldn’t wait to see uncle Reggie and he would pull out a sheet of paper covered with scribbled questions he desperately needed answers to. Reggie would think for a moment before answering, and always start with the same statement. “Hmm-mm,” he’d start, looking very seriously into Nuggets eyes. “The invisible things of the world are clearly seen by the things that are made” he’d say. All the elements work together to make great waves, Reggie would explain. By understanding nature you can connect to it. Nugget knew the words but it wasn’t until years later that he realized the difference between the theory and the practice.
It was those answers that had led Nugget to be here at Burleigh 20 years later. Although the professional contest scene made him feel a little like a fish out of water, he was relaxed about the whole affair. He looked back out onto the sparkling ocean and watched another set wave begin to break on the tip of the headland. The white water exploding high after the impact of the lip landing in the shallow water on the sandbank. The waves peeled off one after another as Nugget watched in awe. It was very unusual to have no-one in the water but the break had been cleared for the contest. The main competition area was further down on the point allowing the competitors to have a moments peace before starting their heat.
Nugget sat and watched trying to come to terms with his choice to accept a wild card invitation to compete. Thoughts came flooding in. They bombarded him from every area of his life whistling through his mind like machine gun bullets. Some thoughts stayed long enough for him to get a grasp on them, others just sounded like the wind over the sand.
The invitation had come as a result of a chain of events that started when Nugget was at school. He was a terror of a kid, undisciplined, and “could do much better”, his school reports would say. His mum Jennie was at a bit of a loss as what to do with him. She worked in a small coffee shop in the middle of the Avalon village to make ends meet but was always around before and after school to take Nugget to the beach.
Every morning Nugget would head off to school but as the school years progressed the lure of the beach was too strong. He would stash his boardshorts down at the bottom of the track that led from the hill past the golf club and primary school and then through the village to the beach. Skipping school became a regular occurrence and it was only the intervention of Mr Briggs, one of the sports teachers and a surfer, that managed to rein him in a little.
Briggsie had been a surfer at Avalon for years, surfing the area and watching great surfers like Mick Dooley and the winning exploits of Midget Farrelley at Makaha in Hawaii. He realized Nuggets love for the surf, but without some sort of education, life would continue to be hard. He made a deal with Nugget that if he came to school on a regular basis then on the weekend he would take him surfing to some of the other beaches. Nugget had heard about Narrabeen and seen Long Reef from the bus on the way to swimming carnivals at Manly, but as his mum didn’t have a car he never got the chance to go surfing there. So a deal was struck. Nugget would go to school and Mr Briggs would take him for a surf on the weekend to where-ever the surf was happening. Not a bad deal for a eleven year old kid.
Every weekend Nugget and Mr Briggs would check the wind and the swell size and head to where the waves were the best. On the drive they would talk about the wind and swell and Briggsie was surprised to discover that Nugget had an unusually good knowledge of the ocean. Nugget talked about his uncle Reggie, who was away quite a lot, and how he had taught him about waves and the weather. But it wasn’t until Nugget got to travel that all the information started to gel.
Nuggets thoughts were abruptly broken by the buzz of his watch indicating the five minute mark from the end of the current heat. Time to paddle out and get into position for the start of his heat. It was a man on man event, the system of judging devised by Peter Drouyn and now favored as the best method of finding a winner. Peter was quoted as saying “its like a boxing match, man against man.” But for Nugget it wasn’t even man against the ocean, he was wanting to flow with the ocean, catch the rhythm of the energy, connect to nature in the most intimate way.
He like to surf alone in huge seas, giant open ocean swells, man and the ocean, pure undiluted ocean power, fingers running sensually across the surface of the wave like the wing tips of an Osprey lifted by the wind as it soared along the ocean swells.
But here he was at Burleigh, and his heat was about to start. The tide was high and he had to concentrate clambering over the slippery wet rocks. He grabbed the edges of his board, timed his jump onto the back of a wave that washed up to where he was standing and glided out into the deeper water beyond the rock break. The outside bank, thirty metres ahead, had 6 foot waves peeling down it with monotonous regularity. He had timed the sets and there was a short gap between the bigger waves which would allow him enough time to make it out behind the break. The current would carry him without any effort down to the contest area proper. His body felt relieved to be in the water again. As he paddled, the water washing over his arms stopped his mind from racing. Only one thing to do now and was what he loved, and that was ride waves.
The scoring system for the contest was the riders best two waves, each one scored out of ten points. The highest and lowest scores of the five judges scores were eliminated. Nugget was a bit of an underdog, even though as good as his reputation was for free surfing, his competition experience was limited to watching DVD’s of contests in Hawaii or Jeffery’s Bay in South Africa.
Nothing to loose, he though to himself as he paddled to the take-off position, He could see the red competition singlet of his Brazilian opponent Ricardao De Paratica. He was sitting at the take-off spot and waiting for the siren to finish the last heat and start theirs. Two good waves in 20 minutes shouldn’t be two hard, just pick up the rhythm of the ocean and what will be will be. Uncle Reggie always said “energy creates action”, so if there are no waves coming just paddle anyway. It stops the muscles locking up and keeps your connection to the ocean.
The siren wailed and the announcers voice blared over the yelling of the crowd. Even though no solid waves had yet to come through the announcers voice rose to a fever pitch.
“32 of the world’s best surfers battling it out for a stake of the $250,000 prize money”
“Classic Burleigh barrels, here they come” as the first set started to show a dark lines out to sea, the crowd cheered louder. “Red with priority up and riding” was the announcers call. Nugget could see the spray flying high above a section as Ricardao slashed a turn off the top of the wave on his way down the line.
