Malibu Surfing Stories by Robert Feigel


Bob - now in New Zealand

Bob's Book

email - bob

Senior Citizens - Radio Memories - Topanga Surf Scenes - Malibu etc. - Surfer's Stories & Parties - HOME

email - tmcb

From the Golden Years

The Third Annual Malibu Invitational - 1964
© 1999 Robert Feigel


LBJ is here to stay, along with an escalating war in Viet Nam. Gas goes up to 30 cents a gallon and an English pop band called the Beatles appears on the Ed Sullivan Show. Most of California's current population is yet to be born (or migrate from God knows where), and tobacco smokers can still light-up without being treated like lepers by self-righteous legions of rabid smog-junkies.

In 1964 development continues to transform the San Fernando Valley into a vast, flat Midwest suburb, while citrus, beans and pickup trucks reign unchallenged in Oxnard and Ventura. Further down the coast, Santa Monica officials join with oil companies to promote plans for an offshore 'causeway' that will stretch across the bay from Ocean Park to Point Mugu and destroy every surf spot in-between, including Malibu.

Malibu still retains the fading charm of a sleepy coastal village, with just one traffic light between Topanga Canyon and Oxnard. There are no universities, no big shopping centers, no exclusive tennis clubs, no civic complex, little crime and even less pollution. It is yet to become 'The Valley's Swimming Pool' and, except for the odd summer weekend, you still can still walk across the PCH without risking your life. Longboards rule, leashes haven't been invented and shortboards are still in the experimental stage. But, as Bob Dylan warns in his 1964 hit, "The times they are a-changin'."

When KHJ-TV approached the MSA about televising the Third Annual Invitational Contest it represented a huge challenge. Until now, only the occasional surfing event had enjoyed brief television coverage. This would be the first time that a major contest would be the focus of a ninety minute 'Television Special' and there was no one the MSA could ask for advice.

The logistics would be staggering and MSA's powerhouse president, Butch Linden, took on the challenge of organizing the contest without blinking an eye. All I had to do was concentrate on my job of liaising with the program's producers and co-hosting the event with Stan 'The Man' Richards of KHJ-TV.

My first meeting with Stan and the boys took place at the station's Hollywood studios. There were all these show biz types looking me over like a visitor from planet Malibu. It was as if Mr Magoo had walked into a windowless room with Mickey Dora, Johnny Fain and their agents. And I was the one wearing the glasses.

Sure. I was nervous as hell. But it soon became clear that there was no reason to be. Despite their perfectly styled hair and brilliant smiles, they were simply pros doing a job, and I was their tour guide to the strange 'world of surfing'.

Someone had given Stan a copy of the worst surfing magazine ever published. So I suggested he gets a hold of the magazine I worked for, Surfguide, and our main competitor, Surfer. At our next meeting he had pages of questions about surfing terms like hang-ten and cutback, but for some reason, he was particularly fascinated by the Quasimoto - the stance invented by Mickey Muñoz. The Quasimoto consisted of crouching near the nose of the board like a hunchback, with one arm extended forward and the other stretched behind. It looked great in the famous Surfer photo of Muñoz. But it was not the kind of thing you'd actually do unless you knew you were being photographed.

It was frustrating. No matter how hard I tried to tell him otherwise, Stan had somehow convinced himself that the entire point of surfing was to hang-ten and do Quasimotos all day. So whenever I saw him, he'd say things like, "Let's safari on down to the Bu for some Quasimotos." Or, "Hey Man, been hangin' any ten with your cutbacks lately?" All I can say in his defence is that he was from New Jersey. I rest my case.

The day of the contest finally arrived and the surf was next to flat. I'd arrived just after dawn and the KHJ-TV mobile broadcast bus was already parked up on the PCH next to the entrance. The crew were laying cables all over the place and the director was talking to MSA officials about where to put the cameras.

You could tell by the sunrise that it was going to be a beautiful day. But what about the surf? "Hope this doesn't spoil any Quasimotos," said Stan. What the contest lacked in surf, it more than made up for in performance. Which isn't surprising when you consider that many of surfing's all time greats were competing that day.

To quote Surfguide Magazine, "Robert Patterson arched through wave after wave, standing on the nose, to win the contest with a total of 130 points in the finals. Second was MSA President, Butch Linden, with 129 points. JoJo Perrin was third with 127 points." Mike Doyle was fourth, Rusty Miller fifth, Mickey Muñoz sixth and MSA's Roy Seaman was high point man for the day with 145 points.

