Surfing in Western Australia

Surfers – is there a cooler tribe on the planet? After a few days in Western Australia, travelling southwards from Perth in leisurely fashion along the coast, you’d have to agree that the surfie lifestyle, looks like the one to aspire to.

Stop in at any of the enticing beaches along the Indian Ocean, where the turquoise water sends waves topped with Daz-white foam onto the clean, empty sweeps of yellow sand and you’ll want to join the surfer kids.

They look so cool, even when they’re just hanging out, lean, fit, tanned, the boys in long baggy shorts, the babes in their bikinis and tank tops. And when they get into the water with their boards and start riding those waves into shore, it looks so effortless – and such fun. We’re not talking the legendary monster waves that you see in the surfing competitions on television – though Western Australia has those too – just a good bit of swell to send you riding in perfect balance. So, we’d been to City Beach, a giant surfwear emporium in Perth, where the manager greeted us cheerily in an outfit that seemed to say surfing is my business: pinstripe suit jacket, shirt and tie – teamed with garish baggy shorts and flip-flops. We bought the gear – Billabong shorts, beanie hat, T-shirts, tank-top bikini and flip-flops (sorry, thongs). We’d also picked up a Jack Johnson CD – the surfers’ favourite singer-songwriter. So we could pose – but could we actually surf?

From our luxurious base at the Quay West Bunker Bay in Margaret River we make an early morning (well, 9am) call to Sam at Yalling up Surf School. Luckily, it’s a good day for beginners, he says – the waves are breaking, but in a gentle way. We arrange to meet Andrew, one of his instructors, for a two-hour lesson at nearby Smith’s Bay – which, if asked, he would say was in Margaret River. Because Margaret River is the name of the whole area from Busselton to Augusta, with its beaches, seaside villages, wineries, woodlands and entrancing caves, and includes Margaret River the town, which is on Margaret River the river.

But I digress. So we park at the end of the beach and as we walk to join Andrew, who has driven the truck of gear, with special permission granted only to the surf school, into the middle of the perfect crescent of golden sand, we realise that our surfie gear is strictly for the posers. The breeze whips off the beanie hat, the thongs catch in the sand, the shorts flap noisily – and we’re glad we put on plenty of heavy-duty Australian sunblock. (Here’s another tip – don’t take sunscreen with you to Australia: the creamy stuff that’s fine for Europe is no match for the Antipodean rays – buy what the locals use when you get there.)

Andrew, a charmingly modest competition-winning surfer – whose own hat is cleverly attached by a chinstrap – gives us wetsuits to put on (I mean, struggle into, looking seriously uncool) and explains first of all that the middle of South Beach is the perfect place to learn, being safe from the rocks a fair distance away at either end.

We then get down to surfing theory. As we sit on the sand Andrew draws a few simple diagrams in the sand showing the way the Smith’s Bay ‘rip’ current could whip us out to sea, and explains how we’re going to get our boards into the water, swim them through the breaking foam, then turn around, wait for the next wave and ride into shore. Not quite as easy as it sounds, but the water is so deliciously warm that it makes it a pleasure just to be in there.

And the first time you manage it – wow! Okay, so at this point I’m lying down, gripping the edges and pushing my face up and forwards – but I’m surfing! Riding the wave power till it deposits me on the beach. You’re not supposed to do that, you should hop off before the board scrapes the sand, but, hey, not bad for a first go. And I do it again, and again, and again, laughing uncontrollably with the exhilaration of it. The water’s clean and warm, the waves are refreshingly playful (ie, not scary) and, ok I admit it, Andrew’s guiding hand helps more than a little. But I can do this.

Now we try standing up. Western Australians are keen to point out the many ways in which they’re not really like other Aussies – and their surfing style is apparently a key difference. Whatever they teach about surfing over in Bondi is not, says Andrew, how they do it here. The WA way is: lie on your board, elbows out, bend one leg so that foot is parallel to your other calf. Then as you push up with your arms, swing the bent leg in and – pushing on the ball of your foot – straighten it (if you know yoga, think downward dog), swing the other leg through, raise your arms and stand up. Kneeling is not a recognised intermediate stage – at no point should your knees touch the board.

That’s the theory. And that’s why those surfer dudes have washboard stomachs of pure muscle, because a bit of strength in that area comes in handy to effect this manoeuvre. The two British boys I was surfing with managed it, if not with grace and style, well, hell, they managed it – after just an hour’s surfing lesson. I didn’t – but, do you know what, I didn’t care, I was having a ball anyway. I felt I’d achieved plenty in the prone position – but I just know that with more practice, and a bit more self-discipline, I could have done it.

As we got into the car to head off to our next Margaret River destination, a gang of real surfers rolled into the car park and began hoisting their boards off their truck. And in fluent Australian, I thought ‘lucky buggers.’