Nugget realized there could be several days of this, so he might as well try to block out as much of the noise and confusion as possible. The next wave was his, the face was smooth and it had started peeling from the back of the cove, a section had collapsed as it passed the cove reef but basically this was as good as it gets. Nugget sat up, leaned on the back and swung the nose of the board around and with several quick paddles felt that all familiar power of the wave lift his board and in one smooth motion jumped to his feet. The wave surged onto the sandbank and the lip of the wave started to feather twenty metres down the line in front of him. Quicker than Nugget could react the bottom of the wave squared off and before he knew it he was deep within a huge cylindrical barrel of spiraling water. He couldn’t hear it but the crowd went wild. The announcers blurted something about the worlds best free surfer in one of the worlds best barrels.
The wave wedged slightly higher as it passed over a small reef at the back of the point. and compressed. Nugget leaned forward to compensate for the extra power and the water drawing up the face.
From the moment that Nugget had dropped into this first wave he wasn’t quite relaxed, his muscles were tight, he wasn’t feeling anything through his feet. They felt like blocks of concrete. The barrel kept spinning along oblivious of any rider trying to regain his composure and feel. In a split second it was over as the wave raced past him and Nugget was unceremoniously pitched over with the lip into a turbulent sandy conclusion. He surfaced, his board sitting up in the water ahead of him like a tombstone. The water pressure dragging it away as far as his legrope would extend.
That wasn’t a start that Nugget wanted. He tugged on the legrope until the white water broke its grip and pulled his board underneath him just as another wave broke in-front of him. He pushed his surfboard down, duck diving under the exploding whitewater and made his way, breathless to the back of the break. Now for the paddle back to the take-off zone. His opponent was already out the back and again with priority. The announcer’s voice was blaring over the speakers “Yellow scored a 3 for his last wave leaving him 6 points behind”. Nugget could see the red singlet in the distance further out as he put his head down and started to paddle back out against the current to the take-off zone.
The tide was still high so the current wasn’t running at full speed, but the paddle would take several valuable minutes. He settled into a hypnotic paddling rhythm of arm after arm and tried to get his mind to relax. He watched the pattern on the water and the shape of the waves breaking down along the sandbank. Thoughts started flooding back about how he came to be here.
He remembered his surf trips with his teacher, Mr Briggs and all he had learned from his uncle Reggie, so it was obvious that for an exam paper in his first year of high school he should write about the relationship of the elements and how waves are formed. The essay was such a success that, without knowing, Nugget became the talking point among many of the teachers. The were so impressed that he was asked to give a talk to the school assembly and some guests from a local environmental group had been invited. “He spoke with a passion,” one teacher was heard to comment. But Nugget knew the truth, he found the beach and the waves were his friends. He spent most of his time by himself in the ocean and couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t feel the way he did. The ocean had taught him so much. He had learned from an early age that the ocean couldn’t be tamed and the only way was to work with the forces of nature. Nugget decided to study more, weather, waves, tides, beach and sand movement, coral reef structure, the more he learned the more he realized the delicate state of balance. He realized with the population increase the environment was under pressure. He had to do his part, not only make people aware of the beauty of the ocean and reefs but to help them understand how working for a cleaner environment was critical to the quality of life for everyone.
A final year high school report on the environment helped him to receive a scholarship to University to study Environmental Sciences, It meant a major move away from the northern beaches and part of the insular peninsular, as it is known by the locals. down to chilly Tasmania. But it was the opportunity of a lifetime. His passion for the ocean broadened his knowledge, and the more he learned the more he wanted to know. He studied Climate Change, Environmental Modification, Marine Life Conservation and Ozone Layer Protection. As part of his final year thesis he applied to join an ocean expedition that was investigating the environmental effects of modern society on the Coral Sea Reefs. This was partially sponsored by a major surf company, the same company that was presenting the contest.
Never interested in competition, Nugget was just interested in surfing for the sheer exhilaration of riding waves and being in the ocean. It was on this trip that he was offered a wild card entry to the competition. He felt obligated as they had looked after all his travel and expenses while on the expedition.
He now paddled past the point and the south west wind carried the muffled noise of the crowds and announcers voices over his head. The paddle had relaxed him and he felt his muscles pulling smoothly through the water, closer to the take off.
Time for two good waves, he thought to himself, and kept paddling. Lifting his head as he paddled through the fanning spray on the top of a nearly breaking swell he could again see the red singlet of his man on man opponent turning for another wave. Nugget tried not to watch as the wave stood up beautifully, so sparkling and clear. Ricardao with his highly visible singlet paddled confidently down the front and jumped to his feet. A quick series of short turns and his surfboard was racing across the face sending a fan of spray over Nugget as he swung into a carving cutback. For a split second anger started to rise in Nugget and then just as quickly faded away. Fierce competitors those Brazilians, Nugget thought.
Letting the second wave of the set roll under under him, even though it could have been a good scoring wave, he paddled further out. The third wave was larger again and Nuggets eyes lit up as he saw how long and straight it was. He paddled even harder to get as deep into the take-off area as he could, then at the last moment spun his surfboard around. With two quick paddles he could feel the energy starting to lift the board as it began to glide effortlessly down the front.
