03/11: A last goodbye...
I was on my way to the Traffic Department building in downtown Perth from my backpacker, a relatively short walk, probably just a kilometer or so. I was rambling along, looking into the shops, stopped for a falafel for lunch. Stopped in a park and sat on the grass in the sun just cause it looked so nice.
And all of these little delays, these little distractions that pulled me aside, were so perfect such that on my last leg of the little journey, as i approached the complex into which i had to enter to kick off my official re-pedestrianization, I saw her coming. Unmistakable in the distance, with her silver reflection, bold roo bar, sleek styling, and the rarely seen sliding moon roof...there she was, The Starwagon, with new owner at the wheel, careening down the road in the slip slide fashion only felt behind the wheel of a panel van.
I tried to get his attention, but to no avail, he was totally focused on the road ahead. So i relaxed my right arm from the jubilant wave and settled into a stoic stance of attention, gleaming with pride and admiration as the 'ol Starwagon, once dubbed "The Beast", danced by and said good bye to me one final time.
And all of these little delays, these little distractions that pulled me aside, were so perfect such that on my last leg of the little journey, as i approached the complex into which i had to enter to kick off my official re-pedestrianization, I saw her coming. Unmistakable in the distance, with her silver reflection, bold roo bar, sleek styling, and the rarely seen sliding moon roof...there she was, The Starwagon, with new owner at the wheel, careening down the road in the slip slide fashion only felt behind the wheel of a panel van.
I tried to get his attention, but to no avail, he was totally focused on the road ahead. So i relaxed my right arm from the jubilant wave and settled into a stoic stance of attention, gleaming with pride and admiration as the 'ol Starwagon, once dubbed "The Beast", danced by and said good bye to me one final time.
I was stuck in Perth for the weekend, my last in Western Australia, but the summer was kickin in and the city was alive with action and determined to show me a good time after all. Since now i was actually willing to hang out for it, all my previous visits in and out of Perth had been too focused on getting in or getting out. I struck a deal on Tuesday with the 2 German lads that bought the Starwagon to deliver the goods on saturday, a compromise since i wanted the van til monday and they wanted it immediately, barely able to control their smiles seeing their new vacation dream machine travel van sitting right in front of them. So i decided to get a room in a backpackers and submit myself to the city for my 3 last nights in Perth.
I spent the last nights in the van in a most memorable spot, the south mole at Fremantle. The south and north moles are the rock pile jetties that create the Fremantle Port and the mouth of the great Swan River. The south mole extends a good kilometer out into the sea and is paved all the way to the end for road traffic, mostly tourists and fishermen. There are flush toilet facilities and a limited amount of drive by traffic that make it an ideal spot for free-camping, but best of all, the ranger looks past the illegality because it is a spot that is low profile in its proximity to the residential areas of Freo. A tip i received from a ranger when parked in my prior favorite free-camping spot of South Beach in Fremantle which is lined by a park and adjacent to a residential street with a view right onto the parking lot.
On Friday morning, my second morning on the mole, i was waking up with a cup of coffee and a bowl of mueslix when i heard a low flying airplane. I opened the door to the van to see a Red Bull Air Race competitor practicing runs through a set of practice gates set up on the north mole. It was the day before the qualifying race over the Swan River in downtown Perth, but right in front of my porch, they had set up, what was for me an essentially private acrobatics show. It was awesome. It got me really excited for the plans my friend Becca and i were making to spend all of the day on sunday at the Red Bull Air Race, arriving early on the day of the finals to claim a good spot on the river's edge for all the aerial displays in the breaks between the action of the races.
And get a good spot is exactly what we did. We met at the entrance to the park with all the goodies, an eski (ice box), sodas, snacks, and bacon and eggs for the BBQ breakfast sandwiches in the park. We had to walk about 3km from the point of drop, the closest spot to which Becca's Uncle John could reasonably driver before dropping her off with all the food. When we arrived, each with one hand on the esky swinging between us, we were tuckered and hungry. We spread out our claim of blankets at the edge of the wall and headed to the BBQ. In Australia there are plate barbeques with gas burners under them which start with the push of a button, totally public, totally free, and totally tasty when topped with strips of bacon and fryin' eggs. We toasted some bread and made brekky sandos that were to die for.
It was an amazing, sunny, beautiful day and we spent it lounging, snacking, applying and reapplying sunscreen, and watching some amazing displays of aerial ability. There was the air race planes which were amazing, doing up to 370km on entry into the course, they had to shoot through gates just meters off the water. They had old planes doing dignified fly-bys, there was a Qantas 357 did 3 passes, a simulated dog fight, and the cream was the F-18 fighter jet that nearly blew our ears off as it approached the sound barrier with a grande finale exit of pulling up directly over our heads and speeding off into the sky until after a few seconds it disappeared into the great blue void.
I spent the last nights in the van in a most memorable spot, the south mole at Fremantle. The south and north moles are the rock pile jetties that create the Fremantle Port and the mouth of the great Swan River. The south mole extends a good kilometer out into the sea and is paved all the way to the end for road traffic, mostly tourists and fishermen. There are flush toilet facilities and a limited amount of drive by traffic that make it an ideal spot for free-camping, but best of all, the ranger looks past the illegality because it is a spot that is low profile in its proximity to the residential areas of Freo. A tip i received from a ranger when parked in my prior favorite free-camping spot of South Beach in Fremantle which is lined by a park and adjacent to a residential street with a view right onto the parking lot.
On Friday morning, my second morning on the mole, i was waking up with a cup of coffee and a bowl of mueslix when i heard a low flying airplane. I opened the door to the van to see a Red Bull Air Race competitor practicing runs through a set of practice gates set up on the north mole. It was the day before the qualifying race over the Swan River in downtown Perth, but right in front of my porch, they had set up, what was for me an essentially private acrobatics show. It was awesome. It got me really excited for the plans my friend Becca and i were making to spend all of the day on sunday at the Red Bull Air Race, arriving early on the day of the finals to claim a good spot on the river's edge for all the aerial displays in the breaks between the action of the races.
