These days, the term ‘core lord’ get thrown around loosely. It’s become a buzzword and catch-all label for anyone who wears 21-inch boardshorts, rides a Ben Webb and chooses a straighty or layback over an air reverse. Long before the term found its way back into fashion, there were surfers who truly embodied the meaning of ‘core’.
They existed in every generation. Anti-establishment. Uncompromising. Often misunderstood. They surfed because they couldn’t imagine doing anything else, cared little for trends or public perception, and built reputations simply by doing things their own way. They weren’t trying to become cult heroes, they just became them.
Generations of Core revisits those original characters. Through the pages of the Tracks archives, we’ll look back at the surfers who shaped the culture from the fringes and explore the experiences, decisions and personalities that forged their enduring legacies.
There’s no better place to start than the unstoppable Gary Hughes, who has racked up five decades chasing big wave, women, and raucous rock’n’roll. Check out our profile on him, which featured in Issue 604, below.
Gary Hughes picked up a new clothing sponsor late last year, which is an unusual experience for a lesser known surfer in their late 60s.
Gary has been kicking around town in his bright new threads, and if you look closely, you’ll see he’s featured on some of them. Cronulla label, Shred Gang, have released a Gary Hughes T-Shirt Range featuring classic photos of the underground charger in heroic acts of rebellion and debauchery. There’s Gary and band mates in a ‘borrowed’ police car, and Gary in a plastic trench coat with knickers falling from the sky. True to form, Gary likes them large and loose.
Exactly who is Gary Hughes you might be asking? He goes by many names and aliases: Shave Coat, King Cobra, Fu Manchu, Sexual Dragon, Ruco Banda, and, in the Philippines, King Buto. A pro tour competitor in the 70s, he may not have won a major event, but he did make a strong impression, especially in Hawaii, around Cronulla and at south coast reefs. Decades spent fronting rock bands, managing strippers, packing gigantesco barrels, crashing cars, finishing fights, and hosting sex-crazed parties enhanced the rebel rep. Not one to settle or fade, Gary keeps on charging, defying health and age conventions, like Iggy Pop with a suntan.
What follows is a decade-by-decade overview of just some of the peak moments that have shaped one of Australian surfing’s great characters. Some stories have been altered to avoid the long arm of the law; others probably aren’t suitable for publication and are best heard from the mouth of Ruco himself. Ideally, over a few cold ones at Cobra Castle – his home among gum trees, pythons and goannas at Bluey’s Beach on the mid-north coast. Gary and his Filipino wife Angelica are charming hosts. “Sundays are undies free, and the Church of Suicidal is in full swing,” froths Gazza.
The 70s: Hawaiian head injuries, hospital escapes and hell times
Gary was 18 when he arrived in Hawaii for his first winter, bank-rolled by a newly minted deal with G&S Surfboards. It was October of 1976, and tensions between visiting Australians and the local Hawaiians were heating up. Gary was involved in a “spot of bother” with some Hawaiians while surfing Rocky Point with housemate, Larry Blair. But sour vibes and a broken nose didn’t send him home or slow him down. As that soon-to-be infamous winter would prove, you need a lot to slow Gary Hughes down.
“I took two boards I shaped myself – a 6’5” and a 7’0” – and was gifted a magical 8’0” Tom Parrish Lightning Bolt over there,” he recalls. “I surfed everywhere on the North Shore like there was no tomorrow. Memorable highlights included surfing 25-foot Waimea, getting barreled and sharing a wave inside the legendary Eddie Aikau, some seriously savage Sunset days, and a really big session at Haleiwa”.
A big wave bonfire was lit, and shortly after, nearly snuffed out. Gary’s debut Hawaiian season ended when he very nearly bled to death. He had ruptured his spleen surfing Pipeline and was misdiagnosed with broken ribs by the resident doctor. But the life-threatening underlying issue resulted from a bout of glandular fever that Gary dismissed as just a bad flu. After a day and a half of agony providence intervened. “A medical specialist, who happened to be passing through, took my blood count and as it was dropping so rapidly, they decided to heli me to Queens Medical Centre for emergency surgery.”