Fourteen year old JoJo Perrin (MSA), was the contest's biggest surprise, placing third in the finals and ahead of so many already established surfing greats. But, needless to say, the contest was a close one. And it was colorful."

Surfguide's article goes on to describe the antics of Malibu's undisputed 'Wavemaster', Mickey Dora, who, "suffering from another skateboard accident, competed with six stitches in his foot." Pushing the envelope as usual, Da Cat won his heat despite "befouling the progress" of fellow competitors Rick Irons and MSA's Dave Rochlen. Then, "just for fun" he rode a twelve foot tandem board in the semi-finals and, at one point, Mickey Muñoz "jumped aboard to keep him company." Those were the days my friends.

Meanwhile, back at the contest, Stan and I were seated at a round white table with a big sun umbrella in the middle; our faces smothered in thick cake makeup that almost made Stan look tan. I can't remember exactly how long the contest lasted, but let's say it was six hours. So Stan and I were on camera the entire six, trying to provide enough material to edit down into the ninety-minute special.

The idea was to look at a tiny black and white monitor and make comments about the contest action as it happened on camera. The only problem was that it was nearly impossible to see who was riding the waves.

Fortunately, I could recognize many of the contestants by their distinctive surfing styles. But trying to sort them out by the numbered vests they were wearing was just not working and Stan and I had to wing it.

"Now who is that, Bob? Surfing that wave out there?" "Looks like Butch Linden on that wave, Stan. See ... he's a goofy-footer." "A goofy-footer, Bob? Let's tell our viewers what 'goofy-footer' means in the world of surfing, Bob." "Well Stan, a goofy-footer is someone who writes with his left foot - ha ha. Seriously Stan, a goofy-footer is a surfer who rides a right break with his back to the wave. Or, to put it another way, Stan, he surfs with his right foot forward, instead of his left foot, ah, forward." "I see, Bob. But why does he do it that way in the first place?"

Then, just when I thought things might be going more smoothly, there was a lull of some sort and the director suggested that I show Stan some surfing moves - on a brand new, unwaxed board, on the sand, on camera.

"We've seen a few of our contestants hang-five today, Bob. So how about showing our viewers what it looks like to hang-TEN."

"Sure Stan, you just ... whoops, it's a little rocky up here ... you just walk up ... whoops ... to the nose of the board and ... whoops, I'll just get back on the board and ... there. You just hang all ten of your toes over the nose, Stan." "You made that look easy, Bob. But then I guess you're an expert. Now let's see how you do everybody's favorite surfing stance. Come on, Bob, do the Quasimoto."

By that time, the combination of heavy makeup and heat from the light reflectors was starting to make me dizzy. As I crouched down near the nose of that unwaxed board - right arm stretched in front, left arm stretched behind - my life passed before my eyes. "That's great, Bob. Really great! The Quasimoto, right here on television. GREAT!" Taking my cue, I stood up and passed out just as the camera switched back to Stan's smiling face.

Unfortunately, I regained consciousness in time to answer one of Stan's questions about hot-dogging. "Now tell me Bob, can a goofy-footer do the hot-dog, and if so, what foot does he use?"

Compared to the other contests staged in 1964, and despite the size of surf, the Malibu Invitational was considered to be the best organized contest of the year - especially in view of the total fiasco that will always be associated with the United States Surfing Championships at Huntington Beach.

Sadly, it would also be one of the last times surfdom would see heavyweight clubs like the MSA, Windansea, Longbeach, Hope Ranch and Dapper Dans meet in friendly inner-club rivalry. Competition surfing was about to change. Major money was being thrown into the equation and The United States Surfing Association was about to sink into petty political bickering and self-destruct. The 'world of surfing' was beginning to take itself more seriously than a shortboarder on a beach lined with lenses.

Surfing's Golden Years were coming to an end.

© 1999 Robert Feigel 

Email from Bob Feigel to Tom McBride (page editor).

About body surfing ... I know exactly what you mean about jetting up through the wave, popping out and turning just in time to see the wave breaking from behind. And sometimes, if I time it right, I can really launch my bulk to what seems like amazing new heights. Great buzz for a flabby old lump of lard like moi. Last waves I body surfed were last summer (Nov-Feb) before we moved from the island. Can't handle much sun any more so I would go out early or wait till late afternoon when things cooled down a bit, grab my trusty old rubber 'Churchills' and scurry down to the sandy beach in front of our little old cottage.