Nugget could feel this wave was different, he knees bent to absorb the ripples of water that were being drawn up the face and he focused down the swell and let his mind find the projected line of where he wanted to go. The surfboard instinctively followed the mental line. Turning smoothly his surfboard picked up speed and then climbed high on the wave as the feathering top started to tear off in-front of him. It was going to be tight but just run with the energy line that is the smoothest, he thought. Within seconds the curl of the wave raced past him and over his head, creating another Burleigh Barrel. Nugget just crouched lower, kept his balance and chased the diminishing hole at the end of the barrel. It was a see-sawing affair inside the barrel for Nugget. The wave edged away, then he made back some distance, still chasing the opening at the end. In the distance he could see a flash of colour as the red t-shirt paddled back over the swell and had a good look at how deep Nugget was slotted back into this classic wave. But unlike the wave before he needed to make the opening and ride out onto the face or all would be lost. One final climbing turn inside the barrel would lift him high enough and give him enough speed to escape. He burst out onto the open face and slid over the back before the wave sped off down the beach at an unrideable speed. He knew he was still behind on the score line and soon he would hear the announcers voice with the wave score. Ricardao had scored two good rides and would be ahead, as Nuggets first wave was not enough to give him a decent combination score. The announcers voice blared out the wave scores.
“Red now with a combined score of 16 and Yellow with a last wave score of nine now giving him a total combined score of 12″. Nugget knew it wasn’t enough to win but there was still time to get one more wave. The tide had started to drop and the current picked up considerably. There were surge of water swirling down the point so Nugget decided to paddle wider around the break and he headed out to where the ocean was deeper. There was no chance of catching any waves from this far out but at least he would be able to pick up a little time on the paddle back to the take-off zone. The crowd roared and the drums of the Brazilian supporters beat a repetitious thump. The echo bounced from the high rise buildings across the road from the park and seemed to give a softer back-beat to the pounding. Four minutes to go and still at least another hundred metres to paddle against the rip.
Balancing the thoughts in his head about competing, Nugget thought of the things that his grandfather and uncle had taught him of life and the ocean. A clear picture in his mind was Christmas at his grandfathers place. They would slip away from the noisy conversations, find a quite corner on the verandah and talk surf. Not only talking about riding waves, they talked of the oceans rhythms and the forces that drove the wave and how all nature was linked like a big string of pearls. Shake one end and the effect would carry through the whole string. Nanna always wore a long string of pearls around her neck and they had a soft milky shine. She would always be wearing them at the Christmas get-togethers. They were her reminder of how our lives were surrounded by the ocean. “Just a little bit of grit and determination results in something wonderful,” she would say, whenever she caught Nugget looking at the string of pearls. “The relationship between all things is connected and reliant on each other.”
In what seemed like the blink of an eye he was level with Ricardao but still too far out to sea to catch a final wave. Ricardao turned into another set wave and paddled. From the back Nugget could see the fan of spray thrown high into the air by his turns. His red singlet flashing against the white. An unexpected swirl of water pushed Nugget closer to the bank in time for one last wave. He would have to take it no matter what. Didn’t look as big as the last one that Ricardao caught, but it was long and straight. Nuggets arms dug deep into the water to get enough speed to catch the relatively flat swell. It wasn’t going to stand up like the others he had caught but it could be ok once it hit the sandbank, he thought to himself, trying to boost his confidence.
For a moment he though the wave would just pass under him, but with a couple of longer deeper paddles he scratched down the front until he felt the familiar power of the wave starting to lift the surfboard. The concaves in the tail not only helped compress the water and help drive the surfboard through turns they also lifted the tail higher when paddling, which helped the board pick up the energy to get into the wave.
A quick thought of hearing something Jeff Hackman, a very accomplished Hawaiian surfer, once said “You could pick the right board off the rack. It just has to fit comfortably in the hand and under the arm. All the rest of the bodies dimensions are related to those measurements.” He won some of the world’s biggest contests so the theory definitely worked for him.
Nugget had always drifted off. He was continually getting pulled up by some teacher at school for daydreaming. So many thoughts rattled through his head in half a second that sometimes he thought his head was going to explode.
Now his surfboard was running cleanly down the face. He was connected and feeling the power transferring into his feet. He leaned into a turn and the rail edge cut a clean slice through the waves face. A slither of silver water sheeted of the tail. Nugget looked down the line and forgot about the surfboard under his feet. His mind took over and it set a path into what was shaping up to be a very hollow wave. Swirls of white water lay on the surface from the last set wave that had just broken in-front. Sand mixed with foam was now being drawn up the face of Nuggets wave, aerating the surface. The bottom of the wave dragged on the sandbank and the shape squared dramatically, Nugget relaxed and went with the flow, the path of least resistance. He quickly realized that the wave was peeling faster off the top and that there was no room, or time for that matter, for any flashy turns. Just tuck tight and pull into another Burleigh Barrel, even if it is a sandy one. Some tube rides are crystal clear, but this one was going to be a sand grinder. Knees bent, he watched the lip came over and the world went silent. There was so much bombarding the senses that his hearing just shut off. Nugget focused on the curve of the face and the small fluctuations as his board travelled over air pockets and foam filled with sand. It was like riding in slow motion and Nugget was totally relaxed. Nothing like the first wave of the heat. The rail bit and released as he worked his magic behind the curtain. The wave ended down in-front of the judges stand in an explosion of white water. The siren blared. Heat four was over. Heat five started and the emotions of those two surfers now would be running at fever pitch just as Ricardao and Nuggets had been. The announcers voice came on as Nugget reached the beach. “Final wave score for yellow 8 Jack Nugget Mitchell wins heat four and progresses into round two.”
With round one under his belt Nugget wandered back up through the park where Sommer, his girlfriend, and mum Jennie waited. They knew it was a close call, especially Nugget blowing his first wave. ”Lets get out of here,” said Nugget relieved, “my head is about to explode.” There was another week allocated for the contest, 16 heats, 32 surfers. Round one should be finished today, then with only about eight hours of surfing up to the finals, and the waves being this good, the event should be over in a couple of days.