And get a good spot is exactly what we did. We met at the entrance to the park with all the goodies, an eski (ice box), sodas, snacks, and bacon and eggs for the BBQ breakfast sandwiches in the park. We had to walk about 3km from the point of drop, the closest spot to which Becca's Uncle John could reasonably driver before dropping her off with all the food. When we arrived, each with one hand on the esky swinging between us, we were tuckered and hungry. We spread out our claim of blankets at the edge of the wall and headed to the BBQ. In Australia there are plate barbeques with gas burners under them which start with the push of a button, totally public, totally free, and totally tasty when topped with strips of bacon and fryin' eggs. We toasted some bread and made brekky sandos that were to die for.
It was an amazing, sunny, beautiful day and we spent it lounging, snacking, applying and reapplying sunscreen, and watching some amazing displays of aerial ability. There was the air race planes which were amazing, doing up to 370km on entry into the course, they had to shoot through gates just meters off the water. They had old planes doing dignified fly-bys, there was a Qantas 357 did 3 passes, a simulated dog fight, and the cream was the F-18 fighter jet that nearly blew our ears off as it approached the sound barrier with a grande finale exit of pulling up directly over our heads and speeding off into the sky until after a few seconds it disappeared into the great blue void.
27/10: Freeze! Is that a camera?
I was leaving the petrol station on the side of a two lane highway just outside Bussellton in Southwest Australia, pulling into a clearing in the monday morning traffic flow, when i saw the siren lights on the roof of the car behind me. I was totally legal as long as i didn't brake, because it was a day or two before this that a mate pointed out to me that the left brake light was out. I was on my way to Perth, on a mission to sell the van, pack up the bags and head to New Zealand, so i was feeling in a space of trying not to miss a thing.
When the police car pulled up beside me at the next light, where the two lane highway cleared open wide to 4 lanes for 50m on both sides of the intersection, they had been following me for about 12km, or 10 minutes. I was driving the speed limit and being very careful to not get pulled over. I had made it 4 and a half months doing 13,000km without getting pulled over and was thinking it would be a shame to get pulled over now, i nervously rang my fingers around the spongy $5 steering wheel cover.
My nervousness was cooled however with a quick review of the side panels of the Highway Patrol car, with the checkered flag and neon lettering, it more resembled a European rally car than a Highway Patrol car from where i was raised. In California, the Highway Patrol cars are black with the only color being a splash of white on the doors, very clean, orderly, and undercover. So i was inspired to grab my camera, which i always keep handy to the driver's seat for roadside oddities, rainbows, or obscenely large trucks, and take a photo of this cop car cum rally racer.
I adjusted my driving position to hold the wheel in one hand, the camera in the other hand with my arm resting on the window frame, ready to shoot when clear. I planned on lagging at the light, allowing the patrol car to pull a bit ahead and then i would snap a quick shot as they passed by, but the copper was slow off the light and allowed me to gain space. At first i thought i had missed the shot...he had turned right at the light and i had missed it, i would have to leave Australia without a picture of the elusive West Australian Highway Patrol car, most likely rarely seen because they are shipped to Austria seasonally for rally car racing.
Relieved, i saw in my peripheral vision a flash of neon orange as the patrol car gained on the Starwagon, passing me on the slowly on the right, manned with 2 officers. As the officers had just gotten passed me and the shot was getting just right, i lifted the camera just as the driving officer looked over his left shoulder at me to a look at the driver of such a magnificent wagon. He saw the camera and slammed on the brakes. I flinched at the squeal of his tyres and instinctively dropped the hand with the camera, keepng the wheel smoothe and straight, i was looking for a place to pull over before the cop had even gotten in behind me with his siren lights full on. A left turn was quickly available and off of the highway i pulled.
I was suppressing nervous giggles as i dug out my passport, wallet and California driver's license. The officer came to the window and was all business. He asked me what i was doing with the camera to which i explained my thin story about thinking his car looked cool, like a rally car, and how i was sorry i had interrupted his day with such a silly infraction. He quickly explained that they had been having problems with "bikey" types gathering "intelligence" on the highway patrol, thus his concern with my camera and my intentions. He then pulled out a hand held breathalizer and ask me to remove the platic wrapper and blow into the tube until he told me to stop, asking me then to remove the tube and discard of the trash when i got home. When i came up clean, as if he was reading my mind, he said i could now get the shot i was looking for, inviting me to step out of the car and take a pic of the patrol car pulled in behind me. So i got 2 shots, one of the patrol car and another of the Starwagon pulled over with the patrol car in behind.
They gave me back my license and passport and invited me to have a nice day and a safe drive up to Perth. Giggling again, this time with relief and embarrassment, i replaced the camera, passport and license into their respective driving positions, and pulled a U turn to head back to the highway, bidding the officers goodbye with a quick wave and pulling again onto the highway, this time with a bit more concern as to whether or not there was a cop coming.
When the police car pulled up beside me at the next light, where the two lane highway cleared open wide to 4 lanes for 50m on both sides of the intersection, they had been following me for about 12km, or 10 minutes. I was driving the speed limit and being very careful to not get pulled over. I had made it 4 and a half months doing 13,000km without getting pulled over and was thinking it would be a shame to get pulled over now, i nervously rang my fingers around the spongy $5 steering wheel cover.
My nervousness was cooled however with a quick review of the side panels of the Highway Patrol car, with the checkered flag and neon lettering, it more resembled a European rally car than a Highway Patrol car from where i was raised. In California, the Highway Patrol cars are black with the only color being a splash of white on the doors, very clean, orderly, and undercover. So i was inspired to grab my camera, which i always keep handy to the driver's seat for roadside oddities, rainbows, or obscenely large trucks, and take a photo of this cop car cum rally racer.
I adjusted my driving position to hold the wheel in one hand, the camera in the other hand with my arm resting on the window frame, ready to shoot when clear. I planned on lagging at the light, allowing the patrol car to pull a bit ahead and then i would snap a quick shot as they passed by, but the copper was slow off the light and allowed me to gain space. At first i thought i had missed the shot...he had turned right at the light and i had missed it, i would have to leave Australia without a picture of the elusive West Australian Highway Patrol car, most likely rarely seen because they are shipped to Austria seasonally for rally car racing.