Decided to give up board surfing about twelve years ago when I nearly drowned in a big swell. I paddled out beyond the point with my stepdaughter and her boyfriend and had to sit there for a while just to recover. Paddled for a few smaller waves (the big ones were well overhead) but just didn't have it in my arms anymore. When I finally got into one lovely right I couldn't push myself up in time to avoid an embarrassing wipeout. But then the game changed as a huge set marched in from the horizon and I had to paddle like crazy to get out beyond it. All the old instincts were working right but my arms turned to jelly just as an even bigger set started to peak outside. There was also a strong rip pulling me closer to the solid rock headland. For the first time since I got caught in a similar position in much bigger waves on the North Shore in 1971, I was really scared. So I decided to cut my loses and belly-ride in on the next wave. Instead, the board and I parted company and I got caught in the old washing machine routine. By the time I stumbled up on shore and retrieved my old 'dunger' (pronounced DUNG - GRRR down here), I was shaking the entire length of my body.

Later, after a calming mug of vodka and apple juice, I remembered rescuing guys my age when I worked as a lifeguard one summer several centuries ago. After one particularly hairy rescue, I promised myself that I'd stop surfing if I ever got to the stage where I was going to put other people at risk.

So I slid the board under the house and when we moved, gave it to a local kid who used to borrow it and have a blast.

Synchronicity strikes again. Drove through the old Santa Monica neighbourhood last time we were back for a visit and stopped my folk's former abode at 408 9th Street. Someone had taken out the driveway, brick walk and box hedge since I saw it last, but otherwise it looked the same - only smaller. Drove along Montana and ogled at the changes there. Muy trendy. Almost stopped by Fireside Market, where I worked from the time I was 15 through to my second year at SMCC. The late Ralph Maquire, who owned it, taught me one hell of a lot of useful skills that I've benefited from ever since.

The following day Anne and I stayed in a pink beachfront hotel just down the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) from the Malibu Pier and while we were standing on the little pink balcony, Anne said, "Hmmm ... it's very very still and the moon has a funny ring around it. Isn't that what you told me happens before a big earthquake?" Had a great dinner on the pier with Ron Normandeau and his beloved Dana and ran into Roger 'Dodger' Hanson telling jokes at the bar (don't know if you know these people, but just in case) Drove up to Hollister Ranch the next morning to spend a few days with old friends John Kiewit and his wife Linda and that night the LA earthquake did its thing.

Latigo was part of the early days of long lazy surf trips with 'Boomin' Luman Bailey, Paul 'Pablo' Fritz (who drove a 1918 Ford milk truck), Dick 'The Crusher' Kutch, Darryl 'Lady's Man' Kniss and 'Stickers' Joe Moore. Later on there were the infamous Saenz brothers, LAPD cop Bob Ernst (who got busted a rank for driving red light and siren to the Lighthouse when it was pumping, and saved us from 'deep shit in Tiajuana by flashing his badge), gentle and wise Kenny McWilliam & Iggy, The Patterson brothers and Co., and some real 'hard case' characters whose names I should remember, but don't.

I was barely going to SMCC, working 4 to 9 after class and on weekends at Fireside Market and rushing down for quick surfs at the Lighthouse (which was a hot, hard breaking take-off-to-oblivion before it was ruined by 'progress'). Sometimes I'd sleep over at places like Trestles so I could be out by sunrise and 'catch a few' before pedal-to-the-flooring it back to work. Good fun. Parties that would go on for days. Hawaiians hitting each other over the heads with fry pans and kicking in walls.

Great music. Places like Positano's and the Insomniac. Fake ID's. Went one night to the 'Lighthouse' in Manhattan Beach with a certifiable madman named 'Big Mike' and during the break we sort of wandered out back with the musicians. Offered us a smoke of something quite astronomical and I heard music like I'd never heard it before. 

The Horner/Laronde Wedding

Shooting ahead again to the wedding of Tommy and Nita and all the names I couldn't remember when I wrote to you earlier. Like so many things involving the Horners, the wedding was surreal. Like how many weddings can you think of where the wedding march is played by a harpist (Carmen Dragon - Tom McBride's first wife) and an amplified Echo harmonica (me). The judge who spilled the Raspberry Koolade down the front of my white cotton Tiajuana made suit at the reception was Judge Merrick, of course, and the daughter who surfed was Shelly. They lived down the beach from the Murphy's in Latigo Cove - along with the Seaman brothers, the Perrin brothers and the Murphy's, whose lovely mother Jaunita was a Laronde. I don't think Carmen was really that comfortable with me and my harmonica and I felt like a complete fool. Actually, it was Bobby Horner's idea and Bobby could be pretty persuasive when he felt like it.

