In the 1960-70s Dave Simmons was a talented Cottesloe surfer and a member of the Southern Surf Riders Club.
Dave recorded his surfing memoirs in a document titled ‘What Matters.’
An extract from ‘What Matters’ pertaining to Dave’s 1962 exploits at Cowaramup Bay was published in the Surfing Down South book published 2014 (now out of print).
Dave’s memoirs are a great read, enjoy😊
What Matters
They say that a picture is worth a thousand words.
I have no spectacularly colourful surfing photos to show you.
For now I’d ask that as I reflect on the following, we might as in the grand old days of radio, reverse that process and use the images created within our memories to provide us not only with all the pictures we might want to see, but also the feelings that we so fondly felt in a different time.
1962 Dave surfing Cowaramup Bay. Dave Simmons pic.
The photograph is of myself. It is a mid-Spring Day 1962. The place Cowaramup Bay Western Australia. That’s the second surfboard Mum bought me after Mum, my sister Liz and I found that the 12-foot wooden board with a cork that I painted white was just too heavy for Liz and me to cart around – her one end – me the other. Besides, it hardly fitted into our tiny Austin A30 van. To get to the beach we had to leave the rear door open with the tail of the board protruding out the back. Liz and I held onto the board for grim life as we drove from our small flat in Cottesloe down to the beach.
Alone, I taught myself to surf there, except for one day an experienced surfer of that time – around 1960 paddled up to me and said, “Hey mate….is that a boat or a submarine?” Hurt, but not discouraged I left the water and waited on the beach lawn for Mum and Liz to come and pick me up.
My following surf attempts were at the Cove, just South of Cottesloe Beach where on one occasion Mum came to my defence. As Liz and I took my old wooden surfboard out of the van, I remember there was a small group of undesirable characters watching us. Sarcastic shouts and comments were yelled at us from across the small carpark to which Liz nor I did not respond being the age we both were then – from memory 12 or 14 years old. But Mum immediately got out of the car, determinedly stepped over to them and in no uncertain terms gave them a piece of her mind. The small carpark was crowded, and from the moment Mum let forth there was total silence from the crowd as all listened. Muffled murmurs of “jeez… that shut those guys up” I hear as Liz and I proudly carried my board down to the surf.
The year following saw me progress greatly as a surfer to our first weekend away at Yallingup. Liz and I sat in the back of Mum’s friend Alec’s ute. My new mal in the photo was beside me as on the Sunday we drove over the hill and down into Cowaramup Bay for a picnic on the beach. As we headed down the gravel road, I could see that the bay was totally deserted. Not a soul to be seen. The refreshingly clean Southwest easterly offshore breeze had a slight chill to it but was intermittently warmed by the beautiful spring sun. The sea, crystal clear glimmered as silver lines gracefully cruised into the bay occasionally. The gentle spray off the tops of these waves turned rainbow at times.
There are three surfable spots at Cowaramup Bay as many would of course know, South Point, North Point and good old ‘Huzzas.’ After waxing up and getting the usual “Take care darling” from Mum I paddled alone over to Huzzas. The break completely deserted, I watched with an excitement I’d never felt before as small 3-to-4-foot wave sets almost mechanical in line up broke perfectly. You’ll see by the happy grin on my face in the photo how I felt as I paddled in for lunch on the beach with Mum, Liz and Alec after a great surf.
It was the first time I felt that I’d really surfed well and felt genuinely confident now about my future as a surfer.
As the four of us shared a beautiful lunch I watched the North Point as occasionally a perfect glistening 6-foot right would hook in and turn on a spectacular sight. I felt fear and exhilaration as my impulse was to take it on. After lunch, saying nothing to Mum or Liz of what I was about to do, I re-entered the water and instead of paddling back over to Huzzas, I paddled directly out into the middle of the bay and over to the North Point. I first sat safely beyond the take off point and watched for a while. The first set made up my mind for me. As a monster six foot right loomed up, I took the drop and made the wave. I’ll never forget it. Alone out at North Point I surged the rest of the afternoon. Paddling back, I took off on a final wave that broke in the middle of the bay closer to shore.
