I found myself in Byron again on the weekend. I went for three days and stayed for a week. My feet lagged slightly behind my body, heavy with the build up of dirt and water on my badly designed shoes, eyes peeled in the darkness, a twitch of panic in my stomach, searching for the back of a head I had just lost sight of in the 40 000 thick crowd carrying me. Splendour in the Grass was ridiculous. In the end I didn’t even care about the grindy echoes of Tame Impala or too much

A kid got bumped off his ski by a shark in Burleigh yesterday and his mum was the only one that noticed. He left the water unscathed and no one cared because Mick Fanning, in a showdown with fellow Aussie Julian Wilson, got into a punch up with a shark and won on live TV. In the final of the Jbay Open. You could not have scripted this shit. The contest started well earlier in the week, but after what felt like one million lay days and a couple of half arsed attempts by the So

Two hours into a ten hour drive to Sydney we decided to head an extra day up the coast to the famous tropical hipster land of Byron Bay. Byron is this intoxicating blend of bearded, long-haired people publicly announcing their alternativeness, driving vans full of unusual shaped singlefin boards, German backpackers and dudes that moved here back in the day to live in a commune and escape the mainstream condemnation of their spirit. Now lingering in the hinterland of Bangalow

I touched down in Bali at one in the morning. A small guy, probably called Made, flagged me down and drove me into the wet streets of Denpasar and eventually a dark complex somewhere vaguely near Dreamlands. I was greeted in the driveway by Renet, Plettenberg bay native and stewardess of international waters and Melanie, Spanish surfer babe and longtime resident of Tofo, Mozambique. I didn’t really want to be in Indo. To be frank. There were a gazzilion other destinations wit

I finished my two weeks in Indonesia in a fish market sitting at a crooked wooden table. A table covered in a vast selection of seafood – oceanic delicacies that would break the bank back home. The husky sounds of a tanned South African guy’s voice fades in and out of the conversations, the other Saffas at the table tapping and singing intermittently. I had that overwhelming sense of belonging again. Familiar, remnant of the time I spent in Mozambique. I didn’t care if I miss

That weighted scent of incense as you step of the plane, Hot and heavy on your skin. Voices either side, ‘taxi’ ‘taxi’ Unmistakeable. Addictive. Welcome to Bali. I’m flying on Saturday. I got flights so cheap that I couldn’t say no. I’ll be meeting some friends from Africa that I cannot wait to see. They’re already there, frothing out, going to parties on the cliffs of Uluwatu. It took only three months for my feet to get so itchy I had to get back into the chaos of third wor

It seems appropriate, that on the last lay day of the Ripcurl Pro Larry the Llama has been found. In the hands of God. After a sex change and a new alias ‘Tina’. The only real reason anyone from the Bells Beach area actually likes the pro coming to town is the hordes of ridiculously good-looking people that make themselves at home in particular locations at particular times. Like six thirty in the afternoon in the fresh produce section of Safeway, nine thirty in the morning a

Easter is upon us. Tomorrow is the kick off for the oldest surf event in the world; the classic, memorable and ever freezing Ripcurl Pro. Along with the drastic escalation of talent on tinder, our windy paradise has been flooded with surf industry egos and dudes in their “50 years of Bells Beach Pro” jackets worn to bluntly announce their local status. That they were in the first event. Or built the great ocean road with their bare hands. And if not them, then their father.

Choosing between surfing and friends is like choosing between drinking and eating. Going without either will kill you. One just quicker than the other. The thing about friendship, the way I see it, is that it is a relationship based on a mutual desire for the other to have a good life. This is a holistic care; supporting when they are fragile, laughing with, crying with, and sharing the pieces of yourself that make you whole. The thing about surfing, the way I see it, is that

I fell in love with Jbay the moment I locked my stare on the flawlessly groomed lines hitting the point above super tubes and reeling without hesitation for hundreds of meters beyond where I could see. I fell in love when the turquoise aqua gleam of the sky and the sea was lost to the horizon, all becoming one with the perfect winters day. I fell in love when three boys, a quiet one with a soft sense of humour, one with noodle hair a gentle demeanor and the other with wide ey