A selection of twelve short and long form stories written for Tracks over the last three years; including Dark Lineage, Standing on the Shoulders of Giants, brief reminiscences, and a series of film reviews.
“Monty Webber’s writing is sharp, soulful and effortlessly fluent — capturing the texture of surf culture with rare honesty and wit. Whether he’s reviewing a film or reflecting on the strange poetry of ocean life and culture, his voice is unmistakable: curious, generous and deeply observant. Monty is someone who’s seen it all — and actually remembers it all. His writing has that rare mix of insight, humour and total fearlessness. Whether diving into surf culture or dropping some unexpectedly deep philosophical gear, you always feel like you’re in good hands. It’s raw, honest, and unmistakably Monty.” Alan White, film producer and director.
People can buy the 150 page book by contacting [email protected] or through Facebook, or you can buy it on Amazon. It’s $20 a copy, $25 including postage anywhere in Australia.
Read a sample story from the book below.
This is the third time in over thirty years that I‘ve written an article for Trackssurfing magazine about the same collection of Tracksmagazines. It’s a never-say-die story that just keeps on giving. Surely it must be the final act in a drama that has played out across three decades. Or maybe not.
It began in the late ‘80s when I got a call from a friend who asked if I still owned my Ute. He needed some help robbing someone who he said had robbed him. “They stole a couple of kilos of hash off me and have done a runner.” He informed me solemnly, as if that somehow justified the crime we were about to commit.
We drove to Kings Cross in my Ute and parked outside a burned-out building that would have blended in perfectly on the front-line of a warzone. Climbing the seven stories of homeless junkies, rotting alcoholics, and twenty-dollar hookers, the smell of faeces and urine were overpowering. My friend expertly dealt with the chain and padlock on the door at the top of the stairs with some bolt cutters.
We emerged from the rancid stairwell into the sun on the roof of the building. Sydney Harbour and the Bridge were fully lit by the brilliant morning sun. An outdoor weightlifting set and some dope plants looked like they’d been abandoned to the elements. I stripped the plants of buds before anyone else had the chance. Old mate broke the door to the penthouse down with a sledgehammer.
Inside we discovered an Aladdin’s cave of junk. There was nothing of any value in there other than a neatly piled collection of Tracks magazines. Foolishly, I told him they were priceless. He looked doubtful. We loaded the TV, stereo and what furniture we could onto my Ute and sold it off to hockshops and second-hands stores, raising a fraction of what he’d lost.
He broke the bad news to me. “Sorry I can’t pay you; I didn’t make enough money. You can keep the Tracks magazines in lieu of payment. You said they were priceless.” Disappointed, as I drove home, I leafed through the beautifully preserved magazines and was transported to another time. They overflowed with stories and photographs from the history of Australian surfing. Early ‘70s surf trips to Bali, Europe, Africa and Hawaii. Captain Goodvibes comics, the hilarious letters to the editor, and so much more.
Inside one of the magazines I found some envelopes. In beautifully written ink-pen they were addressed to Steve Otton. I knew Steve’s name from the surfing world. He was an accomplished photographer and filmmaker. I’d also heard that he was the travelling surf-film projectionist for Paul Witzig back in the ‘60s and 70s and had toured Morning of the Earth.
God only knows what happened to those letters, I sure as hell wasn’t going to contact Steve and tell him I had them. Hell, I thought we’d broken into his place. Anyway, I was so intoxicated by the magazines the letters were all but forgotten.
As I considered the magazines the most valuable thing I owned I boxed them up and rarely ever looked at them. I dragged that collection around with me as I moved, once a year for the next thirty-five years, never even peeling back the packaging tape seal.
Then, a couple of years ago I needed some cash and posted a photo on a buy, swap and sell surfboard collectors Facebook page. It was a 1971 multicoloured 5’2” McTavish twin fin I’d found under someone’s house in Avalon. A collector named Wayne Priestley drove to my place and paid me $300 cash for it. We talked for ages, and I showed him my old Tracks magazine collection. He offered me $200 for them and I greedily snatched the money from his hand.
After Wayne left, I regretted having sold the magazines and rang him and asked him if I could buy them back. “Sorry, I’ve already blended them into my collection in chronological order, I don’t even know which ones were yours.” That’s when I wrote the second article. In it I mention looking on Gumtree and seeing the legendary issue with Michael Peterson on the cover holding a briefcase with ‘MP’ printed on it. It was for sale for $500.
As it happens, Wayne read the second piece I wrote for Tracks about how I regretted selling the magazines. I had already moved again and after only a few days in my new place he turned up at my front door and handed me the Tracks magazine with Michael Peterson on the cover. “I read your article and felt bad for you. Here, you keep this. I’ve got a few of them.”
Then, a few months ago I was sitting at a picnic table at the Yamba Farmer’s Market with my father when a bloke asked us if we minded if he joined us. We introduced ourselves. The bloke told me his name was Steve Otton. He asked me what I did for a living. “Amongst other things, I write for Tracks surfing magazine.” I was hoping he might stick around so I could feel him out and decide whether to tell him what happened to his collection of Tracks magazines back in the ‘80s. “Oh, I used to work for Tracks.” He told us.
I procrastinated for a while, wondering whether I should admit I was one of the people who broke into the penthouse. How would he react? After all, we’d stolen everything of any worth, including the Tracks magazines. As he was getting up to leave, I became concerned that I might never see him again. “I’ve got a story to tell you.” I spluttered. He sat back down and looked at me inquisitively. “He can tell a good story.” Dad confirmed.
Steve and Dad sat in silence as I told them both the story. I described what happened, in chronological order, thankful that we didn’t have any interruptions. They were fascinated by the many twists and turns the collection of magazines had taken. After I’d finished Steve looked at Dad and said something that made us all laugh. “You’re right, he can tell a good story.”
Steve told us that while the Tracks magazines were his, he wasn’t living in the penthouse. “I was moving around a lot and left some of my stuff with a friend. It was a crazy time. The reason I had mint condition issues was because I was involved with Albe and Tracks.” He then broke my heart. “You didn’t keep those letters, did you?” I knew I hadn’t, but wondered why he would care. “They were from my mother. They’re the only thing I wish I still had.” My mother had only just died, so I felt his pain.
I apologised and Steve told me not to worry about it. “It’s a long time ago.” We three talked for a while and I realised we were kindred spirits. Surfing film makers are a different breed. Before Steve left, I asked him if he would accept the Tracks issue Wayne Priestley had recently given me with MP on the cover. I had to laugh at his answer. “No thanks, I’ve already got a couple. I’m a bit of a collector myself.”
I see Steve most Wednesdays at the Farmer’s Market and we’ve become good friends. We often sit together and talk about the old days. Sometimes I wonder aloud whether the story of those surfing magazines has finally reached its conclusion. Unless of course the person who was living in the penthouse finally reads one of the articles I keep writing about them. What then?
