Photos: Tom Carey
I’m on my way toward a secret bay at the Eastern end of the great Australian bite, a bay made famous by a man who caught a giant white shark with a rod.
Mice, sharks, a fatal shark attack which occurred at a sick left slab at the tip of the bay — these are the only things I know as we start our journey airport.
I saw Wendy Harmer in the airport. She saw me but we didn’t say hello, she just looked like she couldn’t be bothered. Fair enough, I couldn’t either…
Mitch Coleborn is here. He’s been here before and even thought about buying property, so he loves it here.
We picked up a grommet who’s been hitching for three months. Wilbur was into rainbow festivals and skating. No smart phone Facebook shit for Wilbur — just apples, dirt and his next ride.
Rock up to the spot…Spot X. Sick ledging left pits. Local crew of legends absolutely killing it, standing in tubes, no hands, awesome vibes.
On our way up the cliff Nate spots a 15-to 20 -foot white shark about 100 meters away from where we surfed. Five minutes later I see a huge black silhouette of a shark lunge out of a wave toward the beach and eat a baby seal.
We set up our tent in the wind, everywhere’s in the wind here. It’s sandy, salty, rocky, flat and windy inhospitable land.
Some psycho schizophrenic puts his neg vibes out, and when he leaves he puts his car rear to our open boot full of expensive cameras and does a bad ass burnout showering all of our stuff with dust and rocks….what a c--t.
Meanwhile my heart and mind are with my bewitchingly beautiful better half Mylee as she is in Byron Bay with our son Rocky looking out for her sister.
Mitch and I spidermanned down a cliff and paddled around a headland and surfed a nice right hander, not a soul for miles. Plagued by the great white curse I can’t relax for the life of me.
I hear Mitch scream. I turn around and see a big white fin coming straight for me; it goes directly under me and I see it’s a dolphin.
After a $20 runny-eggs white-bread brekky at the Shell (only place open, every morning) we are back on the 60km dirt track to the hollow right.
Plagued by the great white curse I can’t relax for the life of me. I feel like any second I will be staring into teethy jaws.
One thousand km’s west to the next shop. Huge white sand dunes to the north, southern ocean to the south and here we sit in the dirt of the great Australian bite drinking beer.
Mitch is being a hellcat, threading the best sets of the day consistently and with ease launching all kinds of big airs and landing them.
Get three beautiful glassy sets, don’t make any of them, smashed into the reef get held down and curse myself to oblivion. Might stop calling myself OZZY WRONG.