They had rented a house right on the sand at Palm Beach for a couple of weeks although there were many high rise units available overlooking the point. Nugget thought that the hassle of getting surfboards in and out of lifts and the noise of footsteps over his head on the floor above didn’t seem natural. Boards were thrown into the back of the rented station wagon and they headed south around Burleigh hill, over the Tallebudgera Bridge which formed the boundary to the Bureligh National Park. Nugget was still in a bit of a daze as Sommer drove. He saw the black line of granite boulders that bordered the edge of the creek and the lush green of the hill out of the corner of his eye. He took notice of the street names as they whisked down along the Gold Coast Highway through Palm Beach. For some reason they always bought a smile as he read 27th Ave, 25th Ave, until they reached 15th Ave. A small 60’s style fruit shop on the corner of the highway was an easy marker to the turn off to where their house was tucked away on the beach. The electronic garage door humming open broke Nuggets daydreaming. “I’ll be ok after I have a shower, and a cuppa” he sighed to Sommer. Unpacking the boards didn’t take long, and soon they were all sitting around on the comfy lounge relaxing with a cup in their hands. Through the large windows they watched the waves crashing on the outside sandbank in front of the house. After a few minutes silence Nugget leaned over to Sommer, “Easy to loose direction if you don’t listen to your heart.” he said, she smiled and nodded knowingly. The salt spray settled on the windows giving a misty surreal look to the surf. The lower tide seemed to have increased the size of the waves and Nugget could see the current pushing the white water sideways along the beach. A couple of kids played on the waters edge, running up the beach and screaming as surges of white water pushed up the sand. As they watched the swells, Nugget subconsciously made a note of the time between the sets outside. Tomorrow afternoon will be challenging, he thought as he drifted into a sleepy sunny afternoon.
CHAPTER 2
Later that evening as three of them tucked into the healthy pasta feast that Jennie had prepared, Nugget asked if she had heard from her brother Reggie. “He’s away working on a surf-tour yacht somewhere off East Indonesia. Out of range.” Or at some secret surf spot not wanting to be disturbed, she thought to herself. Reggie had been like a dad as Nugget never knew his dad.
“And how is Pop, Nanna and Grandpa?” enquired Nugget. He had only just arrived back to Brisbane Airport the day before the contest started and was disappointed that he hadn’t been able to catch up with all the family down at Manly. “They are all fine and Grandpa said to tell you, he’s very proud of what you have been doing.”
Samuel and Colleen Johnson were Jennie’s parents, they had lived at Collaroy in Sydney, but moved back to Manly to look after Grandpa. He protested that he didn’t need looking after and it was probably true as his mind was as sharp as a tac. So much so he could remember all the guys he surfed with and the places they rode waves since he was a kid, even if he couldn’t remember what day it was. When caught out with his memory he would always say, “I only remember the things that need remembering.” But when they found him sitting, on the dirt floor in a dark corner under the house, talking to friends that had long since passed away, they thought his mind had finally cracked. They found out later that he was high on the paint fumes from re-varnishing his old redwood surfboard that he kept stacked in the rafters under the house. “Old Magic” Grandpa called his solid timber board and it was his pride and joy. At over seventy years old it looked just like the day he made it. “Chemicals,” he would complain later. “No good for the planet or people.” But Pop and Nanna moved in anyway.
“Grandpa” as Nugget had always called him to avoid any confusion with Pop, was Charlie Johnson. He had always been a waterman and more than once told Nugget that salt water runs in our veins and the family wasn’t happy if we couldn’t smell the salt air and feel the ocean on our skin. “The ocean cleanses the air and the spirit” he would remind us, and judging that he was now 97, no one was going to argue with the facts.
Nugget always looked forward to the family get-togethers, especially Christmas. Once Nanna’s home made christmas plum pudding, always fill with threepences and sixpences, had been devoured, Grandpa, Pop, Reggie and Nugget, four generations of surfers, would retire to the back verandah and chat.
The wide back verandah had broad timber shutters at either end that could be opened to allow a cool breeze to blow through. The western end was shaded by a old sprawling flame tree that would spread a carpet of red flowers on the lawn below. The back yard was full of overgrown but profusely flowing hibiscus bushes of every colour imaginable. Grandpa would seem to drift off into a daydream when the hibiscus were mentioned, he said they reminded him of his life with his wife Elizabeth. Bet, as he still called her as if she was still here, would always have the house filled with vases of fresh flowers. Now Nanna would walk down into the garden every morning and carefully select a basket full of blooms. Everywhere you looked in the house an arrangement of amazing colour would catch your eye. Grandpa would wander through the house after the vases had been placed and admire them, occasionally re-arranging some memento sitting underneath on a small cane table. On the back verandah a wide lounge sat along the wall, some large cane chairs were scattered with comfy floral cushions and a low glass top coffee table sat in the middle. It was stacked with National Geographic magazines and books on a variety of subjects from weather to the coastline of Argentina. A well used atlas and a magnifying glass lay on a small table within easy reach of Grandpa’s chair. From his chair he could see all the coming and goings of the household. It was on this verandah that his Grandpa would light up a big cigar and regale Nugget with stories of his youth. Occasionally they would wander down under the house and Grandpa would pull down Old Magic from the rafters and reminisce about the golden era of surf-riding. Over the years Nugget heard about all the adventures and characters that Grandpa had known. and how he got his nickname when he was a twelve year old at Manly.
