Words – Jake Vincent
Photography – Ryan Jones
Surfing – Jack Staley & Jake Vincent
Photographer Ryan Jones and I had caught wind of a mystical right-hand point break hours north of Noosa. A sand bottom point break in a town where Australian bush meets the European back packer scene. A wave begging to be bunny hopped by yours truly.
When Australia’s East coast started getting belted by fearsome east swells we knew the time had come to chase the elusive dragon that is Agnes Water. After trying to convince every friend we had to dodge the outrageously aggressive ground swells on offer to seek shelter within the Great Barrier Reef we were running low on surf buddies. We were being not so respectfully declined time and time again by fellow short boarding friends who were looking to beat they’re masculine chests and face the east swell head to head. We turned to our long boarding friends, first cast we had a bite and hooked our good mate Jack Staley. Convincing him that we must leave Noosa at once for the swell will definitely be too big and the infamous crowds heightened to an all time peak in population by the Noosa Festival of Surfing.
Before we knew it we were stopping for a piss stop and feed in Gympie, an old town once famous for gold now famous for ice. 4 hours after that we were chasing our tail lost down what we thought was a shortcut and perhaps somewhere a bit more appropriate to roll out our swags than in town itself. As Ryan’s eyes grew heavier and heavier driving down dusty dirt roads a beautiful grassy clearing within the rugged bush revealed itself. However with tired eyes and a bottle of wine shared between the passengers we failed to realise that our grass clearing under the eucalyptus canopy was actually somebodies front yard. In fact, we didn’t piece the puzzle together until we awoke to Chopper Reid and his less than impressed wife at the crack of dawn. They informed us that this was in fact they’re property and if we don’t leave immediately our arses would be fed to us for breakfast. Who said being a small wave surfer was safe?
Once we were sure we had lost Chopper, we refocused on our mission and just as we started to doubt ourselves and the tales we had heard we arrived.
It was beautiful. Everything we had imagined. Perfect right-handers rolling down the point happily shared in unity between a handful of bushmen and back packers. Not a drop of water out of place, not an inch over two foot. We couldn’t have been further from Coolangatta’s highly wave hungry line up and the corporate sponsor stickers that cloak they’re surfboards. We surfed for hours sharing waves with the friendly locals, who were blown away by the 5’9 channel bottom diamond tail surfboard I was riding. Jack’s extremely short shorts he opted to surf in allowed him to receive a healthy tan upon his upper thighs which boosted his confidence as he gracefully danced up and down the deck of his long board turning the heads of the wicked campers who were taking a surf class in the white wash. We befriended the mayor of the town ‘Johnny Oyster’ who informed us of a $10 bacon n’ egg roll and coffee deal that was available within walking distance so we hastily made our way to the cafe and indulged. I could feel the homemade relish fuelling my exhausted body preparing me for the second session. As I applied wax to my board in the early afternoon heat I was already looking forward to the XXXX Gold tin that I would be pressing my lips against when I returned to the shore upon sunset. This was a day that Jack, Ryan and myself would not be forgetting anytime soon.