Relieved, i saw in my peripheral vision a flash of neon orange as the patrol car gained on the Starwagon, passing me on the slowly on the right, manned with 2 officers. As the officers had just gotten passed me and the shot was getting just right, i lifted the camera just as the driving officer looked over his left shoulder at me to a look at the driver of such a magnificent wagon. He saw the camera and slammed on the brakes. I flinched at the squeal of his tyres and instinctively dropped the hand with the camera, keepng the wheel smoothe and straight, i was looking for a place to pull over before the cop had even gotten in behind me with his siren lights full on. A left turn was quickly available and off of the highway i pulled.
I was suppressing nervous giggles as i dug out my passport, wallet and California driver's license. The officer came to the window and was all business. He asked me what i was doing with the camera to which i explained my thin story about thinking his car looked cool, like a rally car, and how i was sorry i had interrupted his day with such a silly infraction. He quickly explained that they had been having problems with "bikey" types gathering "intelligence" on the highway patrol, thus his concern with my camera and my intentions. He then pulled out a hand held breathalizer and ask me to remove the platic wrapper and blow into the tube until he told me to stop, asking me then to remove the tube and discard of the trash when i got home. When i came up clean, as if he was reading my mind, he said i could now get the shot i was looking for, inviting me to step out of the car and take a pic of the patrol car pulled in behind me. So i got 2 shots, one of the patrol car and another of the Starwagon pulled over with the patrol car in behind.
They gave me back my license and passport and invited me to have a nice day and a safe drive up to Perth. Giggling again, this time with relief and embarrassment, i replaced the camera, passport and license into their respective driving positions, and pulled a U turn to head back to the highway, bidding the officers goodbye with a quick wave and pulling again onto the highway, this time with a bit more concern as to whether or not there was a cop coming.
It was bound to come sooner or later. It doesn't matter how independent and happy i feel travelling, it was bound to come...and it did, 8 months in to my travels to the day, the 21st of September.
I had just spent a month travelling West Australia in my beloved van with one of my best friends, John Potocny. I have known John since we were 4. Pre-school together, same soccer teams as kiddos, and the unbreakable bond of learning to surf together sealing our friendship for life. Spending a month together, after he has been living in Hawaii for the last 11 years keeping us from spending anything more than a week together, was just like old times. Like we hadn't skipped a beat since we spent weeks together on a surf trip to Baja when we were 18, indeed that was the last REAL surf trip we had been on together, into unchartered territory.
But it had to come to an end, as all good things must, and after a month JP was due back in Hawaii to run construction crews and make that dollar. We had to be up early to get him to the airport on time, like 3 am early, and had been up late the night before with a mate from the Bluff named Clay, a fellow American with whom we got on real well. The ride to the airport was a quiet one, we were both exhausted, and the goodbye was quick and unemotional, as only good friends and strangers are capable of; "Good times man, great to see you, thanks for coming, see you later" that sort of stuff. And then he was gone and i was on my way back to park the van in an empty beach parking lot and get some real sleep.
I awoke in the South Beach parking lot in Freemantle, one of my favorite spots in the Perth area. A big green grassy lawn meets some small sand dunes that open up to a 200m long beach edged in by jettys dotted with fishermen. A great place to go for a short run and a cool refreshing swim and start a new day, which was exactly what i did. Then off to the laundromat to do some washing and get the stink of a few weeks at the Bluff off of me and get ready for civilization again.
It was in these next 2 days that the lack of motivation and loneliness kicked in. I had no plan, only options, and it was this new freedom that confined me. With John I had a plan, to take him to all these great surf spots in a month that required a certain itinerary in order to accomplish it. But now, I could go north again back to the Bluff, but i had just missed a big swell and even though I was craving the familiarity and friends i had at the Bluff, it was a heck of a long way to drive, some 1250km. I could go south, down to the Margaret River area, but the weather wasn't looking so good and I would inevitably be spending some amount of days sitting in the van in the rain. So i decided to stay in Perth to sort it out, update the site, keep an eye on the weather.
And Perth is not good for me. A sprawling suburban city with no surf. I am not so good with cities, even when i lived in San Francisco i had to live at the Beach in order to maintain sanity, on what i called "the fringe" of the city. So after a day of hanging out in an internet "station" and wandering around looking for lunch without being able to decide between Japanese, Indonesian, Swedish, or Indian food for lunch, just finding myself at a loss to make a decision, i realized i had to leave. I spent a really nice evening with a friend of Clay's, a girl named Laura, who invited me to park in a lot behind their house in North Freemantle and use their bathroom, even take a shower. We spent the evening discussing possibilities as she was getting ready and excited to start out on an adventure of her own. She fed me a veggie curry she had made that afternoon and we shared stories and looked through a travel book that was a compilation of all the countries of the world with a 2 page summary of what must be seen and done in each country.
This helped to lift my spirits, but it wasn't until the next afternoon, having driven south and left Perth behind me, that i got into the water at Injidup Car Park and had a surf on a little right hander that was protected from the South wind that was mucking up the surf at most other spots. It was this salt water bath that reminded me of what keeps me going, what i love most in life. I love surfing. Surfing never lets me down.
I had just spent a month travelling West Australia in my beloved van with one of my best friends, John Potocny. I have known John since we were 4. Pre-school together, same soccer teams as kiddos, and the unbreakable bond of learning to surf together sealing our friendship for life. Spending a month together, after he has been living in Hawaii for the last 11 years keeping us from spending anything more than a week together, was just like old times. Like we hadn't skipped a beat since we spent weeks together on a surf trip to Baja when we were 18, indeed that was the last REAL surf trip we had been on together, into unchartered territory.
But it had to come to an end, as all good things must, and after a month JP was due back in Hawaii to run construction crews and make that dollar. We had to be up early to get him to the airport on time, like 3 am early, and had been up late the night before with a mate from the Bluff named Clay, a fellow American with whom we got on real well. The ride to the airport was a quiet one, we were both exhausted, and the goodbye was quick and unemotional, as only good friends and strangers are capable of; "Good times man, great to see you, thanks for coming, see you later" that sort of stuff. And then he was gone and i was on my way back to park the van in an empty beach parking lot and get some real sleep.