The following year – after requalifying for the Hawaiian events – Gary was back on the rock, chasing waves and results. The first big event was The Pro Trials at Sunset Beach. But on the eve of the contest, Gary awoke in excruciating pain. “I was experiencing stomach cramps and bloating so severe I was in agony, bursting blood vessels in my eyes. Suspecting that it was splenectomy-related, I was sent to Queens Medical Centre again, where they administered painkillers and attached a stomach pump, IV tubes, and monitors.”
“Early the next morning, my abdominal distention and pain subsided so I called Contest Director, Bernie Baker. ‘You’re in the next heat so get your arse down here now,’ Bernie advised. I explained what had transpired and asked to be put in a later heat, which he did. When my childhood mate Kevy arrived at Queens with ‘the getaway car’ I had already pulled all the tubes and stomach pump out of me and signed myself out.”
“I arrived at Sunset still in my hospital gown, and with my hospital ID bracelet attached, in the nick of time. After a spoonful of honey from Mark Warren, I paddled out in my heat in 10-12’ perfect Sunset surf. I got the win over highly esteemed luminaries Dennis Pang and Sammy Hawk. In the process, I also snapped a couple of boards including Shaun Tomson’s special 8’ blue gun he’d lent me as a back-up board.”
A few weeks later, Gary was surfing Sunset, when he was struck in the head with a bailed board, fracturing his skull. He was airlifted to hospital, where fragments of bone were removed from his dura, the brain’s tough outer membrane. Not long after he was back in Australia surfing in a Canadian ice hockey helmet. Before the cranioplasty operation that replaced part of his skull with a titanium alloy plate Gary was able to impress chicks at parties by his ability to literally flex his brain.
The 80s: Sex and drugs and rock and roll
Gary would dress flamboyantly or barely at all in the 80s. Some nights he’d be shirtless and in leather pants, sporting a mohawk and a hooped pirate earing, howling vocals from a beer-soaked stage. Or else he’d be accompanied by a gaggle of exotic strippers in school uniforms. Other nights, Gary might head up to Kings Cross with a briefcase, a samurai sword, and his trusty shepherd/cattle dog, Rebel. “I’d leave Rebel out front, check the sword in at the door, and the briefcase would go to a backroom.”
The 80s was the start of what Gary calls: “His long and luscious association with Penthouse pets, Playboy centerfolds, and unbelievably enormous amounts of sex, drugs and rock n roll.” It started with Donna Lea Turner, a Penthouse centerfold who became Gary’s fiancé, after a wild engagement party with 600 attendees, 100 of whom were naked. “After Donna, I had a long succession of Playboy and Penthouse girlfriends. Some were one-night stands, some I lived with, some were part of threesomes or foursomes,” Gary recalls fondly.
Gazza was doing some modelling at the time but had many other jobs: garbo, doorman, musician, aerobics instructor, labourer, nightclub manager. He backed away from surf comps but still got some great photos in the surf mags – including a Tracks cover – and charged Cronulla Point, Shark Island, and the Voodoo reefs whenever the swell was up. For six years he took a troupe of strippers on profitable road trips up and down the coast to titillate regional Australia. But managing strippers while dating one or several of them became a bit of a nightmare. At one point, a jealous Pet bit a hole in Gary’s cheek while he was performing on stage with his band, Silent Types.
Violence was never far away in the 80s – especially around The Shire. “There’d be a fight in the water virtually every day at Cronulla Point. I’d be in at least one every couple of weeks,” Gaz recalls. While he rarely started a blue, Gary had a knack for attracting violence. Dressing flamboyantly and being such a successful sexual dragon meant certain blokes wanted to punch the shit out of him. He had two pairs of leather pants from bondage mistress Madam Lash at that time, a black pair and a pink pair. Sometimes he’d surf in his leathers to wash off the blood and ciggie stink from the previous night’s debauchery. But more often he’d simply surf in his trusty ‘sluggos’.
The party program meant Gaz didn’t sleep much all decade. His late-night ‘friends in high places’ included rock stars, roadies, promoters, dealers, super models, biker gangs, skinheads, and a colourful assortment of underworld types. Gary is choosing his words carefully when he says there was “Lots of unprosecuted criminality and episodes of extreme violence” in the scene at that time.
