Husni was kicked back listening to kookaburras and butcherbirds. It was his first moment of relaxation after a week of perfect waves and blurry parties. The Noosa Festival of Surfing had left its mark and it was finally time to chill. Time to watch a surf film. I passed him my copy of The Innermost Limits of Pure Fun after he told me he’d never seen it before. It felt good to show someone Greenough’s cult classic for the first time.
Before we knew it Ted Spencer was doing his thing at Angourie. Husni recognised the wave instantly. Our surfing appetites were sufficiently aroused. Instead of preventing boredom, the film made us realise how bored we really were. The morning’s channel of relaxation had turned stagnant. Yeh…George Greenough still inspires surfers young and old.
I guess it was inevitable. As soon as Husni saw Angourie he remembered how much he wanted to go there.
“How far is Angourie Harry?”
We packed the car and left. Given the chance to extend his head dip holiday for another couple of days, our friend Mr. Matt Cuddihy joined us for the ride.
We arrived the next morning and Angourie was a flop. It was all lumps and bumps. Breaking wide and too high tide. Nothing like we’d seen in the film (suprise, surprise). So, (as you do when Australia’s north facing points are disfigured) we strolled over the headland and checked the back beach. The grass is always greener… At least it is when you come prepared for the worst. That is to say, with long boards. We ended up having a hell time. The ol’ log saved the day again.
Here’s the photographic proof from Woody Gooch.