I awoke in the South Beach parking lot in Freemantle, one of my favorite spots in the Perth area. A big green grassy lawn meets some small sand dunes that open up to a 200m long beach edged in by jettys dotted with fishermen. A great place to go for a short run and a cool refreshing swim and start a new day, which was exactly what i did. Then off to the laundromat to do some washing and get the stink of a few weeks at the Bluff off of me and get ready for civilization again.
It was in these next 2 days that the lack of motivation and loneliness kicked in. I had no plan, only options, and it was this new freedom that confined me. With John I had a plan, to take him to all these great surf spots in a month that required a certain itinerary in order to accomplish it. But now, I could go north again back to the Bluff, but i had just missed a big swell and even though I was craving the familiarity and friends i had at the Bluff, it was a heck of a long way to drive, some 1250km. I could go south, down to the Margaret River area, but the weather wasn't looking so good and I would inevitably be spending some amount of days sitting in the van in the rain. So i decided to stay in Perth to sort it out, update the site, keep an eye on the weather.
And Perth is not good for me. A sprawling suburban city with no surf. I am not so good with cities, even when i lived in San Francisco i had to live at the Beach in order to maintain sanity, on what i called "the fringe" of the city. So after a day of hanging out in an internet "station" and wandering around looking for lunch without being able to decide between Japanese, Indonesian, Swedish, or Indian food for lunch, just finding myself at a loss to make a decision, i realized i had to leave. I spent a really nice evening with a friend of Clay's, a girl named Laura, who invited me to park in a lot behind their house in North Freemantle and use their bathroom, even take a shower. We spent the evening discussing possibilities as she was getting ready and excited to start out on an adventure of her own. She fed me a veggie curry she had made that afternoon and we shared stories and looked through a travel book that was a compilation of all the countries of the world with a 2 page summary of what must be seen and done in each country.
This helped to lift my spirits, but it wasn't until the next afternoon, having driven south and left Perth behind me, that i got into the water at Injidup Car Park and had a surf on a little right hander that was protected from the South wind that was mucking up the surf at most other spots. It was this salt water bath that reminded me of what keeps me going, what i love most in life. I love surfing. Surfing never lets me down.
For my birthday John bought me "the" Red Bluff book. It is a coffee table sort of book, wider than it is tall and full of pics and stories, the kind of book you can just pick up, flip open and start reading anywhere. And it is really cool, because the Bluff is really cool and has a great history as an Aussie surfer hideaway from the confines of societal structure that breeds normality and conformity to the capitalist system. No, the Bluff would have none of that. Red Bluff in the 80's was a place where surfers could collect the "dole" (Aussie Unemployment) and surf their brains out, making trips to town once a month for food and water and to jump through the hoop of submitting a new dole form while picking up this months dole check. Classic. They called it the John Howard Surf Team, as that was the name of the Prime Minister at the time (well, i can't remember the actual PM's name, so J.H. will be used in artistic substitution for the sake of the story).
So we brought this book with us up to Red Bluff and some of our favorite photos of the lifestyles these surfers led were of the "Cave Parties" that went down on the beach in the overhanging limestone caves that were used as shelters for some of the long termers who were living there. All these old hippie surfers with long hair and beards, warm cans of "piss" in their hands and smiles on their tanned faces. We passed the book around to neighbors who came by to hang out with us at the van and always the reaction was the same, everyone loved the pics of the cave parties. So the catalyst came from Jarrad, a particularly stoked seasonal Bluff resident who suggested that we relive the dream. "We should have a Cave Party," he suggested and it just started from there.
We got approval from the current management team, Jim and Bek, not wanting to offend anyone or get in trouble for doing something we shouldn't, which was a good thing because they informed us that since 1998 when a limestone overhang in Gracetown, similar to the ones at the Bluff, collapsed killing a group of people watching a surf contest there, the caves at the bluff had been offlimits for camping. Apparently parties were lumped into the same category as camping in this case, and it was suggested that congregating 10-20 people under the overhang, even if just for a few hours one evening, was just asking for trouble. It made sense to us, but we still wanted a Cave Party, and Jim and Bek are all for having fun, so they suggested we do it in the "Small Cave".
There are 2 caves on the beach at the Bluff, the big cave at the end of the beach, a truly massive cave that allows many people to gather under the tens of tons of compacted limestone overhead, and then the small cave, which can accomodate a few people under just a few tons of compacted limestone. A fair compromise.
We organized a day that worked for everyone, just a few days before the departure of several of us from the Bluff, and started to spread the good word about the Cave Party and the response was enthusiastic. Everyone was stoked from Hippie Shane to Heavy Metal Shane. Especially Bill and Andy, Red Bluff old timers, were stoked to bring back the Cave Party, but lamenting that they wouldn't be able to participate in the "good stuff" like they used to do...no, this Cave Party was sans psychedelics. But what we lacked in psychotropics we made up for in numbers, for the Cave Party was a hit drawing a huge crowd of what must have been 40 people at the peak of social hour.
We made preparations for the Cave Party in order to make it a hit. We had a fire pit just outside the roof of the cave with plenty of wood. We dug a pit in the sand, lined it with a tarp and filled it with ice to keep the beers cold. We even pulled Dave's Suzuki Samurai up to the edge of the 3m cliff above and blared the tunes so that we could have some rock and roll to help bring out that party vibe. And it worked, we were raging at the Bluff.
Red Bluff is a pretty testosterone filled zone...mostly it's just blokes that come out to wait for swells in the dusty desert overrun with flies. Occassionally a guy can get a girlfriend to come out with him for a few days, but it's a rarity, and her uncomfort there is obvious with so many pairs of eyes trained on her as she walks to and from the point with loyal support for her boyfriend. In order to build some excitement we spread rumors that we were shipping in girls from Exmouth, a backpacker tourist town often crudely referred to as Sexmouth by Red Bluff surfers since it's the nearest town with any population of females. We even went so far as to claim a stripper pole was being installed inside the cave, which was outlandish of course, but stirred the kind of jovial excitement that we were looking for in a Cave Party.
