"Fuck off with your shit board and crap wetty and go surf Broken Head with Rasta and the rest of those pussies."

In this time of apocalyptic-pandemic lockdowns and isolationism, surfers in northern NW are returning to heights of tribalism not seen in decades.

Biblical connotations present themselves at every turn. Amid public outrage as the Australian cardinal George Pell walks free threats of mid-session baptisms are on the rise.

I should know.

I narrowly avoided one last week at one of Australia’s premier point breaks.

Admittedly, I sinned.

Over excited, I paddled straight to an outside take off the spot and sat five metres deep of everyone.

“Do you always paddle straight to the inside at a new spot mate?”

He is sitting there half-sunken – tattooed and snarling – like a wild and bronzed deity.

“No,” I say, stunned and fearful.

There is a terribly awkward stillness in the ocean.

Silence in the chasm between us.

People are watching in wonder.

I can feel myself becoming part of this week’s carpark folklore. The latest blow-in to get called out by the enforcer. I’m thinking all this while I stare out at the serene ocean awaiting his next remark.

Then he lays it on me.

“Where you from?”

“Mullum.”

He doesn’t like that.

Doesn’t like that at all.

“Well fuck off back to Byron and don’t come back to this shire.”

It’s an improbable request.

Am I simply being subjected to a verbal territorial ritual that will run its course without incident?

Or am I quite literally about to be punched in the head?

Now he’s paddling right at me.

Parting the waters like a fuckin’ P&O cruiser with his white-blonde hair and his huge back.

Then he sits up and we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder.

Social distancing is all but out the window and I’m thinking this guy better not have COVID, but I don’t say anything.

I just look at the two stars I can see tattooed on his chest and the outline of Australia underneath his armpit and his head.

Now he’s looking straight at me

“Are you not fuckin listening cunt? FUCK OFF. GO IN.”

I hold my ground because like him my whole identity, my manhood, my honour, hinges on the way this situation is going to unfold.

What would it be like to live with the fact that you were sent in? Not in Hawaii after a fatal error but here in sunny Australia surfing a three-foot pointbreak.

What would it be like to be told to leave the ocean by another man and obey?

Is there ever any coming back from that?

I tell him

“I’m gonna get a wave here then after that I’ll sit down the point and we don’t need to know about each other.”

By my judgement it’s sensible compromise. I

don’t really want to get decked by this guy but there’s also no way I’m paddling in.

That’s not happening.

What is he going to do?

What am I going to do?

When is a wave going to pop up and interrupt this masculine stalemate?

Then it happens. A wave does pop up and the enforcer is forced to choose.

Dopamine or testosterone?

Surf the wave or show me the strangle-hold.

He goes.

Last year some guy paddled past the enforcer on a pink fish wearing a front-zip vest and was instructed to fuck off with his “shit board and crap wetty and go surf Broken Head with Rasta and the rest of those pussies.”

I’m left out there in the stillness remembering a story.

A story I was told by a credible source. Last year some guy paddled past the enforcer on a pink fish wearing a front-zip vest and was instructed to fuck off with his “shit board and crap wetty and go surf Broken Head with Rasta and the rest of those pussies.”

Not a bad line, I’m thinking to myself.

By the time I emerge from this little reverie the enforcer is steaming back out through the lineup with his eyes locked on me.

This time, god is on my side.

A set pops up and I go, and I leave it all behind.

Two days later, I am sent (via social media) information about another enforcer-incident. He has sent out a public warning message to the people of QLD and the Byron Shire to stay away from his local until this virus-nightmare is over.

It appears his hostility was part of a righteous, if not virtuous, COVID-19 crowd thinning campaign.

After all this many questions remain unanswered.

Is the man a genius or a fool?

Is he the only one seeing this public health scare for the opportunity it is?

Should we all reclaim the territories we were born to defend?

Should we revert to old-school localism under the guise of sensible social distancing?

Or is COVID 19 being exploited in the name of unjust and unruly behaviour?

Are we witnessing a return to natural order or a descent into out-dated brutality?

In this volatile time when even democracy, the very fabric of our civility, seems to be in a state of uncertainty let all have an equal say.

The hardened enforcer. The friendly visitor. The bemused tourist. The kook. The pro.

Comment below.

So throw the poor bastards a shekel or two…

The crew at Joyos Surf Camp at G-land were getting ready for a good year, nay a great year.

First, they had the Surfing Doctors Conference lined up.

Every year the Surfing Doctors – a group of medical professionals who surf – head out to G-Land for their conference. They have some classes and lectures, they do benevolent health checks on the staff at Joyos, they discuss various CPR methods, and remote medical emergencies etc.

Tthey surf and charge out at G-land; they drink some beer and they unwind.

They also leave behind a well-stocked infirmary for the next round of doctors who do shifts at the camp.

They sometimes leave behind a few presents and a few tips for the staff.

Second, they had a WSL contest for the first time in a quarter of a century. There were roads built from Banyuwangi, and there were giant cables laid alongside these new roads for massive data transmissions.

New buildings went up, the helipad cleared of weeds, and things were beefing up for the massive onslaught.

Then COVID marched into town.

Indonesia was one of the last countries to start posting numbers, and it was way behind the curve on this dashboard, but COVID-19 was in Singapore, so it was just a matter of time.