The 90s: Moving, Building, Crashing, Rocking
“So one fine morning I’m squizzed up in my business suit and driving my van to the District Court in Sydney. I’m motoring along the highway when I spy a pretty girl sitting in the bus stop in a mini-skirt, and the next instant I smash into a parked car at full speed…” Gary and cars go together like abalone and caramel ice cream. He’s written off 19 of the 21 cars he’s owned (plus two of his dad’s vehicles). The above court visit was about an earlier head-on in which Gary had written off a different van. And while he’s never killed anyone on the road, the day Gary Hughes’ driver’s license was permanently cancelled in 2006, was undoubtedly a good day for NSW road users.
By the early 90s Gary was a snake shedding his Cronulla skin and growing a new one in Pacific Palms, on the NSW mid-north coast. His parents had already moved up, buying the Bungwahl store in the 80s, when Gary sold his Cronulla flat and bought a share in the family’s 100-acre bush block at Shallow Bay. He was driving (and crashing) a series of used vans at the time. The vans had plenty of room for musical instruments, surfboards, band members, stashes, and strippers. But Gary found another purpose for all that room.
“I was playing lots of gigs in Sydney with No Return in the early 90s. We’d finish late and I’d still be pretty wired, so I’d drive up the coast and fill the van with building materials I’d find at various locations along the way.” The lack of a builder, bank loan, relevant qualifications, or pesky council approvals wasn’t going to keep Gary from home ownership. Over four years, between rock gigs and south swells, he, brother Deano and some mates drank some beers, smoked countless bongs and built a double-story, off-grid home using repurposed timbers, milled trees and on-site rocks. Total cost of construction: just over three grand (not counting beer).
Gary’s involvement in the rock scene peaked in the 90s with the raucous five-piece, No Return. But it was a Radio Birdman gig at the Balmain Town Hall way back in 1976 that lit the flame. “They were playing upstairs. I remember that ‘cause there were people rolling down the stairs, spewing everywhere as we walked in,” he recalls. “Inside the crowd was jumping up and down, po-going. A couple of my mates were so stoned they left immediately. Rob Younger, the band’s singer, became a friend, but that night was wild. Birdman just had so much energy. It changed my life. I remember thinking: fuck, this is where it’s at, you know.”
Gary fronted various bands throughout the 80s. The Mongrels and DV8 played raw punk but his next band, Silent Types, were more polished and produced an EP and an MTV video. Gary was a natural frontman and kept getting gigs and offers. Gary Hughes Charm School, his next band, purchased their own PA and played countless shows across Sydney in the thriving pub rock scene. But No Return, his last touring band, had the most form – recording several albums and drawing crowds in the emerging grunge era. “No Return were state of the art and the best rock band I played with,” enthuses Gary. Later in the 90s he was in another band called Growth and he still writes songs today. ‘Ladies Love Outlaws,’ is a recent offering.
The 2000s: Mexicano Madness
Gary liked Mexico City right away. Fresh off the plane from LA and sleep-deprived, it didn’t take him long to track down an assortment of up-for-it party people. “I ended up in a raucous street party. Everyone was high and I looked around and madmen were running around the streets chasing people with knives, bins and cars were getting burned up, people were peeping out of doors, dogs were barking, guns were popping off and I thought: oh, wow, this is my kind of town,” recalls Gary.
When he first clapped eyes on Puerto Escondido, the surf was 20 foot and onshore, and Gary hadn’t slept for days. “The next day, it dropped to 15-20-foot and was offshore and clean as a whistle. I was surfing in a pair of op shop basketball shorts, had no tan, and a little tuft of hair. Everyone thought I would get worked, but my first wave was a big right and I got a nice pocket ride and a standing ovation when I made it to the sand. But on my second wave – a left – I went over the falls three times. I had to swim to the boat harbour, a mile down the beach, to make it to shore.”
It was 1997 when Gary found his death-or-glory big wave nirvana. He would return to Puerto Escondido 15 times over the next two and a half decades and ride many of the biggest waves of his life. Waves in the 20-foot-plus range. He’d stay for weeks and then months until it became his winter home in the 2000s. The local surfers clocked him as purebred mad dog and embraced him. They had their own name for the wild Australian – Ruco Banda – which Gary has tattooed across his chest in large gothic font. Local slang, it means ‘oldie but a goodie’ or ‘crazy old motherfucker’.
