Writer/Traveler/Surfer
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The fabled Bell's Beach point. Photo: Shutterstock

The fabled Bell’s Beach point. Photo: Shutterstock


The Inertia

I grew up surfing the Victorian Coast of Australia. I learned to surf on an 8-foot funboard with an electric-blue bottom and cream-colored deck at Ocean Grove. I spent my summers dodging closeouts at Wye River. Pulling on wetsuits year-round was normal, as cold water was the only water I knew. Booties meant that you didn’t have to come in direct contact with floating kelp.

From Point Lonsdale to Torquay, there wasn’t a single beach break I hadn’t surfed. As a grom I was too much of a novice to brave the reef breaks and I was scared of waves over 3 feet. However, I was usually one of the few surfers under twenty-five in water, which was dominated by grey hair, rotund bellies, and beaten longboards. I remember the lineups being quiet. Dawn patrollers were a hardy bunch who were there to surf and left the yakking to the carpark.

Nearly a decade has passed since then, and I’ve spent the majority of that time living overseas in Los Angeles. I’m home for Christmas, like all good sons should be. It’s summer here, but I’ve arrived during a Victorian cold snap that should transform into a minor heat wave in a few days. There’s an old saying, “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.” I’ve been at the beach for dawn patrol; shivering in the light layers of clothing I thought would be sufficient for a Victorian summer. But the cold isn’t a bother – especially coming from Los Angeles.

Dad let me borrow his ‘88 Volvo that reads 355km on the odometer, but Dad said it broke years ago. The car strangely has five roof racks. My dad bragged that he carried an eight-meter piece of concrete board on it the other day. The radio has been updated and the central locking works, but most other features either malfunction or don’t work at all. But the Volvo runs strong and has ample room in the back for my board, sadly making the five roof racks redundant.

Classic Los Angeles weekend crowd. Photo: Shetler

Classic Los Angeles weekend crowd. Photo: Shetler

Having been exposed to Southern California lineups where competition is fierce and everyone is calling each other off waves, pecking orders are obvious and guarded. Conversely, Victorian lineups are quiet, spread out, and the pecking orders are limited to the assumption to understand that if you don’t know better, you shouldn’t be in the water. A long stare at someone dropping in has about the same effect as an expletive laden rant does at Topanga. Novices are ostracized until they learn. I don’t want to make it sound unfriendly because it isn’t. But there is simply a unique rhythm to surfing here that has taken me a moment to adjust to after surfing elsewhere in the world. And the more surfing I do on this trip, the more juxtaposition in surf culture I see. My own personal surfing culture is so heavily influenced by Victoria’s Surf Coast, where surfing isn’t the white sands and warm waters of Bondi or Snapper Rocks. Here, there aren’t half-naked sunbathers. The natural environment is unforgivingly uncomfortable, but it breeds a sense of belonging and respect. I’ve long enjoyed surfing alone because in Victoria you are never alone. You’re enduring the conditions with everyone else. Everyone is committed to the same goal of riding a decent wave or two before you thaw out and real life takes your day.

Surfing in Victoria isn’t more or less clean and pure than it is anywhere else. This isn’t intended as a comparison. And to be honest, there are better waves elsewhere. But surfing here doesn’t feel like something you do to be better than someone else or to get a shot because someone has his or her camera out. Surfing is simply surfing because it’s fun and grounding. It’s the best reason to get out of bed on a cold morning and not waste your day. I’ll keep making my morning pilgrimage in my Dad’s Volvo to visit those viewing platforms. I’ll be hoping to see the iconic sets wrapping into the Bells bowl. But even if the surf is consistently awful, I’ll feel good knowing that I’m there feeling like I’m a part of the cliffs, wind, and rocks. This is my home.

 
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