He had a job after school and on weekends where for a few hours he was a paperboy. He wasn’t very tall, but his shoulders had bulked up from carrying heavy stacks of newspapers down to the wharf each day. With a sly smile, Grandpa would tell Nugget how, whenever he got the chance how he would stash his newspapers between ferry arrivals cover them with his shirt and slip down for a swim beside the wharf. His muscles and natural rhythm in the water earned him a reputation of being able to swim like a fish. It was Graham “Woody” Banks who gave him his nickname. Nicknames were customarily given, due to some physical attribute, so the name “Chunks” stuck. Woody got his because he had arms skinny as sticks, and over the years when ever they got together he was always reminded of the fact, even though he had grown into a tall muscular physique.
Each day Chunks headed down to the wharf to meet the ferries from Circular Quay. With a pile of the “Manly and North Sydney News” under his arm, he would take a quick glimpse at the headlines and his paper selling would begin. “Latest news”, he would call out to the disembarking passengers or those wanting something to read on the trip back across the Sydney Harbour. Everyday, rain or shine, his routine would be the same. Collect the papers, head down to the wharf, glimpse the headlines, then when the ferries had departed the coast was clear and, he would slip off for a swim.
Chunks picked up a headline knowledge of the daily events. Every now and then one would catch his eye and he would read the next paragraph. He read the headlines about the impending war. WW1 filled the headlines and most of the paper with a small section devoted to local news. Chunks occasionally read about the swimming exploits of champion Australian swimmer Boy Charlton. But the headline that really caught his attention was, “Duke Kahanamoku invited to show swimming skills”. Chunks knew of the Dukes swimming exploits and his win in the 1912 Stockholm Olympic games and as every kid needs a hero, the Duke was his. Chunks didn’t know much about Duke apart from his swimming skills. Articles about Duke’s world record breaking were clipped out from old papers and pinned to Chunks bedroom wall. At night he would read them over and over.
Closer to Duke’s arrival in 1915, more in depth articles were published in the paper. Duke was a beach boy from Waikiki in Hawaii and also had a passion for swimming. His brother remarked that when he swam, “he was so powerful that his body rose up out of the water like a speed boat with its prow up.” From the old papers Chunks collected clippings about the Duke, anything he could get his hands on. One such article gave Chunks goose-bumps every time he read it.
“Twenty one year old Hawaiian beach-boy Duke Kananamoku swam the 100-yard freestyle in 55.4 seconds, 4.6 seconds faster than the current record.” the article continued “Later in the day, Duke tied the world record in the 50-yard freestyle, and swept the field in the 220 yard freestyle.” After the race, sports columnists in the article joked “that Duke’s size 13 feet helped propel him to his victory”. “When the results of the event were telegraphed to the swimming headquarters, they were met with disbelief. How could an unknown twenty one year old shatter a world record swimming in a murky flotsam filled harbor? Despite the presence of five certified judges and a careful measurement of the course, they refused to accept the record breaking swims, arguing that Duke must have been aided by some current in Honolulu Harbor.”
Another article on Chunks wall read “1912 Olympics Duke set a new world record for the 100 metre freestyle.” “Duke became an instant sensation among the spectators,” the article declared. “Many of whom assumed that his name indicated a title rather than his given name.” Duke was the fastest swimmer alive and he was coming to Australia.
Chunks knew from reading the headlines that times were changing. The events of WW1 filled the newspapers, but Chunks kept a close eye out for anything on Duke. He was invited to come to Australia by the New South Wales Swimming Association for a two and a half hour swimming display at the Domain Baths. As Chunks read further about Duke he discovered he was also a very accomplished surfer. Chunks would tell all the other kids of stories about the Duke and how he and a couple of his mates, Big Rock and Hawkshaw would do crazy stunts. They would surf waves on their boards while sitting on a deck chair and playing a Ukulele, or with a dog perched on the front of their boards while riding across a wave. All the kids found this hard to believe as they had only seen people at Manly who had bought a board back from Hawaii a year or two ago and they would only lay on it and go straight to the beach.
Chunks found it hard to sleep the nights leading up to the swimming exhibition. It was Duke swimming at the Domain that was the talk all over town. No-one really knew what surfing was except for the occasional story filtering back from Hawaii, but Chunks knew about swimming, the passion filled his life. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go to the display at the Domain Baths but listened to it over the radio at the newspaper office. Duke broke his own world record and Chunks cheered along with the rest of the crowd as if he was actually there.
When Duke finished the display at the Domain Baths he made a tour of the beaches and selected Freshwater for a surfboard riding demonstration. The editor knew Chunks always talked about Duke, and was excited about the surfing exhibition that was going to be held. The beach was now the place to visit and because of the surge in popularity, a huge crowd would be expected for the demonstration.
Everyone at the paper knew that they would be coming over on the ferry to witness the event and this meant extra papers to be printed and sold. He made a deal with Chunks that he could have some time off to watch the surfing exhibition but had to be back to collect the papers, get down to the wharf for the return trip of all the spectators, he wouldn’t be able to stay at Freshwater until the end.
Chunks knew that his boss was tough, he had to be to get the stories out on time, but he also knew he was a fair man. Robert Jameson followed a line of prominent editors at the Manly Paper who would stand up and be counted when they believed in an issue. A previous editor who Chunks had met, William Gocher, was a small and inconspicuous sort of chap. but with a giants courage. The reporters told the story about how only several years ago it was a crime to bathe in waters exposed to view from any wharf, or public place between the hours of 7.30 a.m. and 8 p.m. There was a dinner bell that told everyone on the beach it was time to be back on the beach or else. The penalty was a £2 fine for bathing in prohibited hours and £10 for wearing any costume that did not cover the body from neck to knee. Gocher, decided to crack the stupid law, so on three consecutive weeks he advertised in his newspaper that he would bathe at midday on Sunday from Manly’s Ocean Beach. Once, twice… the law turned a blind eye. Third time as Gocher waded ashore, modestly buttoning his macintosh over his neck to knee costume, a police sergeant waited. The angry little man was hurried off to Sydney. “We’ve heard all about you, Mr Gocher, but in future there’ll be no police interference with bathers at any time of day; as long as they are suitably dressed.” explained the police chief. Freedom in a single blow. It was stories like this that helped Chunks decide he wanted to be a reporter. Chunks wanted to make a contribution to a better life for everyone.