But the greatest surprise of all was when a new girl actually arrived the day of the Cave Party...a group of 3 Germans, one woman and 2 men arrived the very day of the Cave Party. We informed them of their very good luck to have arrived on such a momentous occasion such as this one since they were only planning on staying one night and it was assumed that the girl was the girlfriend of one of the guys, but as they arrived to the party the 2 guys took a seat by the fire while the young lass casually made her way around the party, soaking i am sure, in the attention from all the fit surfer blokes. A single woman's paradise, a bunch of fit, young, tanned, surfer boys all vying for her attention. It turned out that the lucky young lad to score the attention was Red Dog. The "'ranger" (Aussie slang for red head, shortened from orangutang) from south australia pulled the cute German lass back to his camp and bedded down in the back of his Nissan Patrol...lucky devil. Most surfers who go to the Bluff can brag about barrels big or small, but oh so few can brag about sharing a night with a sweet smelling lady-friend. Nice work Red Dog.
For the rest of us, we drank and told stories big and small, funny and freightening, short and tall into the wee hours of the night as the nearly full moon drifted overhead drowning out the shooting stars that normally streak the desert sky. I was determined to stay to the end, to absorb as much of the Cave vibe as possible and experience this night to its fullest, and anyway, even though we called it the 8' Cave Party, the swell forecast for the next day was pretty bleak. The end came at some several hours after midnight as the aforementioned Hippies Shane and Heavy Metal Shane and I sat round the fire talking stories of waves found and missed on our coastal travels around this massive continent.
This is when one of my favorite defining moments of my time at the Bluff came. The 3 of us were sitting around the fire when Hippie Shane, staring into the belly of the fire, commented randomly and in no general direction, saying "Isn't a bottom turn just beautiful..." Heavy Metal Shane and I just sat in silence. Then Hippie Shane followed this by waving the burning stick of sandalwood with its smoldering end in front of him to allow the aroma to overcome him, then he passed it over to me. I have a streak of hippie in me and i can appreciate the softer things in life so i gave the stick a few passes in front of me to enjoy the natural aroma, then i tried to pass it over to Shane, calling his name to get his attention as he stared into the fire. He looked at me with a slight scorn in his eye and responded to my gesture by saying, "Nah, I hate hippies."
To this comment both Shane and i just chuckled, not sure what to say. Hippie Shane was probably offended to some degree, we called him Hippie Shane because he lived in a bus with his family, wife and 2 kids, had long hair, and spoke in a soft and slow manner, but he didn't show any sign of resentment, like a good hippie would. I knew there was no defending hippies or their soft mannered ways, for Heavy Metal Shane was a good guy, just strongly opinionated, and once spoken, his opinions were impossible to influence, even with the most sound of arguments. Like his tatoos, "Failure 2 Conform" in large text across his belly and "Trust No One" in smaller text across his neck, there was no changing his point of view.
After that comment we sat for about 3 minutes in silence all staring into the fire until Heavy Metal Shane spoke up again with, "I'm outta here" and up and left. A few minutes more of staring into the fire, all conversation with Hippies Shane exhausted, i excused myself from the fire and headed back to the van to catch some sleep. Apparently, Hippie Shane remained at the edge of the fire all night, moving aside some of the stones that made the ring and nestling in for a good nights sleep on the warm sand, earning himself the prestige of having shut down the 8' Cave Party '08. The stuff legends are made of...
So we brought this book with us up to Red Bluff and some of our favorite photos of the lifestyles these surfers led were of the "Cave Parties" that went down on the beach in the overhanging limestone caves that were used as shelters for some of the long termers who were living there. All these old hippie surfers with long hair and beards, warm cans of "piss" in their hands and smiles on their tanned faces. We passed the book around to neighbors who came by to hang out with us at the van and always the reaction was the same, everyone loved the pics of the cave parties. So the catalyst came from Jarrad, a particularly stoked seasonal Bluff resident who suggested that we relive the dream. "We should have a Cave Party," he suggested and it just started from there.
We got approval from the current management team, Jim and Bek, not wanting to offend anyone or get in trouble for doing something we shouldn't, which was a good thing because they informed us that since 1998 when a limestone overhang in Gracetown, similar to the ones at the Bluff, collapsed killing a group of people watching a surf contest there, the caves at the bluff had been offlimits for camping. Apparently parties were lumped into the same category as camping in this case, and it was suggested that congregating 10-20 people under the overhang, even if just for a few hours one evening, was just asking for trouble. It made sense to us, but we still wanted a Cave Party, and Jim and Bek are all for having fun, so they suggested we do it in the "Small Cave".
There are 2 caves on the beach at the Bluff, the big cave at the end of the beach, a truly massive cave that allows many people to gather under the tens of tons of compacted limestone overhead, and then the small cave, which can accomodate a few people under just a few tons of compacted limestone. A fair compromise.
We organized a day that worked for everyone, just a few days before the departure of several of us from the Bluff, and started to spread the good word about the Cave Party and the response was enthusiastic. Everyone was stoked from Hippie Shane to Heavy Metal Shane. Especially Bill and Andy, Red Bluff old timers, were stoked to bring back the Cave Party, but lamenting that they wouldn't be able to participate in the "good stuff" like they used to do...no, this Cave Party was sans psychedelics. But what we lacked in psychotropics we made up for in numbers, for the Cave Party was a hit drawing a huge crowd of what must have been 40 people at the peak of social hour.
We made preparations for the Cave Party in order to make it a hit. We had a fire pit just outside the roof of the cave with plenty of wood. We dug a pit in the sand, lined it with a tarp and filled it with ice to keep the beers cold. We even pulled Dave's Suzuki Samurai up to the edge of the 3m cliff above and blared the tunes so that we could have some rock and roll to help bring out that party vibe. And it worked, we were raging at the Bluff.
Red Bluff is a pretty testosterone filled zone...mostly it's just blokes that come out to wait for swells in the dusty desert overrun with flies. Occassionally a guy can get a girlfriend to come out with him for a few days, but it's a rarity, and her uncomfort there is obvious with so many pairs of eyes trained on her as she walks to and from the point with loyal support for her boyfriend. In order to build some excitement we spread rumors that we were shipping in girls from Exmouth, a backpacker tourist town often crudely referred to as Sexmouth by Red Bluff surfers since it's the nearest town with any population of females. We even went so far as to claim a stripper pole was being installed inside the cave, which was outlandish of course, but stirred the kind of jovial excitement that we were looking for in a Cave Party.
