Queens

TG, alaia ride at Queens.

Point to Home

Ahh yes, back to those old archive pic's, DB, features again.

city to surf blood

I literally JUST crossed the finish line in my first ever city to surf run, when the guy behinds me trips, and takes me out with him. Bastard never even said sorry.

I have this postcard in my room called 5 minutes before and after life changing events. And I think of it now. Yep last nite I painted my fingernails blood orange (which I never do) to match my hot pink nikes, and new roxy skins in preparation for todays 5:45 am alarm, only to find that much later in one moment Im running the last 10 metres of the 14 kilometres, through the finish line with my Mammo Marchers Team of Three, totally pumped, totally inspired, totally looking forward to the reward of beer and food, full of race camaraderie, team bonding, full of yeew and stoke, smiling to the paparazzi of lenses shooting the finish (so you can buy the picture later), and boom Im on the ground stuck under this 6 ft man and his backpack, people are hovering all over peeling him off me and then next thing I know is that 3 ambos are strapping me in and wheeling me away. 

Oh ssshit I must have fractured my patella, yep I think Ive fractured my patella, sssht cant even stand up let alone weight bare, oh no Im gonna end up in xray at RPA or St Vincent's, nooo dont take me to hospital I was thinking, I've just earnt my beer, I just wanted my beer, just one! Can you drink beer in a hospital, waiting for an xray? Did I get a medal, didn't get my medal, I hadn't even been given my race medal yet. I just completed fourteen kilometres, and I hadnt even taken three steps over the finish line and now Im being wheeled away. Where is my team, oh my poor team, they're here, but they just wanted their beer too.

Turns out I just ripped a lot of skin off my knee (even under my new roxy skins) think carpet burn on asphalt. So sometime later we discharged myself from the first aid tent with fresh supplies of saline and ice, after all I was in the company of a very good radiographer who has dressed worse off patients (or to the contrary, dressings have often been to other injuries to self in the past 12months, ie staph infected spiderbite, deeply sliced fingers requiring suturing on two, aheymmn separate occasions, yes Im always the clumsy one). oh and the ambos turned out to be St Johns First Aid volleys, and we figured we could do a better job. Team bonding again.

Limped off with said team to fight 85'000 others to get ourselves a corona and sausage sandwich (aka hungry jacks burger), medal hanging proudly around my neck. I heart Bondi.

Yes I did take a picture, sick I know, but it is not here because I swear it does not do it justice, as it still feeeeels like my knee cap is no longer attached to my body.

Blue hue interlude

Enjoying, dreaming, drooling and being inspired by Liz Clark's adventures on her Swell voyage. 
This is her pic, of the blue hue that she'll never forget, and it reminds me how I said I'd never forget the difference in the blue of the Mediterranean Sea, to that of the Pacific Ocean. A Brett Whitely kind of blue. How there can be so many shades of navy and equally so many shades of aqua. To contemplate a hue, shade, tone....no choice but to look upward towards a creator more mightier than I.

Really looking forward to some thursday arvo sail sessions again, soon as the twilight starts to kick in.

Oh on another note, a couple of days ago, my letter box was the very happy grateful recipient of a postcard from a different shade of blue in the Canary Islands. Yes, real mail, handwritten, no FB, blog post or email, and Im still smiling. Its one 'for the poolroom' as they say, or for in my humble (no poolroom) home, centrefold front fridge space.

Two

Marcus Watson and Dave Berlach sharing a ride.

Jump start

Tim Godden, jump starting.

Dig deep

Dave Berlach, dances a little.

Dig deep and you might find some lost treasures. As i did when digging thru the archives today, found a few shots of a fun arvo session a few years back one winter plomer....more to come.

To be Twelve

'The golden age of surfing is when you're twelve years old and the days last for fifty hours and every day the surf is glassy and huge and nobody else is out and you catch a hundred perfect rides in a session'.
The Life, Malcolm Knox.


I could take a heap of shots to capture this quote, but somehow, i know deep within, you all carry and hold onto something that resembles, that connects, thats holds onto this feeling, you've felt it at some stage in some form of a way, whether you surf or not. Its yours, keep it, guard it, lock it up, set if free, pass it onto your children, whatever you need...to keep it real.

I was twelve years old in 1991. The war in the middle east had started (as i knew it), and I thought that was it, i was soooo frightened that that was it. Scared out of my wits. But until then all I had known was of back yard national park secret tracks, bush turkey friends, sleeping out caves and the jabawokis that our fathers taunted us with to make us sleep. To be twelve years old again... what would i change, what would you...

Magic Mushrooms

As if by magic, this box of goodness transformed itself into Turkish Gozlemes, market food for the soul, for this years Winter Festival, made with (much) love, by some beautiful friends, Im lucky and grateful to have.

With Grace

Tullia Price, walks and talks and surfs with grace, eloquence, and prowess.