“The hotel I stay at in Puerto – Beach Hotel Innes – is where lots of good parties go down. On this particular night I was asleep, but these gorgeous Aussie ladies kept knocking at my door, inducing me to join the party. Eventually, I went down – under duress – and could see about 100 people hanging at the pool bar. So, I dropped my towel, did a little run and launched into the air. But as soon as I took off, I could see there was virtually no water in the pool – it had been drained. Somehow, I sort of skimmed on my belly and didn’t get a single graze. Astonishment turned to laughter when everyone could see I was OK. Many drinks and some nude frivolity ensued.”
“At some point, Oscar Moncada, who was the best surfer in Mexico at the time, comes up to me and says if I don’t get the Ruco Banda tatted on my chest I’m a pussy. We were having a raging big fun time and he was nude at the time and sitting on my lap. I said, mate I’m an Aussie, I’m not a pussy. So the next day I went to the local tattoo studio and got it done.”
2010- 2025: Gary Cares a Lot
Gary’s an early riser and an afternoon drinker. He’ll pump soft-sand laps of Boomerang Beach at sunrise, and surf all morning if the waves are good. Good means big for Gary, who likes it as large as the east coast can deliver. Plenty of days it’ll be just Ruco and a few hardy locals dodging shape-shifting peaks way outside at the south end. War wounds and an aging body have cruelled his success rate, but he still throws himself over the mountain ledge. During Cyclone Alfred, he rode the longest wave he’s ever had at Boomers.
Afternoons are for drinking beer. “I try to stick to four or maybe six, sometimes seven… plus some wine, and I do love a tequila or two. But I don’t party much anymore – except for the occasional bender.” Not having a car and having to ride everywhere has kept Gary fit and taut. He’s the local snake catcher too, which keeps his adrenal system in shape. “Picking up a brown snake is not unlike riding a big wave – that dynamic, invigorating rush!” he froths.
His main gig for the last 28 years has been the Gary Hughes Surf School, which he markets with the tagline: “I care a lot!” That’s the other thing about Gary – he really does care a lot. About wobbly students buzzing on their first green wall. Local shredders winning amateur comps. War vets battling their PTSD in the ocean. Disabled surfers having a crack. The local boardrider’s ongoing success and his own presidency of 18 years. He cares about fund-raising events for mental health and inter-club comps. About snakes and embracing adrenalin, adventure and new experiences. About growth.
Late last year, Boomerang Boardriders honoured Gary’s contribution to the local surf community in a big way. The perpetual trophy for the Men’s Open Champion is now a much-coveted bust of Gary’s unmissable head. At the annual prezo, a Gary Hughes tribute video screened featuring congratulatory commentary from a long list of A-list surf stars: Tom Carroll, Mark Occhilupo, Richard Marsh, Beau Emerton, and Brenden Margieson, to name a few. “He was always going a million miles an hour, probably still is,” laughs Occy at one point.
In truth, he’s probably slowed down a bit – due to injuries – but last time he was clocked, Gazza is still moving through life at around 900,000 miles an hour. Currently, he’s contemplating selling the surf school and maybe moving to a wave-rich, crowd-free island in the Philippines, home of his wife Angelica. Who knows what he’ll get up to when he grows his next snakeskin, but you can bet it won’t be a conventional golf and slippers retirement.
One last story and then some words of wisdom to finish. Back in the 80s while surfing his local, Cronulla Point, Gary was dropped in on and speared by a random interloper. Gary exploded in rage and punched the shit out of the hapless surfer, knocking him out cold. Gary then rescued the unconscious surfer, got him to shore, put him in the recovery position, and waited for him to gain consciousness so he could apologise and explain about the hole in his skull. Fists of steel and a heart of gold, has Gary.
Here’s how he sums up his unique outlook on life. “I guess I was just fortunate by falling on my feet so many times, and not only for my survival…. Life-threatening events and serious injuries do wonders for a grounded philosophy, one’s character, and for an adventurous outlook when approaching ‘new sensations’. Also, for avoiding jail time. More important is my eternal and wholesome gratitude for life, respect for all creatures’ great and small and for Mother Nature.” .
But when all else’s fails, Gary returns to his golden rule: “Rock out with yer cock out!”