The years following saw me part of that unforgettable “New Era Evolution” of the late 60’s. The new creatively functional surfing style created right here on our on beloved shores by surfing’s dynamic ‘Rat Pack’ Lynchy, The Animal – Nat, David ‘Baddy’ Treloare, Ted Spencer, Bob MacTavish, Peter Cormish and others. Surfers the world over watched in awe as these gifted surfers, way ahead of their time carved new and daringly innovative lines on their canvases of deep blue. Bands like the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Eric Clapton and Cream, Taman Shud, Doug Parkinson and In Focus all headed off into the charts breaking new and exciting ground in contemporary music – it was ‘happening the world over’.
The first glimpse I got of it was on a mid-winter’s Sunday at the Cover just south of Cottesloe Beach. I had surfed the day prior and had walked up to the Cove to check out the conditions. The swell had dropped slightly but was still yielding a good 4 to 6 foot right off the point. After a very quick look it was a bit crowded for my liking, I had decided to wait until later afternoon for a session, hoping the crowd might diminish somewhat. I turned to walk back to Cottesloe Beach when a mate of mine yelled out to me “Dave!! – check out the way these guys are surfing!”. I walked back and perched myself on a rock overlooking the break. I waved to my friend in the carpark where I also noticed a black Ford V8 Twin Spinner. It was covered in Nullarbor dust and mud. On top there was a collection of weird looking boards. Very short and thinner than the accepted board thickness of the time, with pronounced rocker towards the nose. The fin shape was interesting. I was intrigued by what I had seen.
I looked down at the surf to see one of the surfers paddling out to the line-up. He was kneeling paddling, but what got me was the style of which he did so. The sun was beginning to set as he paddled out. He shielded his eyes and occasionally looked over to the break. Innately I felt that there was something very new. I cast my view over to the point, to see another surfer paddle vigorously over to well inside the take off point. A good 6-foot right hit the point. This surfer paddled left, straight into the eye of the wave. He bounced the nose of his short board straight off the breaking lip and then knock kneed he crouched, pivoted a full 180 and cranked a graceful snappy top turn, his arms in dance like in expression as if to indicate to all what he was about to do. There was a small crowd watching at the car park and I could almost hear their thoughts “How the hell is he going to make this”. This surfer gunned it across a threatening full section with a crouch that had me totally mesmerised. He made it, and on the smaller inside section he weaved and innovative path of small turns and a final re-entry in total control. That surfer was Peter Bothwell. I was later to learn that Peter and his West Aussie mates had returned from a surfing trip in Queensland, down the East Coast and back home to WA through Victoria.
The new style of surfing they had witnessed on their trip East was now on spectacular display in WA for all to see.
Editor: “Peter Bothwell returned to WA from his East Coast surf trip in Brian Boyne’s Ford Customline (see pic below). The lads were members of the Yallingup Board Club.”
1966 WA surfer Brian Boynes’ 1951 Ford Customline with Vance Cox on the bonnet in Moana South Aust. Allan Boag pic.
The rest as they say is history. It might now be a timely “thanks guys” to the above-mentioned surfers for giving us all the inspiring gift of what we all recognise now as high-performance surfing. It is these late 60’s surfers who were -and are – the fathers of it all.
For me, surfing ended one morning early to mid-80’s when I felt and said to myself… “it’s all over”.
What I was seeing that summer morning was what I didn’t like. Violence and aggression in and out of the water. Consequently, I disappeared from surfing completely to concentrate on my music.
Then a breath of fresh air – in the 90’s on a drive along the beach one morning I saw the re-introduction of the longboard. I saw families and young kids coming back to friendly suburban beaches – just plain having fun. With rejuvenated enthusiasm, I paddled out for the first time in years.
But in any life, rain must fall.
My mother, after a long and very cruel illness passed away. As with any son or daughter, these events in life leave long term emotional scars that will not go away.
Dave with his late mum and sister Liz. Simmons family photo.