Several days before the planned display, Duke encountered his first obstacle, the absence of a surfboard to ride. Undaunted, he quickly made one from a slab of sugar pine donated by a local lumberyard. Chunks was surprised at how quick it was to make a surfboard when he heard about.
When the kids from around Manly got together it was all they would talk about. Woody was going to get over there early to have a good look at the board, but Chunks would have to sell his papers at the wharf first. He would then have about twenty minutes to run through the Corso, down along Manly Beach over the hill and down to Freshwater.
The day finally arrived and Chunks couldn’t wait for the last of the ferry passengers to disembark. The headline of the paper read “Duke to Surf Freshwater” and Chunks wasn’t going to miss it. A final stern word from the editor as he dropped off the money from the sold out papers, “Don’t be late back Charlie Johnson, we have papers to sell this afternoon.” he said waving a serious finger as Chunks disappeared out the back door.
Chunks heart was thumping, not so much from the run along the beach in the soft sand, but from the excitement of seeing Duke in person. He slowed down to get his breath before climbing the last of the ridge over to Freshwater. Chunks last couple of steps took his breath away as reached the top and saw Freshwater Beach laid out below. The beach got it’s name from a small freshwater creek that meandered down from the hills at the back of the beach and into a small sandy lagoon that disappeared at high tide. Normally a quite uncrowded beach, but today there were hundreds of spectator scattered all over the sand. Chunks scanned the crowd for his mates, he could see men with their pants rolled up or wearing neck to knee swimming costumes. The ladies wore wide brimmed hats and long skirts that dragged in the water’s edge. As Nugget got closer he could see some school kids still in their uniform and their straw boaters. Eventually he found Woody and Snowy in the crowd, excitedly yelling at him to hurry. Duke had just arrived and was getting his newly made surfboard ready.
His mates had been hanging around when Duke pulled up and had heard that he was offered a tow outside the break by the members of the local surf club in their surf boat. He said “No thanks”, butted in Woody. Duke effortlessly hoisted the heavy pine board onto his shoulder and headed through the crowd and down the beach to the waters edge. The crowd surged forward to get a better vantage. Chunks took particular notice of the shape and how it sat in the water as Duke pushed off the beach and paddled into deeper water. A few keen swimmers dived in along side him but he soon outpaced them paddling through the break. As Duke stroked into his first wave the crowd cheered, even the important guests that had been invited and were sitting in arranged deck chairs were now on their feet. Everyone was amazed, he was riding on an angle across the wave. Woody glanced at Chunks with a quizzical expression on his face as if to say, “He’s riding on an angle, shouldn’t he be riding straight?”
Chunks knew a bit about the surf but preferred the still water as he could swim faster. He knew that the conditions were against good surf-board riding. The waves were dumping and followed closely one behind the other. Chunks mates had overheard Duke saying that the board was really heavy, it weighed almost 100lb, whereas the board he uses in Hawaii weighed close to 28lb. Wave after wave, Duke paddled out effortlessly and rode from the back break on an angle all the way into the Freshwater corner. Even producing a headstand on one wave. His style captivated Chunks, it was smooth and graceful just like his swimming. In Chunks eyes Duke had now passed way beyond hero status. Although it was nearly two hours since Chunks had arrived it seemed only like minutes. The whole beach was mesmerized by the demonstration. This was surfriding and Chunks knew he wanted to be a surfer.
Duke rode several waves right into the crowd of excited kids hanging on the waters edge. Chunks heard someone in the background say “This will make the front page of the paper tomorrow”. Chunks attention was abruptly broken from the surfing as he realized he had to be back at the office in a few minutes. He promised his boss he would be back in time to get the papers to the wharf for the first ferry leaving in the afternoon. He knew a special edition of the paper was to be sold and the editor has kept some great pieces of information on the Duke for it. He turned on his heels and without saying goodbye ran reluctantly back up the hill towards Manly only stopping once at the top to look back. It looked like Duke has picked someone out of the crowd and was paddling back out through the break. He sighed and continued the run back knowing what he had seen was going to change his life.
His mind overflowed with thoughts of how Duke paddled, how easily he glided across the waves, like he was walking on water. Chunks pictured in his mind Duke’s relaxed style and how he held his hands.
By the time he got back to the office the folding had finished and a look from the editor over the top of his glasses said that he had just made it in time. The paper wasn’t a big issue but it was an important one. The reporters had come back after the first hour and the stories had been written, edited and printed. “How was it?” asked the editor to Chunks. “It’s going to change the way Australians think about the ocean.” replied Chunks. Impressive, thought the editor to himself as he pointed to the stack of folded papers. Chunks heaved the pile of papers onto his shoulder and headed off to the wharf.
As the crowd started to swell at the departing ferry, he overheard conversations of how Duke’s surfing was inspiring, even those sceptics were forced to admit it was a wonderful display.
The paper the next day was full Duke’s demonstration and how the guys in the surf boat asked if he saw any sharks. Duke’s comment was “They didn’t bother me and I didn’t bother them”. Chunks smiled to himself as he read it. Further on in the article Chunks read how Duke had enticed a local girl to be his partner on the board. It was Isabel Letham from Freshwater who was riding tandem with the Duke. Chunks had read about Isabel, she was well known and had her photo taken while being towed on a water sled behind a boat in the harbour, Chunks carefully tore the article out, neatly folded it and tucked it securely into his pocket. This one will definitely go on my bedroom wall at home.
