The Wildlands

Earlier this year Kuni and I ventured across the South West coast, over the Nullarbor and into Western Australia. We did it with a toddler, in a Spaceship, and with our fingers attached to pen and lens.

The result I call ‘The Wildlands’, a collection of diary entries featured in the September issue of BLUE magazine, as part of the 55-cover feature we published titled ‘Back to Simple Life’.

In original, rambling  lyrical form with no tight conclusion, I give you THE WILDLANDS, and dare you to venture out into the unknown.

Sacred Secrets

“South Australia is a surfers dream; a place for a good surf in peace and solitude. If a surfer wants a beach to himself, he has his choice of thousands. There is not another place in the world that can offer what we have. West of here lies the other border with surf all along the coast. It is a known fact that the Great Australian Bight has some of the biggest seas in the world.”- John Arnold, 1962.

Since the early 50s South Aussie surfers have preferred the solitude of the West Coast, convoying up with a small number of mates, indulging in exploration and experience. Nothing could be more sacred to us than the ‘secret spot’. Spread the word and you’ll probably get shot.

Out here, if you don’t surf you’re probably wishing you did. We camp above the sand, under the sun. Good luck finding shade. It’s 45 degrees and beer is served warm. Our designated toilet shrub is shared by finger-long bull ants and big black snakes. The only escape is surfing; the crispy cool water requiring full 3mm suits. This morning I watched a decent sized shark cruise through the inside section…Whatever, this is goofy heaven. So we surf. The secret, and the balance, kept sacred.

Dusk in the Wildlands.

Wave after wave, breaking in complete solidarity, revealing her raw, unharnessed power. Sunset in The Wildlands. The kids play in the sand as we sip on cold beers; someone has driven the 45minutes into town to get ice and a new slab (of beer). Someone else is cooking up the day’s fresh catch: snapper, abalone and a few squid. The sky is dancing: blue, pink, purple and a brilliant orange. The stars rise from the sea, whispering secrets of the day’s perfection. A cool evening breeze whisks across the granite rocks and my senses are pervaded with salty freedom. Right here, right now, the ocean is our front yard. Just be.

Tickle Me Alive

“I feel like my day isn’t complete without being in the ocean. Being that the human body is predominantly made up of saline water, it makes me feel that I am all encompassed by nature. It gives me strength and is good for my health…It makes me feel alive.” – John Davis

The early morning’s breath is chilled but the sun’s power is close. I embark in my morning ritual of swimming in the smooth ochre rock pools. My exposed skin is greeted with a rush of awakened blood vessels dancing in the nippy water. As I dive under my head is exposed to the raw intensity of the Southern Ocean – shrilly cold. As I breaststroke across the pool, swaying clumps of seaweed massage my arms, legs and belly and I can’t think why women would pay to relax in hydrotherapy spas when nature provides all this for free.

Perfect Lefts

The lagoon surrounded by granite boulders was a perfect azure blue in the summer sun. Paddling through it to the break was just beautiful…crystal clear, refreshing. Clean 4-5ft on the sets, maybe 3ft in between, but just reeling from the boulder take-off all the way down into the deep water channel. Perfect Lefts. Maybe 6 people out? The smell of big fish kept us moving in between sets, they’re big down on this coast! The biggest!! But all fear is thrown out the door when a pumping left rolls in. Not a drop of water out of place, gentle water towers are the day’s canvas; the Ryosuke Hori ‘Cloveru’ twin fin the paintbrush under our feet.

The Unknown Road

“To find a good wave you may travel some distance, To find a great wave might take you to the end of the earth.” – Christo Reid, 2010.

I find myself entering a state of mediation when I drive. As Kuni and Ryde sleep silently, the hum of tyres spinning along the improved bitumen road compliment the acoustic sounds of Eddie Vedder sifting from the Spaceship’s speakers. The Nullarbor is near, but before we embark her 1,000+kms of straight, barren emptiness, a few turns down the unknown road await our exploration. I switch CD’s, and Pennywise appropriately thrusts out the anthem of my high school years:

“Do you know, the miracles that could be found they’re waiting down the unknown road…Time is right now of the essence. Time is right to learn your lessons. Time is all that you have left. Things you’ve contemplated. The unknown road is one.”

Timeless legends 1- Ronnie with the Ute

Camp secret #2 remains unchanged in my seven-year absence. We set up our tent in the exposed, dusty campsite. Kuni finds a hand-sized rock and sets to work hammering. Just as the last peg is bashed firmly into the rocky floor, camp owner Ronnie bumps around in the same old rusty Ute – he’s probably had it since buying the land off John Witzig’s brother Paul in 1986. Ronnie steps out in familiar blue overalls and akubra hat, his long white wispy hair waving in the north-east winds. A lengthy battle with heart disease has prompted noticeable ageing and Ronnie confesses to having spent a great deal of time out of the water, even in the peak of the big wave season when ‘the tubes were so big at backdoor that you could drive a semi-trailer through them’. We exchange in a sincere embrace and Ronnie suggests the surf should be small but pristine in the morning winds – no need for digital forecasting out here.