Yet it is surfing that I would have to thank for one summer’s afternoon took me back to that day at Cowaramup Bay I have described earlier. There must be at some point amidst the burden of immense sadness and grief – relief and private, personal solitude.
It came to me on a sultry summer’s afternoon when I took myself out to the outer reefs about one kilometre offshore from Perth’s northern beaches in my small inflatable dinghy. Facing a different life, viewing life through now vastly changed eyes, I had lost the spark of enthusiasm for life generally. The realisation of the things we too often take for granted had come crashing down on me. No different from families alike who go through these kinds of experiences and worse. I was, I am, a changed individual. For a few brief hours on that day, those thoughts, that mindset, left me.
I anchored my dinghy inside a sheltered hole in the reef, sand bottom, clear water and a short paddle out to a reasonable looking 6-foot right. I sat and watched alone, hesitant and quite fearful of the safety aspect. I was totally alone and well offshore. I’m no hero. If it is safety that I need to consider, I normally always take that path. This time as I sat and watched, it was the silence, the sound of the light breeze and the ocean that I felt beckon me. Yes, there was risk, but the way I was feeling at the time, I had less concern for my own wellbeing I will admit. Then a dolphin swam right up to the side of my dinghy. To my amazement it surfaced and looked me directly in the eye. It then gave a happy ‘squeak’ or call as dolphins do. I called out…. “Hello!”. It then gracefully circled my boat underwater. I dived in and down to see if I could get closer, but then it swam away. I surfaced, got back in my dinghy and sat for a short time, then secured my leg rope and paddled out to the take off point. Rightly or wrongly, thoughts of any aspects of danger left me completely. Two gulls followed me just above as I paddled out. For the next 3 hours or so, I was totally alone – but not. It was Mother Ocean who’d called me from the dinghy that day.
Making me understand that in this life there is nothing so importantly as our health…. and our family. Maybe that’s what I saw on the day that I saw the return of the longboard.
Surfing means to me nothing more than what it no doubt means to most of us.
Happiness. Good Health. Family.
This is ‘what matters‘.
Dave Simmons.
2016 Dave with his Lancelin-mobile. Dave Simmons pic.
In the 1960-70s Dave Simmons was a talented Cottesloe surfer and a member of the Southern Surf Riders Club.
Dave recorded his surfing memoirs in a document titled ‘What Matters.’
An extract from ‘What Matters’ pertaining to Dave’s 1962 exploits at Cowaramup Bay was published in the Surfing Down South book published 2014 (now out of print).
Dave’s memoirs are a great read, enjoy😊
What Matters
They say that a picture is worth a thousand words.
I have no spectacularly colourful surfing photos to show you.
For now I’d ask that as I reflect on the following, we might as in the grand old days of radio, reverse that process and use the images created within our memories to provide us not only with all the pictures we might want to see, but also the feelings that we so fondly felt in a different time.
The photograph is of myself. It is a mid-Spring Day 1962. The place Cowaramup Bay Western Australia. That’s the second surfboard Mum bought me after Mum, my sister Liz and I found that the 12-foot wooden board with a cork that I painted white was just too heavy for Liz and me to cart around – her one end – me the other. Besides, it hardly fitted into our tiny Austin A30 van. To get to the beach we had to leave the rear door open with the tail of the board protruding out the back. Liz and I held onto the board for grim life as we drove from our small flat in Cottesloe down to the beach.
Alone, I taught myself to surf there, except for one day an experienced surfer of that time – around 1960 paddled up to me and said, “Hey mate….is that a boat or a submarine?” Hurt, but not discouraged I left the water and waited on the beach lawn for Mum and Liz to come and pick me up.
My following surf attempts were at the Cove, just South of Cottesloe Beach where on one occasion Mum came to my defence. As Liz and I took my old wooden surfboard out of the van, I remember there was a small group of undesirable characters watching us. Sarcastic shouts and comments were yelled at us from across the small carpark to which Liz nor I did not respond being the age we both were then – from memory 12 or 14 years old. But Mum immediately got out of the car, determinedly stepped over to them and in no uncertain terms gave them a piece of her mind. The small carpark was crowded, and from the moment Mum let forth there was total silence from the crowd as all listened. Muffled murmurs of “jeez… that shut those guys up” I hear as Liz and I proudly carried my board down to the surf.