It suddenly jumped, and now Indo is sitting at 7135 infections, while Australia is sitting on 6547.

As it hit, everyone started bailing from Indonesia and the Alas Purwo National Park, in which G-land sits, was closed down.

The Surfing Doctors had to cancel their conference.

They had members from all over the world working on the frontline across the world.

They had some of the inside scoops and knew that their conference, planned for May, was not going to happen.

At pretty much the same time, the WSL decided that the first half of the year was down the tube.

They pulled out of all events up to and including G-Land.

It was a shock, and a bummer, and is only going to get worse when they pull out of the rest of the year’s events, which is definitely going to happen. The WSL is pretty much as risk-averse as they come.

So, the crew at Joyos Camp at G-land have lost all their income.

They have lost the associated benefits that come with the Surfing Doctors conference and the benefits that were coming their way from the WSL.

For those of you that know the crew at Joyos or have spent time there, please donate to the fund started by Nick Gibbs.

As little as ten Australian dollars would be a bonus, and you get some free Surfyogis zinc in the process.

The Surfing Doctors have thrown some coin at it, as a group and as individuals, which is good to see.

The WSL, meanwhile, is throwing their money at the very exciting and cutting-edge Homebreak Challenge.

It is another one of their entities that people around the world are apparently consuming in large quantities, along no doubt with booze and meth in equally copious amounts as they deal with the boredom of lockdowns.

If you want to contribute to the Joyos Surf Camp fund – here.

If you are a doctor or a medical professional (paramedic, nurse etc.) and you want to join the crew of classic surfing doctors, here or here

If you want to get involved with the WSL Home Break Challenge and possibly make $2,500 or more –here.

"I can't help feeling a little frisson of excitement at Kelly sticking it to the man."

Richmond Police precinct encompasses many small towns and hamlets in sub-tropical NSW, including the surf destination of Lennox Head, where I reside.

With the sich here being one of open beaches and pumping surf a lot of interlopers have been keen to test the will of the local constabulary in terms of enforcing the Corona virus travel restrictions.

Sunday afternoon, the kind of glorious autumn afternoon with head-high point surf that surf cats dribble over, two of NSW’s finest approached me in the carpark.

“Where do you live?”

Luckily, I was able to point over the hill and reply “right there”.

That was a satisfactory answer for the boys in blue to allow an unmolested shred.

Others did not have their paperwork in order.

My pal Mark Purser, a yoga teacher from Byron Bay, had a threatening letter from the Richmond police on the windscreen.

Taylor Miller, surfer and daughter of legend Rusty Miller, likewise copped a warning. Her sister was verbally sent home without a go-out.

Fines were dished out, as well as the warning notices.

In the water, CT wildcarder and Italian super-stud Leo Fioravanti tried to put a little hustle on me.

With the police on my side (for once), I felt emboldened to resist the young stud’s advance and return the favour.

He also got the warning note on the windscreen.

“How the fuck are you making money with no comps?” I asked him later in the top carpark.

“Sponsors,” he said.

“So, no money from the WSL at all?”

“Well, they cashed us out for last place for Snapper because it was cancelled, but the rest of the Aussie leg is postponed, so no prizemoney.”

“Ah, so that’s why they postponed it… so they wouldn’t be liable for prizemonies.”

Ten grand for last place, in case you were wondering.

Not a bad earn for a cancelled contest.

Leo ain’t the only pro who’s been knifing it down here for a strike mission.

Kelly Slater showed up, presumably with some kind of paperwork to get back across the closed Queensland border. Got himself involved in a little discrepancy with one of the local grommets which was sorted out via social media, nothing to report there except an offer to share a surf session in Hawaii with one of the local gromesses.

I got the boss cop on the phone to explain the policing.

Detective Chief Inspector Cameron Lindsay is a no bullshit old-school D and very handy on the shred.

Definitely no VAL. He’s a man you want to have on your side.

He told me we were blessed to keep beaches open for our much needed physical and mental health.

Yes, I said, very much so.

It’s about limiting non-essential travel, he told me.

“Travelling from Coolangatta to Lennox head to chase better surf is not essential,” he said, “although I appreciate some people might find it essential.”

You hear that Kelly?

He also notified our local Corona virus hot spot as Byron Bay, which justifies the ticketing of surfers from that area who might consider themselves local.

I don’t know, that one might not stack up in court.

When offered a chance to address Kelly and Leo directly Detective Lindsay was, ah, forthright.

“Consider if that travel is essential. Chasing better surf is not essential. Consider local surfers in that area by complying with the direction. We don’t want it to end up like in America or Europe where Kelly and Leo are from with closed beaches. You’d expect they would be setting an example as leaders.”

Whoa, Kelly on the wrong side of the law.

How do you see him now?

Hero or villain?

I would like a bob each way.

I’m very proud of our top cop and the way they are managing this, as are most local crew, but can’t help feeling a little frisson of excitement at Kelly sticking it to the man.

Kelly if you do end up with a notice to appear in court I will appear as a character witness and/or legal adviser gratis.

I have a novel legal defence in mind.

In the meantime, a lower profile may be in your best interests.

You’re welcome.