There was no 'official' alcohol at the wedding (in the Horner's front garden) but down in Bobby's room it flowed like the Sunset storm drain after a week of rain. Snort snort, puff puff, guzzle guzzle. No wonder I played the harmonica. No wonder I felt like a fool. The Horner's had some uniformed guys parking cars but just before the proceedings got a chance to begin, a sleek white Citroen Massarati appears at the entrance and - after a flurry of heated words - it floats down the drive past the curious guests ... stops ... and John Neidlinger makes his grand entrance. Unlike me, John was dressed in a perfectly tailored, white 'ice cream' suit & with matching vest, white fedora and white walking stick ... accompanied by a stunning take-your-breath-away woman who was supposed to be "that month's Playboy centerfold" or something. Hard to tell with her clothes on. Then everything sort of shifted into another gear at that point and John and his friend (who didn't seem to have much to say) drifted down to Bobby's HQ for some refreshments.

Last time I saw Bobby was about 18 years ago when I'd come back for a short visit and dropped by the place he was living on the PCH just north of Topanga Beach. He was in his 'frustrated writer' mode and had just recently thrown his electric typewriter out the window. His amazingly loyal woman friend had just given him another one. But Bobby was not a happy traveler and for some reason I can't remember, he insisted on giving me his new 'Moose River' fishing hat. He never wrote back and last time I heard, he'd taken off to New Mexico and no one I know heard from him for years.

(Sadly, Bobby passed away during the winter of 1998 of cancer. He'd spent his last months at his brother Will's PCH beach house in Malibu.)

Another time, I gave Tommy Horner a ride back from Sausilito where I was visiting friend John Kiewit who lived in a beautiful old railroad car at 'Tiki Junction'. As we approached Andersonville ('The Undisputed Fart Capital of Northern California'), Tommy suggested we stop off for lunch - his treat - "To pay you back for all the times I sponged off you". Recovering from my shock I ordered the most expensive stuff from their curious menu and when it came time to leave Tommy sent me on ahead to the VW while he 'paid' the bill. I was waiting for him when he ran out, jumped in and yelled, "Lez get outta here - QUICK!." At least I didn't have to pay for the crappy meal.

Willy (as he was known then) Horner and I were more solid. Drank some serious beer together and watched each other's backs. But lost touch when I moved down here 23 years ago and only learned of Tommy's death several years after it happened. Knew Doug Dragon to say 'hello' to, but didn't know Carmen, Dennis or Darryl - except that Darryl played the piano during a break at some otherwise boring SAMOHI dance and it was the best music I'd ever heard 'live and in-person'. He was wearing a turban with some kind of fake jewel on it and his eyes looked like polished onyx. He seemed very strange and played as if there was no one else in the gym.

Doug played the bongos in a hysterical film in which I invested all my Hawaiian escape money (think it only cost a couple hundred dollars to fly to Honolulu in the early 60's and I'd saved up a thousand). Hard to believe, but the title was, "Hot dog on a Stick". Can't remember who wrote it, but it was supposed to be the first feature length surf flic filmed in 35mm. Darryl Kniss was involved in the shooting side of things and an older SAMOHI grad who worked for some radio station was in charge of the whole thing. Think his name was Neil and he liked to take photos of young studs like the Saenz brothers in jock straps and the like. Showed me some of the photos when I went to ask him for my money back once. Hope they got paid for it. Don't know what ever happened to the film (except that it took me another six or seven years to get to Hawaii).

I remember one big night scene on the beach somewhere in Malibu. There's a big crowd of locals hanging around a good sized fire when someone yells, "Here comes our king. Here comes Dewey, King of the Surfers!." Then Doug Dragon leans back and starts pounding away on the bongos while everyone pretends to go into a frenzy of dancing. Pretty weird stuff, especially the girl from 'beach party' movies (the one with the short blond wig and really short dress with all the fringe on it) who jumps into the fire circle and wiggles herself silly in front of Doug's face. What a hoot.

Trancas. Now that brings back memories. Is the old restaurant still there? Didn't eat there much in the old days unless someone else was paying. But when I was going with Suzanne Murphy, her folks would go there for Sunday brunch and take me along sometimes.