The year following saw me progress greatly as a surfer to our first weekend away at Yallingup. Liz and I sat in the back of Mum’s friend Alec’s ute. My new mal in the photo was beside me as on the Sunday we drove over the hill and down into Cowaramup Bay for a picnic on the beach. As we headed down the gravel road, I could see that the bay was totally deserted. Not a soul to be seen. The refreshingly clean Southwest easterly offshore breeze had a slight chill to it but was intermittently warmed by the beautiful spring sun. The sea, crystal clear glimmered as silver lines gracefully cruised into the bay occasionally. The gentle spray off the tops of these waves turned rainbow at times.
There are three surfable spots at Cowaramup Bay as many would of course know, South Point, North Point and good old ‘Huzzas.’ After waxing up and getting the usual “Take care darling” from Mum I paddled alone over to Huzzas. The break completely deserted, I watched with an excitement I’d never felt before as small 3-to-4-foot wave sets almost mechanical in line up broke perfectly. You’ll see by the happy grin on my face in the photo how I felt as I paddled in for lunch on the beach with Mum, Liz and Alec after a great surf.
It was the first time I felt that I’d really surfed well and felt genuinely confident now about my future as a surfer.
As the four of us shared a beautiful lunch I watched the North Point as occasionally a perfect glistening 6-foot right would hook in and turn on a spectacular sight. I felt fear and exhilaration as my impulse was to take it on. After lunch, saying nothing to Mum or Liz of what I was about to do, I re-entered the water and instead of paddling back over to Huzzas, I paddled directly out into the middle of the bay and over to the North Point. I first sat safely beyond the take off point and watched for a while. The first set made up my mind for me. As a monster six foot right loomed up, I took the drop and made the wave. I’ll never forget it. Alone out at North Point I surged the rest of the afternoon. Paddling back, I took off on a final wave that broke in the middle of the bay closer to shore.
The years following saw me part of that unforgettable “New Era Evolution” of the late 60’s. The new creatively functional surfing style created right here on our on beloved shores by surfing’s dynamic ‘Rat Pack’ Lynchy, The Animal – Nat, David ‘Baddy’ Treloare, Ted Spencer, Bob MacTavish, Peter Cormish and others. Surfers the world over watched in awe as these gifted surfers, way ahead of their time carved new and daringly innovative lines on their canvases of deep blue. Bands like the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Eric Clapton and Cream, Taman Shud, Doug Parkinson and In Focus all headed off into the charts breaking new and exciting ground in contemporary music – it was ‘happening the world over’.
The first glimpse I got of it was on a mid-winter’s Sunday at the Cover just south of Cottesloe Beach. I had surfed the day prior and had walked up to the Cove to check out the conditions. The swell had dropped slightly but was still yielding a good 4 to 6 foot right off the point. After a very quick look it was a bit crowded for my liking, I had decided to wait until later afternoon for a session, hoping the crowd might diminish somewhat. I turned to walk back to Cottesloe Beach when a mate of mine yelled out to me “Dave!! – check out the way these guys are surfing!”. I walked back and perched myself on a rock overlooking the break. I waved to my friend in the carpark where I also noticed a black Ford V8 Twin Spinner. It was covered in Nullarbor dust and mud. On top there was a collection of weird looking boards. Very short and thinner than the accepted board thickness of the time, with pronounced rocker towards the nose. The fin shape was interesting. I was intrigued by what I had seen.