But the greatest surprise of all was when a new girl actually arrived the day of the Cave Party...a group of 3 Germans, one woman and 2 men arrived the very day of the Cave Party. We informed them of their very good luck to have arrived on such a momentous occasion such as this one since they were only planning on staying one night and it was assumed that the girl was the girlfriend of one of the guys, but as they arrived to the party the 2 guys took a seat by the fire while the young lass casually made her way around the party, soaking i am sure, in the attention from all the fit surfer blokes. A single woman's paradise, a bunch of fit, young, tanned, surfer boys all vying for her attention. It turned out that the lucky young lad to score the attention was Red Dog. The "'ranger" (Aussie slang for red head, shortened from orangutang) from south australia pulled the cute German lass back to his camp and bedded down in the back of his Nissan Patrol...lucky devil. Most surfers who go to the Bluff can brag about barrels big or small, but oh so few can brag about sharing a night with a sweet smelling lady-friend. Nice work Red Dog.
For the rest of us, we drank and told stories big and small, funny and freightening, short and tall into the wee hours of the night as the nearly full moon drifted overhead drowning out the shooting stars that normally streak the desert sky. I was determined to stay to the end, to absorb as much of the Cave vibe as possible and experience this night to its fullest, and anyway, even though we called it the 8' Cave Party, the swell forecast for the next day was pretty bleak. The end came at some several hours after midnight as the aforementioned Hippies Shane and Heavy Metal Shane and I sat round the fire talking stories of waves found and missed on our coastal travels around this massive continent.
This is when one of my favorite defining moments of my time at the Bluff came. The 3 of us were sitting around the fire when Hippie Shane, staring into the belly of the fire, commented randomly and in no general direction, saying "Isn't a bottom turn just beautiful..." Heavy Metal Shane and I just sat in silence. Then Hippie Shane followed this by waving the burning stick of sandalwood with its smoldering end in front of him to allow the aroma to overcome him, then he passed it over to me. I have a streak of hippie in me and i can appreciate the softer things in life so i gave the stick a few passes in front of me to enjoy the natural aroma, then i tried to pass it over to Shane, calling his name to get his attention as he stared into the fire. He looked at me with a slight scorn in his eye and responded to my gesture by saying, "Nah, I hate hippies."
To this comment both Shane and i just chuckled, not sure what to say. Hippie Shane was probably offended to some degree, we called him Hippie Shane because he lived in a bus with his family, wife and 2 kids, had long hair, and spoke in a soft and slow manner, but he didn't show any sign of resentment, like a good hippie would. I knew there was no defending hippies or their soft mannered ways, for Heavy Metal Shane was a good guy, just strongly opinionated, and once spoken, his opinions were impossible to influence, even with the most sound of arguments. Like his tatoos, "Failure 2 Conform" in large text across his belly and "Trust No One" in smaller text across his neck, there was no changing his point of view.
After that comment we sat for about 3 minutes in silence all staring into the fire until Heavy Metal Shane spoke up again with, "I'm outta here" and up and left. A few minutes more of staring into the fire, all conversation with Hippies Shane exhausted, i excused myself from the fire and headed back to the van to catch some sleep. Apparently, Hippie Shane remained at the edge of the fire all night, moving aside some of the stones that made the ring and nestling in for a good nights sleep on the warm sand, earning himself the prestige of having shut down the 8' Cave Party '08. The stuff legends are made of...
When we got to The Bluff we were quickly warned by a few different neighbors that there was a mouse epidemic broken out among the camp and that we should make sure that anything we have that is edible be sealed up in hard, unchewable plastic. This was simply not possible. John and i had purchased an absurd amount of food, based on the fact that 'we were on vacation', 'money is no object', and 'can you really have enough Doritos, Tim Tams, and Cookies???' We were loaded with goodies and had not planned on bringing out mouse proof containers of any kind.
We were looted nightly, counting in the morning the casualties of mouse war...a bag of Doritos, a bag of muesli, a bag of Arnott's Scotch Fingers (chocolate dipped). They had no mercy and I couldn't blame them, if I were a mouse I would have done exactly the same, just a shame the poor little guys couldn't have boiled a pot of tea, cause the Scotch Fingers go down so much better dipped in a hot cuppa'.
We had nightly visits, I know, I was sleeping in the van. They gave me only one respite, they didn't run over my face, my legs yes, but not my face. We borrowed a mouse trap from my friend Dave who lives in an RV caravan out there, and after a week or so i was finding that i could sleep through the night without waking, with the exception of when the mouse trap was set off. In which case I would roll over, hold the trap out the window of the van, release the dead little vermin, and then reset the trap. One night, at the top of my game, we got 3 of the little suckers.
The second week a new American kid, Billie, rolled in to The Bluff. We were at Dave's one evening having one of Dave's famous communal dinners, i think it was pizza night, and Billie mentioned to me and Dave that he had a mouse living in his van. To which Dave replied numerous times, "Oh, so, you have "A" mouse living in your van huh? "A" mouse! "A" mouse living in your van...and I was laughing almost histerically at the look on Billie and Dave's faces as Dave exaggerated and drew out the "A" and Billie looked at us both like we were crazy, cause yes he had "a mouse" living in his van. I don't think Billie truly got what we were getting at until i broke in and told him that i had been catching about 2-3 a night in my van.
When after 2 and a half weeks we packed up our stuff and took up John's tent from next to the van we found a maze of mouse tunnels that had been dug up underneath John's tent. He had unconsciously been keeping a whole family of mice warm and dry while i kept them fed with our rations in the van.
We were looted nightly, counting in the morning the casualties of mouse war...a bag of Doritos, a bag of muesli, a bag of Arnott's Scotch Fingers (chocolate dipped). They had no mercy and I couldn't blame them, if I were a mouse I would have done exactly the same, just a shame the poor little guys couldn't have boiled a pot of tea, cause the Scotch Fingers go down so much better dipped in a hot cuppa'.
We had nightly visits, I know, I was sleeping in the van. They gave me only one respite, they didn't run over my face, my legs yes, but not my face. We borrowed a mouse trap from my friend Dave who lives in an RV caravan out there, and after a week or so i was finding that i could sleep through the night without waking, with the exception of when the mouse trap was set off. In which case I would roll over, hold the trap out the window of the van, release the dead little vermin, and then reset the trap. One night, at the top of my game, we got 3 of the little suckers.