My usual spot was the Malibu Inn. Perched there on a revolving stool stoned out of my little gourd, wolfing down pancakes smothered in whipped butter and 'maple' syrup, peering through my dark glasses at the ever present Sheriff Deputies or Highway Patrolmen as they looked at God knows who through their mirrored aviator shades. Photos of all the old and not so old film stars and wannabe stars. Understand it's now some sort of night club that doesn't serve pancakes anymore.

Then there was the Corral Cafe (more pancakes) and the County Line Store (pancakes & double cheeseburgers with fries). Not to mention all that excellent & cheap Mexican food in Oxnard and Ventura. Hummm ...

You mentioned playing sax with the Dragons at the Raft. Is that still there? Or has been turned into a trendy boutique or something more commercially correct? Opps ... getting bitter again. Watch it Feigel.

Malibu used to be magic and I still dream about cruising along the PCH on a foggy morning in an old car with surfboards on the top.

Names From the Past, Quiz time: We tend to remember the legends. But do you remember these not-so-famous characters? Eddy 'Mad Dog' Sullivan; Jamie Budge; Stuart Lough; Mike Waco; the Tasker sisters; Bob Burns; Brad Barrett; Mike Gaughan; Harry 'Butch' Linden; Richard Roche Jr; Phil 'Cowboy' Henderson; Bob 'Porkchops' Barron; Nolan Brewer; Steve & JoJo Perrin; George 'The Frenchman' Samama (aka: 'Mickey's Dog'): Tom Flaherty; Ken McWilliam; Erwin 'Dr' 'Moki' Mookini (who once offered to remove a chunk of glass from my foot with a rusty nail)? 

Subject: Just thinking ... Date: Tue, 27 Oct 1998 From: Bob Feigel - New Zealand

Hola Tom - Here I am, sitting (my favourite position these days) in my 'everyday' Tubesteak T-Shirt, munching cheese & pickles on sesame crackers, suckin' on a long tall bottle of beer.

Lots has happened. I was wondering how your jaunt up the coast went? Used to do that kind of thing myself in the old days and my memories of those adventures are pretty sweet. And what about your trip back to Kansas with your brother? I did a similar trip five years ago to Southern Indiana and Kentucky (and tried to find out who my birth parents were) but ran into a stone wall (corn wall?). Re-established contact with a lot of rather special relations though, so it was well worth the effort and I'm still in touch with them.

Things just tootle along over here. The weather continues to baffle everyone and cause people to reassess their relationship with nature. About time. Our lambs continue to grow. Which isn't surprising when you consider that all they do is eat and shit.

Read your correspondence from Hugh Foster and was sad to hear that Ernie Tanaka has passed from this world. He was one of the special people who changed my way of looking at things many years ago. In the water we'd jockey for waves but we'd also talk a lot, especially on those slow days when sitting on the beach made more sense than sitting on a surfboard. One day he said, "That's the difference between the Western way of looking at things and the Oriental way. The Westerner sees a flower and says, "That's a beautiful flower. Let's take it apart, analyze the various components and figure out how it works." But an Oriental sees a flower and says, "That's a beautiful flower."

Ernie also saved my ass one morning at Secos (or Arroyo Sequit). It was in the days before surfer wet suits and it was bloody cold. There was a big south swell with a brisk offshore wind and the waves were peaking in front of the rock for incredible long drop takeoffs and big, fast rides. I got an intense cramp in one of my calve muscles between sets and the pain came on so suddenly that I sorta panicked. Ernie paddled over to me, steadied my board with both hands and calmly told me to stand up on my board and put some weight on the leg. I did what he told me, the cramp went away, and I learned a lesson that I never forgot. But it was his calmness and care that I remember most.

Here's a bit of a hoot. I've received several email messages and a couple of phone calls about a picture of me in The Surfer's Journal. Seems there was an article by John Kiewit about the 70's and I was mentioned. Haven't seen it myself, but I'm amazed at the number of people who saw it and contacted me. Perhaps I should get an agent.

Take care, have fun and drop me a line when you can, Bob

Positano's Coffee House by Tom McBride

Positano's was a coffee house located up a steep dirt driveway off the Coast Hwy. just north of Topanga canyon. I lived there for a short time with a guy named Tony. Tony was a Hollywood type who drove a black '49 Cadillac and called it the "Bat Mobile" because of the futuristic tailfins. I drove a black '46 Ford woody station wagon which Tony dubbed the "Bum Mobile".