I looked down at the surf to see one of the surfers paddling out to the line-up. He was kneeling paddling, but what got me was the style of which he did so. The sun was beginning to set as he paddled out. He shielded his eyes and occasionally looked over to the break. Innately I felt that there was something very new. I cast my view over to the point, to see another surfer paddle vigorously over to well inside the take off point. A good 6-foot right hit the point. This surfer paddled left, straight into the eye of the wave. He bounced the nose of his short board straight off the breaking lip and then knock kneed he crouched, pivoted a full 180 and cranked a graceful snappy top turn, his arms in dance like in expression as if to indicate to all what he was about to do. There was a small crowd watching at the car park and I could almost hear their thoughts “How the hell is he going to make this”. This surfer gunned it across a threatening full section with a crouch that had me totally mesmerised. He made it, and on the smaller inside section he weaved and innovative path of small turns and a final re-entry in total control. That surfer was Peter Bothwell. I was later to learn that Peter and his West Aussie mates had returned from a surfing trip in Queensland, down the East Coast and back home to WA through Victoria.
The new style of surfing they had witnessed on their trip East was now on spectacular display in WA for all to see.
Editor: “Peter Bothwell returned to WA from his East Coast surf trip in Brian Boyne’s Ford Customline (see pic below). The lads were members of the Yallingup Board Club.”
The rest as they say is history. It might now be a timely “thanks guys” to the above-mentioned surfers for giving us all the inspiring gift of what we all recognise now as high-performance surfing. It is these late 60’s surfers who were -and are – the fathers of it all.
For me, surfing ended one morning early to mid-80’s when I felt and said to myself… “it’s all over”.
What I was seeing that summer morning was what I didn’t like. Violence and aggression in and out of the water. Consequently, I disappeared from surfing completely to concentrate on my music.
Then a breath of fresh air – in the 90’s on a drive along the beach one morning I saw the re-introduction of the longboard. I saw families and young kids coming back to friendly suburban beaches – just plain having fun. With rejuvenated enthusiasm, I paddled out for the first time in years.
But in any life, rain must fall.
My mother, after a long and very cruel illness passed away. As with any son or daughter, these events in life leave long term emotional scars that will not go away.
Yet it is surfing that I would have to thank for one summer’s afternoon took me back to that day at Cowaramup Bay I have described earlier. There must be at some point amidst the burden of immense sadness and grief – relief and private, personal solitude.
It came to me on a sultry summer’s afternoon when I took myself out to the outer reefs about one kilometre offshore from Perth’s northern beaches in my small inflatable dinghy. Facing a different life, viewing life through now vastly changed eyes, I had lost the spark of enthusiasm for life generally. The realisation of the things we too often take for granted had come crashing down on me. No different from families alike who go through these kinds of experiences and worse. I was, I am, a changed individual. For a few brief hours on that day, those thoughts, that mindset, left me.
I anchored my dinghy inside a sheltered hole in the reef, sand bottom, clear water and a short paddle out to a reasonable looking 6-foot right. I sat and watched alone, hesitant and quite fearful of the safety aspect. I was totally alone and well offshore. I’m no hero. If it is safety that I need to consider, I normally always take that path. This time as I sat and watched, it was the silence, the sound of the light breeze and the ocean that I felt beckon me. Yes, there was risk, but the way I was feeling at the time, I had less concern for my own wellbeing I will admit. Then a dolphin swam right up to the side of my dinghy. To my amazement it surfaced and looked me directly in the eye. It then gave a happy ‘squeak’ or call as dolphins do. I called out…. “Hello!”. It then gracefully circled my boat underwater. I dived in and down to see if I could get closer, but then it swam away. I surfaced, got back in my dinghy and sat for a short time, then secured my leg rope and paddled out to the take off point. Rightly or wrongly, thoughts of any aspects of danger left me completely. Two gulls followed me just above as I paddled out. For the next 3 hours or so, I was totally alone – but not. It was Mother Ocean who’d called me from the dinghy that day.
Making me understand that in this life there is nothing so importantly as our health…. and our family. Maybe that’s what I saw on the day that I saw the return of the longboard.
Surfing means to me nothing more than what it no doubt means to most of us.
Happiness. Good Health. Family.
This is ‘what matters‘.
Dave Simmons.
Thanks for the memories, Dave.
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1968 FJ Southern Sojourn by Dave Simmons posted 31 August 2016
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