Patagonia

The way our voices and the speedometer would ramp up like the weather bureau’s predictions, knowing that another southerly ground swell down there was coming in strong already. It could send us over the edge in more ways than one. Instead, like the quiet stillness of the huge gum trees, we opted for saying less. Listening to music that rolled and riffed like the ocean, we were gently drawn south as if under the cast of a magic spell. For those of us that stayed, those trees, the empty beach solitude, and waves that made surf movies become a reality, spoke a truth in lucid whispers – “As if you’d be anywhere else.”

The guys at The Bombie would say just as straight up – “Don’t tell a bloody soul.” They all ripped. Eighties power surfers, both underground and the guys too smart to continue surfing mushie beach breaks on the Championship Tour. All you needed was a shack and a plot of land, a blue heeler, a veggie patch, and perhaps some no questions asked extra financial support from everyone’s drinking buddy, Bob (Hawke).

These were the guys that barked and snapped, but we took our cues. With respect we learned our place in the lineup, and as time’s passed, so has the multi-generational surfing community. Beyond the town setups, we learnt you didn’t have to go far to discover that every single one of those potentially promising lumps of underwater rock made for setups as good as it gets, often with no one out. The dirt tracks could be a blessing and a curse.

Not much has changed. It’s busier, as it goes. But culturally it's somehow continued to uphold a courtesy and respect for the surfers in the lineup. The stories of an enforcer or two helps, but truth be told, it’s the rare concoction of very good, dangerous and unpredictable waves, ridden by surfers that have grown up here busting into slabs for breakfast. This all makes for civilised surfing experiences, the type of surf that feels like you’re still just out there with your mates. Anyone a little too ambitious from somewhere else, very quickly gets a vibe for how it's done. If not, there’s plenty of long stretches of coastline another five or so kays down the highway. If only all places boasting this many quality waves held this energy and commanded such respect.

The South Coast is serene and powerful. Yuin Country. Ancestral and ageless. Soft and tender, with the allure of four seasons, bright light summers for frolicking through and frosty winters for pot bellies or open fires. Autumn for rejoicing in those ground swells and spring to possibly get some overdue work done. It’s simple. For many of us, our lives are oriented around being immersed in the ocean. Socially we’re a bunch of relative introverts – from those of us that stayed down those dirt tracks, to the rest of us dancing between the occasional social get together, but mostly relying on the surf car parks for our community hits. Don’t be fooled by the tough exteriors.

The magic emanates from the watery womb of this pristine place as much as ever. You can imagine that things have changed, with fancy cafes and restaurants, city money, and shifts in attitude. And you’d be right to some extent, but it’s an influence that is subtle and if anything, mellowed by the essence of everything this surfing community has always held precious. There’s still that freedom, abundance, and country feel that typifies the dedicated surfer’s experience. It’s held tight with our families and friends, and made even more special for how beautiful the whole place is.

Those mellow acoustic guitar riffs still roll out the stereo speakers like the ocean. In honouring the spiritual depth to this place, we pay our respects by giving back everything we can. From our deep appreciation, from our hearts.

Dean’s new book The Ocean Diviners is available here.