Pristine in the morning winds

Eager to prosper in yesterday’s local surf report a Kuni Takanami deluxe camp breakfast of fried eggs on toast is served up promptly upon dawn. The Hori twinnie is waxed and son Ryde similarly sun screened up. The 50m sandy path from camp to beach is already searing hot. As predicted, the swell has dropped slightly and the winds are favourable. The main reef break out front is host to pristine peeling lefts, her shoulders offering long, open space to ebb and flow at one with the wave.

Timeless legends 2 – Sunny the Kombi fixer

No trip out here is complete without a visit to Sunny’s house. Looking older but otherwise unchanged, Sunny says he’s given up shaping and is winding down his life by fixing travellers’ Kombi vans and surfboard dings at camp. He surfs only when it’s big, so pretty often. Hand-built in 1982, his mud brick self-sustainable home is refreshingly cool, the result of wife Tracey’s permaculture – analog’s natural air conditioning.

Due West

“The Nullarbor remains a strange place. The road is no longer the epicentre of a cult of loners and sociopaths. It’s peopled by…people. Retirees mostly, families, Europeans with their bare feet on the dashboards of Wiked campers, airing their thermal underwear on the visors. The light of modern commerce has been turned on the dark corners of the desert, and there is no bogeyman under the bed.” Jock Serong, 2010.

There are, however, petrol prices that will push you near the edge and don’t expect change from a twenty (dollar note) for Red Bulls and ice cream x 2. But adjust your mindset to the realities and the desert will turn on her long-faced charm.

The sky spins in full 180 degree display, the earth her inverted mirror; expansive flatlands spotted with cloud-like green shrubs. As we drive on and on into the vast straightness, the shrubs grow taller and trees emerge, their branches tangled in glittery tinsel, toilet paper and stuffed toys – some kind of tribal voodoo or just a bunch of travellers gone mad?

The evening twilight zone comes with a serve of bustling wildlife – an acquired skill for dodging over-adventurous Kangaroos and rabbits is earned in the next chapter as we crawl on into the darkness.

By morning the earth has transformed to a deep ochre red lined with skinny trees. “We have survived the great Nullarbor!” we sing, bearing but a small front bumper battle scar – the sequel to a few near misses overnight=a direct hit with grandfather Kangaroo.

Transparent on the West Side

From Esperance to Margaret River we glide along the highway, attune to our instincts. Again we embark upon the Unknown Road. Again we are lavishly recompensed.

Beaches over west are phenomenal. White sand takes on a whole new meaning and no tropical island resort’s postcard can compare to the transparency of the sea. Uncharacteristic minuscule surf is received in mindfulness and our smiles widen in the joy of belly boarding – Parrish Watts’ gift of endless shore break tubes. The view from the ocean is nothing short of breathtaking – flourishing green headlands stretching high into the azure sky.

A date with a Moose

Bouncing senselessly along the rock-ridden dusty track we’ve only clocked a few hundred meters before our driver informs us the 4WD has lost it’s brakes. The track descends and we pick up speed, the insane beer-bellied man behind the wheel laughing excessively as churning thick dust propels in our wake. Ryde is still screaming in excitement as we walk down the narrow track. Images of near death are blown away by howling barrels pitching into deep blue water. Our raving mad driver ‘Moose’ is nicknamed rightly so – charging the ocean’s water cylinders with hungry animal instinct.

Margs Magic

Once upon a Margaret River time a tube stomper approaching middle age decided to take a walk, from Margaret River across the Nullarbor and up to Byron Bay. Disposing of 12 pairs of thongs along his foot odyssey, Tony Hardy was inspired by undue spare time and no upcoming plans.

Margaret River attracts all walks of life. The beatniks with holey thongs might be outnumbered these days, but their legacy lives on. One fin, two fin, three, fin four…and here comes American expat Tom Hoye with five! The same guy to first shape a twin fin in Australia back in 1970 is an adopted hero, still shaping specialized boards from start to finish with his bare wrinkly hands, right down to the fifth fin.

I dare you to dare

You are just a dot on a map. I pin prick in the vast scape. But you are venturing on your journey, steps forward into the future of your dream. Those first steps are a breeze, you jog and smile abundantly. But as you reach closer to your dream things get harder. You fall. You are tested. This is when many give up. But those who prevail, who push through the tests, they find their dream is waiting just over the horizon, within reach all along. It is us who reach their dreams who dared to suffer the most. In the end, the dazzling stars of the dreamers shine forever. So go on, I dare you to dare.