Pulling into the Kirra car park, we obsess over Big Groyne Kirra pumping in late February of 1975. Max Bowman and I had driven up from Byron Bay.
Walking out to the point, Michael Peterson called out from his white van inviting us over. Max had never met MP, so I felt privileged to introduce the pair of legends to each other. Now we were suitably primed up and ready to go.
By the time we arrive in the lineup, MP was already out there and whistling down anyone who threatened to drop in. We could only marvel at his intimate tube riding technique together with his paddling skills motoring out wide of the pack and looking back over his shoulder with that ‘King of Kirra’ grin.
MP had already notched up a big win at Pa Bendall earlier that month, won the State title and his confidence was running at an all-time high. Michael would be hard to beat at Bells I thought.
Meanwhile, on the same day that we scored Kirra, I had to attend a wedding at Bangalow. My Mum was getting married to a big bloke who was six months older than me, and I was best man. We were both 22. After the reception, I told my Mum that I was travelling to Mildura to pick grapes and save up to fund my trip to the Bells contest.
“Good idea son, Wayne (my new father-in-law) and I don’t have plans for a honeymoon so we will join you,” my mum said.
I was given the cushy job of driving the tractor down the vine isles as the pickers loaded up the back trailer with boxes of grapes. The farm owner took an immediate dislike to the newlyweds, and it was only a matter of time before it blew up.
Wayne was an imposing fellow with a huge frame, had played rugby as a front row forward, worked on the Maritime Union waterfront and was a writer/poet. We shared a common interest in Jim Morrison, lead singer of The Doors, especially ‘This is the End’, which was one of our favourite songs.
After being treated poorly by the farmer & his wife, Wayne retorted with theatrical oratory aplomb that would have made Jim proud.
I tried to mediate but to no avail as the farmer attempted a big swing at Wayne who ducked and launched a huge hay maker that sent him flying off the verandah into a nearby trough basin.
As we raced down the driveway to make our getaway, we were met by a police car with flashing lights at the front gates.
Preparing to plead our case the head copper stated, ‘Get in the car and we will take you to the railway station and you can board a train back to Melbourne – there will be no charges.’ Apparently, the farmer had a history of run ins with his workers, the last complainant tried to knife him.
Our next stop would be St Kilda where Mum scored a job as a florist in uptown Torak and Wayne worked for the wool packers union at South Melbourne. Mushroom Records was just around the corner where we set up our new digs. One morning on a neighbourhood jog, I encountered Shirley, aka Graham Strachan, lead singer of the Skyhooks who announced the band had just released its first album, ‘Living in the 70s.’
Mum and Wayne drove to Bells for the annual Easter Bells event in our recently fixed long wheelbase Land Rover just in time for my opening heat, thanks to a win on the greyhounds. Mum had cooked up her special Rabbit stew brew, which Rabbit Bartholomew loved.
The Rip Curl Bells comp was in its third year of professionalism, using the George Downing objective scoring system ‘points for manoeuvres’ and a three-round format. I was on a roll after the opening round in number two position but by the third and final round I had a bad heat and fallen down the ladder to finish ninth, earning myself $130.00.
Geoff McCoy summoned up his supporters and those wishing to beat MP. He tried valiantly to devise a strategy to out fox the fox – it proved woefully unsuccessful.
MP staged a second-round comeback and took an unassailable lead in the final round over Shaun Tomson of South Africa.
At the beach presentation MP was nowhere to be seen as Keith Paul of Harmony Surfboards offered to accept the first-place prize money in a satirical gesture.
Organisers were forced to stage a night-time TV media presentation at the Torquay Hotel. The entry form stated if you were not at the presentation you would have to forfeit any prizemoney. MP, resplendent in his green leather jacket and looking like a Michael Hutchence rock star, accepted the winning cheque of $1,500 and while on stage, he said:
“Everyone surfed really well but I just surfed better.”