We rented a building on the property which resembled a small barracks. Neither of us worked in the mornings so Tony put up "blackout" shades on all the windows. When we got up it was always dark inside and we'd go blind when we opened the front door to find the sun shinning brightly at mid-day.

Nothing happened at a coffee house until night fell. Because the drive up to the house was treacherous, everyone was picked up at the highway and given a ride up the hill in a Chevy "TravelAll or CarryAll" (forerunner to the SUV's). Tony and I would stand at our front door and watch people arrive until it looked like a good crowd had gathered then we'd go into the 'club' and have some coffee or tea, play chess, listen to folk tunes and eat tofu.

This was the "beat" generation and most everything seemed phony to me during this era. This was pre-hippie. Synanon (sp) was operating as a drug rehab center in the old DelMar Club on the beach in Santa Monica and surfers were bums along with the rest of the younger generation. Yes, "The times they are a-changin'."

Hi Tom!
Visited Positano one time in June of 1960, and it was a great place then.  Went there after hours and had the best sandwich on the best home baked bread, with the best macaroni salad, and then to make things even better, in walked Sherry North, the dancer, actress, wearing a blue file suit with a peplin jacket, and with she and her boyfriend, or her husband, were some jazz greats, Ray Brown in the lead,  they set up and began to play, so we had a great night of jazz, and since the place was pretty new, there were no other people there  except for Sherry and her husband, the waiters and us.  The jazz was fantastic, and the waiters weren't believing what it was they were hearing.  Five of the best jazz men in the business, Ed Thigpen, and not real sure on the others after so many years so won't say, but WoW!!!  They were at their best, and the sound in there was great with no interference from a crowd.
I had seen Ray Brown several times over the years at the Lighthouse from the age of 15, so I knew his style really well, and he was always a favorite, but I hadn't seen him play with that complete group before, so it was a treat, and the waiters wanted to know more about him, and they were totally impressed, he gained some new fans that night.
(not sure if Sandi's email is still valid)

Date:Wed, 04 Apr 2001
From: Robert R Feigel

NEWSFLASH! We're on the move again. Bought a beautiful new home on an attractive acre of flatish land on a hill top overlooking Matapouri Bay around 28 miles northeast of where we are now. The new house (recently built) is close in size to this one and has sweeping views down to the beach, north to Cape Brett, east out to the Poor Knights islands and west to the Tutukaka coastal range known as the Kaiatea and some of the most magnificent sunsets I've ever seen. Our current property officially goes on the market this weekend and there has been a mad scramble to get the stage set.

Unfortunately, the timing has coincided with the removal of a rather nasty nasty from my left temple which required a skin graft. The surgery knocked me around for a few daze, but now that the swelling has gone
down and it's been cleaned up a bit it doesn't look or feel so bad. Thank God for panadine and vitamin E. Yesterday, when I went out for the first time since the deed was done, I variously told people:

"Oh this ... ahhh ... just needed a couple of screws tightened."

OR -

"Think THIS is bad? You should see Zoro!"

The transfer of ownership for the new house is "complete" on May 16th and this place goes to auction on May 17th. So, unless we sell before then, it looks like we're going to be in the position of owning two houses for a while. Tighten belts time.
As much as we love this place and have enjoyed our four years here, the 6.82 acres required a lot of time, energy and bucks. It has also been very difficult to take a break - especially during spring and summer. To
get away for more than a day required getting someone to look after the daily watering and our friends, the sheep. The new place is on a little over an acre of land with a grove of recently planted trees & shrubs. It
has a huge lawn, but after this place, I don't think that will be a problem. We'll miss the trees, but we've missed the ocean even more.

We've arranged for our sheep to have a new home across the road at the neighbouring farm and have been given 'visiting rights'. I hope they forgive us.

In the meantime, I'll let you know of any changes of address, etc.


More stories about surfing parties and characters on the beach.


Mike Doyle wrote a fascinating book "Morning Glass" which may be out of print (?)- click to check it out.


The Adventures of a Legendary Waterman 

Disclaimer: Nothing in the above text is intended to intimidate or defame anyone's character. These observations were made from memories of events which took place over 30 years ago and are shared here as examples of the real life most of us live. Believe it or not.


Bob in woods 

Tom McBride - Collector of Odds and Ends- Email

Top of Page