Next morning when Snowy turned up at Chunks house the conversations was about nothing but the Duke’s surfing display. The one question that Chunks wanted an answer to was “what happened to the board?’ Woody burst through the bedroom door where they were sitting, “You know Claude, Claude West from Freshie?” Chunks nodded, wondering what this had to do with the Duke, “Well, he showed him how to surf and said he could have the surfboard when the tour was over.” “Let’s go over on the weekend and see if Claude is around, maybe he can share some tips that Duke gave him.” They all nodded in agreement.
Summer couldn’t have come around quickly enough, not that the colder water was a deterrent, there was just more daylight hours which meant more time to surf. Chunks job selling papers at the Manly wharf continued, he was too young to enlist in Australia’s forces to help in the Great War. All the older guys at the beach seemed to have disappeared and enthusiasm generated by Duke’s visit seemed to vanish. Still there were a few of the younger boys still around, and whenever Chunks got the chance, he would head over to Freshie. Claude showed Chunks and Woody all the finer points that he had learned and they knew they were on their way to becoming surfers. “We would surf early in the morning before school. It was easy because the board was stored at the Freshie surf Club” Chunks had told Nugget at one of their Christmas get-togethers. We had to share the time on the board, it was always the same, Claude would go out first Chunks and Woody next and then there was another kid called “Snowy” that would always be hanging around too, He was the same age as Chunks but quite a lot smaller. It wasn’t long and all four of them became good mates. “Snowy was that keen to learn he would wag school, take his mothers pine ironing board and rush down to the surf, He got away with it a few times, but when we hadn’t seen him down at the beach for a few weekends, we asked where he was. Seems his mum found out, because he came home sunburnt, and she wouldn’t allow him to go surfing for a month.
It didn’t take long before all four of them became quite proficient on Duke’s pine board but Chunks realized if he wanted to get more surf time then he needed his own.
Chunks had become a familiar face around the Manly wharf and had got to know most of the workers. Their jobs on the wharf would include unloading the cargo as well catching the heavy ropes and tying up the ferry, then load the gang planks and when there were no ferries in, do general maintenance. They were rough and tough bunch of blokes, but always had a friendly word for Chunks. One of Chunks regular paper customers was the cargo wharf manager, he was bigger and tougher than the rest and ran the wharf with an iron hand, no one messed with “Boss”. Even at 8 o’clock in the morning he had a five o’clock shadow. One morning, while collecting his newspaper from Chunks, he told him he wanted to see him in his office as soon as he finished his papers. Chunks wondered if he was going to be busted for going swimming beside the wharf. After the ferry had left Chunks headed to the office, and tentatively knocked on the door. Opening it slightly he stuck his head around the corner and peered in. A big grumpy woman looked up from a pile of papers and pointed to a large door at the side of where she was sitting, “Manager’s Office” was painted in black letter across it. “Go in he’s been waiting for you, and hurry up he hasn’t got all day.” Chunks shaking in his boots knocked on the door and heard a loud “C’min”. The large heavy wood door opened with a creak and Chunks stepped cautiously in. “Over here, boy” the manager pointed to a chair. They sure are short on words around this office thought Chunks to himself as he sat down. “So I hear you swim like a fish eh!” “Trying to race the ferry, were you?” the managers voice broke from a gruff tone into a full belly laugh. Chunks now knew he was in big trouble. “Also heard you were sharing a surfboard around at the Freshwater Surf Club”. Where is this conversation going though Chunks as he nodded. “Well, what’s a surfrider without a surfboard, then. Maybe we need to get your own board.”
Boss had also seen the display by Duke and had noticed the boys sharing the pine board in the early mornings at Freshwater. He also knew that several slabs of timber had been purchased from the timber yard in the city and then sent to different surf clubs along the northern beaches where they would be shaped into surfboards. Boss was a member of the surf club at Manly, and a particularly good sweep on the surf boat, but Manly club had lost many of their younger members to the war effort. He could also see that the surfboard along with the surf boat would be a great asset to help with rescues.
After several months of doing extra jobs around the wharf as well as the newspaper he had enough money to get some timber for a board. “Boss” as he now called the manager arranged for a slab of timber to be delivered from a timber yard in the city to the cargo wharf next to the ferry. The next thing Chunks had to worry about was how he would get the timber home to where he could shape it. When the timber arrived after a few days the Boss said not to worry about the freight costs as he would cover it then arranged for one of the wharf workers to throw the timber slab on the back of the dray and take it back up the hill to Chunks home. Borrowing an adze from a neighbor, Chunks set about shaping his first surfboard. The slab was 10 feet long, two feet wide and 2” thick and Chunks found out quickly that it was also hard a rock. He remembered the dimensions of the Duke’s board and set about creating one the exact same shape. Day after day he would race home after the last ferry, he even gave up his regular swim so he could spend more time shaping. Chipping away with an adze, Chunks worked the slab of timber into shape. After some planing and fine sanding to get out any rough spots his first surfboard sat in front of him.
The shape was 9 feet long, 22 inches wide and 2 inches thick, the nose outline curved into a rounded point about 6 inches wide and the tail was square and about 12 inches wide. The sides were squared with the bottom edge slightly rounded, underneath the nose had been shaped thinner with a small amount of curve creating lift in the front of the board. Chunks was pleased with his effort. Only thing now to do was a thick coat of varnish which would dry over night and in the morning he would have his first surfboard.