The second week a new American kid, Billie, rolled in to The Bluff. We were at Dave's one evening having one of Dave's famous communal dinners, i think it was pizza night, and Billie mentioned to me and Dave that he had a mouse living in his van. To which Dave replied numerous times, "Oh, so, you have "A" mouse living in your van huh? "A" mouse! "A" mouse living in your van...and I was laughing almost histerically at the look on Billie and Dave's faces as Dave exaggerated and drew out the "A" and Billie looked at us both like we were crazy, cause yes he had "a mouse" living in his van. I don't think Billie truly got what we were getting at until i broke in and told him that i had been catching about 2-3 a night in my van.
When after 2 and a half weeks we packed up our stuff and took up John's tent from next to the van we found a maze of mouse tunnels that had been dug up underneath John's tent. He had unconsciously been keeping a whole family of mice warm and dry while i kept them fed with our rations in the van.
John and I arrived the Bluff on a Friday afternoon and to my surprise the same camp site that i occupied in May was available once again. It was the first day of the arrival of a new swell that actually came through to meet the expectations that the swell prediction charts promised. Apparently, August at the Bluff was a month of predictions gone bad, swells that just never turned up, leaving the surf crew craving for waves. So, when we pulled in on Friday arvo, it was no surprise that there was 15 people in the water waiting patiently for their crack at the inconsistent, but occassional waves that were coming through as the swell filled in.
JP and i were on it despite the crowd, leaving the unpacking and setting up camp for later, enjoying the salt water bath and washing off all the road dust and working out the cramps in our rumps from the 16 hour drive done in 2 days. When we returned to camp we set up John's tent in the dark, deciding that we would readjust it in the time that tomorrow would provide, though JP would end up leaving the tent in that very spot for the rest of the 2.5 weeks we were there, settling in and adjusting his sleeping position to accomodate the rocks that were not cleared out in the dark on that first night.
The next 2 days provided pumping 4 foot swell and consistently good surfing conditions with good winds. Our camp site right in front of the point allowed us to keep a close eye on the traffic to and from the point, so that we were on it at all the best opportunities with the least amount of people in the water.
JP quickly settled into the pace of life at The Bluff...mellow. He had a good book to read and the surf was pumping, so with 3 sessions of surfing a day, there was little else to do besides enjoy oneself. Until we went to Gnaraloo...
JP had heard me talk so much about The Bluff that when we pulled up to Gnaraloo, another perfect left hand point break just 34km north of The Bluff, he could hardly believe his eyes. It was pretty good, but the swell was backing off and the sets were pretty inconsistent, so we paddled out with low expectations, just wanting to get out there, enjoy the sunshine, and get a few while the wind came up and the crowd dwindled. JP got his first wave, pulled into a barrel on the inside and got caught by the lip at the end and came up with a broken board. The 6'8" bonzer that was to be his primary board while in WA was busted, clean in half...bummer.
Another guy paddled out to the lineup at the top of the break and told me that "my friend had broken his board" and my heart sank...not only did John have a long swim ahead of him to get back in, but that board was one that he was so proud of and excited to ride at these 2 left hand speedy fast barrels. When i came in from my session i found JP in good spirits, he had gotten over the initial shock and anger of the broken board and settled into the fact of the matter...so it goes.
JP and i were on it despite the crowd, leaving the unpacking and setting up camp for later, enjoying the salt water bath and washing off all the road dust and working out the cramps in our rumps from the 16 hour drive done in 2 days. When we returned to camp we set up John's tent in the dark, deciding that we would readjust it in the time that tomorrow would provide, though JP would end up leaving the tent in that very spot for the rest of the 2.5 weeks we were there, settling in and adjusting his sleeping position to accomodate the rocks that were not cleared out in the dark on that first night.
The next 2 days provided pumping 4 foot swell and consistently good surfing conditions with good winds. Our camp site right in front of the point allowed us to keep a close eye on the traffic to and from the point, so that we were on it at all the best opportunities with the least amount of people in the water.
JP quickly settled into the pace of life at The Bluff...mellow. He had a good book to read and the surf was pumping, so with 3 sessions of surfing a day, there was little else to do besides enjoy oneself. Until we went to Gnaraloo...
JP had heard me talk so much about The Bluff that when we pulled up to Gnaraloo, another perfect left hand point break just 34km north of The Bluff, he could hardly believe his eyes. It was pretty good, but the swell was backing off and the sets were pretty inconsistent, so we paddled out with low expectations, just wanting to get out there, enjoy the sunshine, and get a few while the wind came up and the crowd dwindled. JP got his first wave, pulled into a barrel on the inside and got caught by the lip at the end and came up with a broken board. The 6'8" bonzer that was to be his primary board while in WA was busted, clean in half...bummer.
Another guy paddled out to the lineup at the top of the break and told me that "my friend had broken his board" and my heart sank...not only did John have a long swim ahead of him to get back in, but that board was one that he was so proud of and excited to ride at these 2 left hand speedy fast barrels. When i came in from my session i found JP in good spirits, he had gotten over the initial shock and anger of the broken board and settled into the fact of the matter...so it goes.
29/08: Back to The Bluff...
JP and i have just pulled into Carnarvon, Northwest Australia. We are 2 of a few of surfers making our way through town and gathering supplies; the produce shop for fresh veg, the bottle shop for cans and grape juice, the grocery store for food stuffs, the internet for a final touch and go with the emails, and finally the fuel depot for a full tank plus 2 jerry cans for outback exploring. We see the other surfers preparing their rigs as we bounce around town from one supply center to the next.
There is a good swell on the way, should last 3 days, starting today, and show John the potential of the place, so i am very excited. We are buying supplies for 2 weeks, but not sure how long we will stay...though John needs to be back at the Perth airport on the 20th of September. Deadlines have worked well for me on this trip, keeping me moving along at a steady, though not to fast, pace of life and travel.
And we're off...the best to all of you.
