Come meet Whitewash Warrior, Barrel Queen, Biggest Stoke and Biggest Kahunas!
How easy it is to be all jaded, waking up in the morning with the cup half full, sarcastically sniping this and that. It is the easiest thing of all and sometimes I forget the youthful passions of surf. The way a set on the horizon jolts the heart, the way a fresh bar of wax can transport a crusty soul into the ether.
Could we all make our New Year’s Resolution early? And have the resolution be that we’ll approach surfing in 2019 like new mothers in Perth, Australia? Let’s read about them!
“It’s euphoric. I feel totally relaxed and at complete peace with the world. I feel empowered,” says Claire Romea-Gorton, 10 years after she took an iconic Aussie male activity and shook it out like a sandy beach towel.
Today, 84 like-minded mums (and the odd welcome dad) are giving it a vigorous shake as they gather regularly on the Perth coast to surf and follow the ancient concept of using the whole village to raise their children. The feisty women, with salt water in their veins, sea breezes in their hair and passion in their hearts, are a proud tribe, one which offers strength and comfort as they bond together in a unity that is highly infectious, as well as palpable.
Stumble across the group of women frolicking with toddlers in the sand at Trigg, and at first glance they appear to be waiting patiently, Puberty Blues-style, for their surfer dudes, 100m offshore, shredding the early- morning waves.
However, when the exhilarated “dudes” come ashore, tossing their long wet hair, smiling from ear to ear and greeting their kids, they turn out to be bikini-wearing wahines nicknamed Whitewash Warrior, Barrel Queen, Biggest Stoke and Biggest Kahunas.
Some are in the advanced stages of pregnancy and some are still breastfeeding. All are pumped to the point of ecstasy and appear to be talking in tongues. “I’m stoked.” “Your drop was epic.” “You looked awesome out there.” “That was one sick wave.”
Their tribe is called Surfing Mums, the peak body for surfing families across Australia.
You must finish the rest of this story here but before I forget, I had a dream that Derek, Steve Shearer and I were fishing off the back of a boat last night. Nick Carroll may have been there too. It was all standard fare, surf chat stuff. Steve was impressed that I could cast and I even hooked something. The boat swung wide, my fish swam straight still on the line. It must have been a place like Thailand where there are floating docks everywhere because Steve and I got off the boat and followed the line through the water, me still holding the pole, and discovered that it went into a little shack. “Oh no…” Steve told me. It looks like the Bra Boys got your fish. That’s their cooking shack. I wanted to see what kind of fish it was so knocked politely on the door. It was answered, moments later, by a tattooed toothless man with a shaved head. I said, “I know you have my fish and that’s ok. Finders keepers etc. but could I just see it?” He nodded and walked me into the cramped space overflowing with pots and pans. I saw my fish there and it was hideous, like one of those monsters from the deep. I thanked him and left.
What does this dream mean?
And what is your new surf nickname going to be? I choose Ouch My Shoulder.