Chunks lay the shaped surfboard over two wooden trestles, brushed the dust off ready for a coat of varnish. From the time the redwood slab arrived and had finished being shaped it’s colour was a flat dark chocolate, several long grain lines ran down the length of the timber creating only slight variations. Chunks hadn’t worked with redwood before, let alone any timber, but Boss said this was the lightest and would be half the weight of the pine board. He gave an old 6” wide brush an extra clean, thoroughly stirred the varnish in the tin then poured it down the middle of the board. As he poured the varnish onto the deck and it started to spread, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He hadn’t even thought about the colour until now. The once dark chocolate timber now started to glow like dark golden honey under the clear varnish. Goose bumps tingled on his neck and arms as he watched the nondescript grain come alive. The board’s colour changed like magic.
After the brushes had been cleaned Chunks stood back and admired his handy work. A satisfied smiled crept across his face, he watched as if hypnotized. The kerosene lamps flickered and went out, even though it was now dark under the house, the surfboard still seemed to glow. Chunks reluctantly left the board to dry and walked up the timber stairs that led to the back verandah.
Chunks lay in bed that evening and stared at the ceiling, he couldn’t get to sleep for thinking about the colour and even more about trying it out in the morning.
The sky had only just lightened when Chunks quietly climbed out of bed, the sunrise was still an hour or so away. Tiptoeing down the stairs from his bedroom, making sure not to wake his parents, he headed down the back stairs. Maybe this was all imaginary, he thought, as he made his way under the house in the shadow of early morning. Curled redwood shavings were scattered around on the dirt floor. A path through them had been created by the number of times Chunks had walked around the surfboard while varnishing and admiring it. He looked at it afraid to move close as if he might wake from a dream, finally he stepped up and lightly touched the nose to see if the varnish was dry. A smile stretched across his face as he realized it was. He gingerly picked it up, noticing it seemed lighter than he remembered last night. He already had his swimming costume under his clothes so he hoisted the board onto his shoulder the way he had seen Duke do it and headed down the hill to the beach. The short walk to the wharf went quickly enough, but heading down the Corso in the early light seemed to take ages. His mind seemed filled with too many thoughts. Would it work, had he wasted his time and money, would it even float? Soon all his questions would be answered. He had stopped several times to swap shoulders and was out of breath by the time he reached the beach, even though the board was lighter than the Duke’s board it was still really heavy.
Small waves greeted Chunks, his feet sinking deep in the sand under the weight as he trudged down the beach. The wind hadn’t come up yet and the ocean was smooth. Slipping quickly out of his pants and shirt he folded them in a pile just like he had done so many times before when going for a swim at the wharf. Wading into the water he lowered his board, the morning sun glowed orange as it climbed up over the horizon. The water on the newly varnished deck glistened and separated into large droplets. The sun sparkled into every one of the droplets as if the sunrise was duplicated a hundred times over in miniature. Chunks stood spellbound. From surfing Duke’s board he knew it was going to be a little slippery, but Claude had shared a trick that Duke had showed him. Take a walk and wiggle your feet in the wet sand before going for a surf, it will soften the skin on the soles of the feet and remove any grease or sweat. Chunks let his board float in the white water water washing up onto the beach, On his short walk back he could see it laying on the waters edge as the white water receded. The reflections on the shiny finish making it blend into the colour of the wet sand. Chunks was amazed by his first lone experience of surfing and he hadn’t even caught a wave yet. Bending over and grabbing the board he pushed it into an oncoming wave, jumped on and started to paddle. The board did float, Chunks knew deep down that it would and as he paddled he felt the way it moved through the water. It gained momentum as he effortlessly pushed through the break, even when the oncoming white-water crashed into him the board kept its balance. Paddling the last section to the back of the break Chunks noticed waves breaking on a sandbank only 50 yards down the beach. The green swell looked smooth and the beginning of the wave didn’t break too steeply. That looks like a great place to start. He paddled over and waited for a wave that had the right size and shape and looked around. He was sitting out in the ocean by himself, although several swimmers were now splashing along the shore line, he felt calm and peaceful and a sense of being at one with the ocean. Out the back a small wave guided by the currents and the shape of the sandbank below headed towards him, without hesitation he turned and started paddling. His arms digging deep into the clear water until he felt the surge lifting him from underneath. The board, as heavy as it was seemed to become weightless as it was lifted on the swell. The surfboard picked up the waves energy and headed shoreward. Chunks sprung to his feet, his knees bent and his right foot forward. Everyone else, including Duke surfed with their left foot forward but Chunks felt more comfortable this way. He leant to his left and the board slowly changed course, he was following the smooth part of the swell that was running alongside the sandbank. Chunks noticed how the deck of the board sat level with the surface of the water giving the impression that he was standing on water. He also noticed if he turned his shoulders the board would respond. He hadn’t got that feeling before, perhaps it was that this board was so much lighter and responsive. Chunks felt the water rushing beneath his feet as he rode the wave, but it didn’t last long enough, it was over in a matter of a few seconds. He reached the beach expecting Woody or Snowy to come running down for their turn but there was no one, he picked up the board turned it out towards the break and paddled back out. This time he noticed different things. a light gust of wind lifting the spray of a breaking wave creating a golden glow from the sun still low in the sky. Even in the face of the translucent swell, the colours changed from deep green at the bottom to a light green tinged with the colour of the sun. The simplest things like droplets of water splashing from the front of his surfboard onto his face seemed something new, Maybe he was concentrating too hard at not falling off the previous times he had ridden Claude’s board. But it was different now, this was his board. That morning, time seemed eternal, he paddled, rode and just sat in the ocean like a man that was blind but now was able to see. He was now a surfrider.