There is a good swell on the way, should last 3 days, starting today, and show John the potential of the place, so i am very excited. We are buying supplies for 2 weeks, but not sure how long we will stay...though John needs to be back at the Perth airport on the 20th of September. Deadlines have worked well for me on this trip, keeping me moving along at a steady, though not to fast, pace of life and travel.
And we're off...the best to all of you.
26/08: My Birthday...
...and a happy day it was. Surfed 3 sessions. Woke up in the van, side by side with John, both of us wrapped up tight in mummy-bag sleeping bags. Slide open the dewey van window to see double overhead+ Margaret River main break, early morning blustery offshores, and bumpy conditions. I surfed it for an hour before heading up to town to get the exhaust leak repaired on the van (she sounds like a Mexican Bus with no muffler), but the part is not in at the mechanics shop yet...so back down to the coast to check a new spot, Ellensbrook Bombie, going off, and big. The wind drops off to a light offshore and we have 2 hours of huge left perfection, big sets, just myself, John, and one other guy who was so happy to have someone else out with him. Then the wind went a little too south and sea breezes killed it, opting to go in for a leftover curry on rice lunch on the overlook. Then north to Gracetown to surf South Point, super fun left hander with protection from the south wind, a take off in front of the rocks feel, with a soft and fun wall, kinda like Deadman's meets The Fort. We enjoyed sunset out there, waiting for the sets, getting a few good ones.
Burritos for dinner, tea and biscuits for dessert, too tired to read more than a chapter of my book before crashing. I got one present. John gave me a book on The Bluff that we were admiring in the book store on a walk through town the other day, sneaky guy got away and got it for me as a surprise. It was a perfect day.
But the real "presence" that i received were having John down here with me, seeing dolphins take off deep on double overhead sets and launching out the back of the wave on the inside, the seals that were warming their flippers in the sun, super friendly Aussies ready to talk, check out your surfboard, or in the case of one old fella, practice the rehearsed rant on American politics that he had been practicing in front of the TV at home. Good times on the road.
Happy Birthday.
Burritos for dinner, tea and biscuits for dessert, too tired to read more than a chapter of my book before crashing. I got one present. John gave me a book on The Bluff that we were admiring in the book store on a walk through town the other day, sneaky guy got away and got it for me as a surprise. It was a perfect day.
But the real "presence" that i received were having John down here with me, seeing dolphins take off deep on double overhead sets and launching out the back of the wave on the inside, the seals that were warming their flippers in the sun, super friendly Aussies ready to talk, check out your surfboard, or in the case of one old fella, practice the rehearsed rant on American politics that he had been practicing in front of the TV at home. Good times on the road.
Happy Birthday.
8/25/08...day before my birthday, and i have been working closely with mother nature for the past few days to put together something nice, not to fancy, just a little get together with me, John, and a few acquaintances from down here in Margaret River, SouthWestern Australia. The buoys are forecasting a 9' swell with a dominant 16 second period. That means big and good and consistent waves breaking with peeling perfection at multiple reef break surf spots, groomed to a "T" with love from the prevailing winds coming from the North Easterly direction...straight offshore baby.
Looks to be a good year.
We are feeling really on top of our game these last few days...a section of pipe has rusted through on the muffler and the van now sounds like one of those suped-up racing cars that annoys you went stopped next to one at at stop light...yeah, we're those guys. All scheduled up to have that taken care of tomorrow though at a local mechanic's garage here in Margaret River. Conveniently located next to fine breakfast eatery and conveniently timed for the post dawn surf session, when we will enjoy my 32nd birthday breakfast while the van gets its muffler refitted.
Living in the van with John has been a little tight, but not so bad as i had anticipated. He is, like me, a minimalist by nature, but with ONLY 7 surfboards to juggle around the car (one of my boards is getting a broken fin re-affixed in Perth) and not the 8 we would normally have...things are quite cozey. It has been cold, especially the first night we arrived down here from Perth, so we have been able to mummy bag it side by side and not really bother each other at night. We sleep in the parking lot at the aptly named Surfer's Point, and wake up each morning to the sight of the surf, and slowly get our bodies loose and our wetsuits on for the cold morning surf (We are wearing 3/2's, so it's not really that cold, i am just coming off of 2 months in Indo, and John is from Hawaii, so we are both being what we would call, "kind of wussie").
We meet a lot of nice people in the parking lot, locals and travellers alike. John is getting lots of attention with his 5 fin Bonzer boards and his 6'1" self manufatured "balsa beauty". But life in the van is just conspicuous and Aussies are just generally nice people, so lots of conversations are enjoyed around the van and carpark, and we are never bothered by local authority (Though word has it in the summer it can get a bit tense with more patrols, sending the van residents, and there are many, into hiding).
Looks to be a good year.
We are feeling really on top of our game these last few days...a section of pipe has rusted through on the muffler and the van now sounds like one of those suped-up racing cars that annoys you went stopped next to one at at stop light...yeah, we're those guys. All scheduled up to have that taken care of tomorrow though at a local mechanic's garage here in Margaret River. Conveniently located next to fine breakfast eatery and conveniently timed for the post dawn surf session, when we will enjoy my 32nd birthday breakfast while the van gets its muffler refitted.
Living in the van with John has been a little tight, but not so bad as i had anticipated. He is, like me, a minimalist by nature, but with ONLY 7 surfboards to juggle around the car (one of my boards is getting a broken fin re-affixed in Perth) and not the 8 we would normally have...things are quite cozey. It has been cold, especially the first night we arrived down here from Perth, so we have been able to mummy bag it side by side and not really bother each other at night. We sleep in the parking lot at the aptly named Surfer's Point, and wake up each morning to the sight of the surf, and slowly get our bodies loose and our wetsuits on for the cold morning surf (We are wearing 3/2's, so it's not really that cold, i am just coming off of 2 months in Indo, and John is from Hawaii, so we are both being what we would call, "kind of wussie").
We meet a lot of nice people in the parking lot, locals and travellers alike. John is getting lots of attention with his 5 fin Bonzer boards and his 6'1" self manufatured "balsa beauty". But life in the van is just conspicuous and Aussies are just generally nice people, so lots of conversations are enjoyed around the van and carpark, and we are never bothered by local authority (Though word has it in the summer it can get a bit tense with more patrols, sending the van residents, and there are many, into hiding).
