Caves House Hotel at Yallingup is holding a 3Bears Licence Plate Silent Auction and Fund Raiser. Bidding ends 4pm Sun 14 April 2024. You can submit your bids at the Caves House Long Bar. All proceeds will be donated to the Disabled Surfers Association and the Dunsborough Historical Society.
Caves House Hotel asked Dunsborough surfer/writer Lizzie Nunn to write a few words on the discovery of Three Bears surf break to promote the event. Lizzie sat down with SW surfing pioneer George Simpson and documented his story of the Beginning of Bears.
Beginning of Bears – Story by George Simpson, Words by Lizzie Nunn
To any observer down on the beach looking back up the raggedy limestone cliff towards the scrub set above Yallingup lagoon, they would have thought the lone figure sheltering under the twisted and gnarled melaleuca tree gazing out to sea, was just another long-haired, bum surfer checking out the surf rolling in over Main Break that day. A fisherman would have watched the surfer silently and suspiciously, perhaps thinking he and his catch were being spied upon. A farmer may have cursed the surfer’s presence given all the attention these blonde haired, fit-as-fuck, bronzed surfer-Adonis got from the local ladies at the YMCA dances. This meant in 1971, many a local dance ended up in fisticuffs between the two warring groups.
1971 Living Smiths Valley Yallingup. Photo George Simpson. L-R George Simpson, Chris Brennon (RIP), Geoff & Owlie.
The turf war over the gals, however, was not at the forefront of the lone surfer’s thoughts under the tree that day. He had proven his worth working for a local farmer hauling potato sacks all day long. Stronger and fitter than the farm hands, the surfer tossed bags all day, hauling and packing, packing and hauling. Some days he’d even surf at daybreak before work started which earned him the respect of the farmer who declared “anyone who lays a finger on this bloke deals with me and I’ll wipe the bloody floor with ya”. And so it came to be that the surfer was protected from the maligned ‘Busso Bogans’ and local farm hands.
1972 George Simpson surfing Geoff Culmsee single fin at Injidup car park. Photo by Ian Ferguson for West Country Surf magazine.
The surfer, George Simpson, leaned against the melaleuca that day, his arms stretched above him, forearms resting on a branch high up, long limbed and elongated he looked like a true brachiator of sorts. He was indeed eyeing the south swells pouring into Yallingup, but his attention was not focused on the waves rolling into the lagoon, rather, he was watching the big rollers swagger in towards the cliffs north of Shallows and Rabbits. He could see far in the distance a swell roll in, peak, crest and then throw white spray sky high as it thundered across the reef. And just like a long- haired temptress tossing her hair over her shoulder seductively, that wave called to George. It stirred something deep in him and he just knew ‘there are waves up there.’
He stood and watched for hours. Time and time again the swells consistently hit the same reef, the spray cast high, the peeling breakers shuddering along the reef like a train running on tracks.
“I’m going to walk it” he said out loud, suddenly, determinedly and to no-one in particular. But by saying the words out loud, by committing to the thought he put it all into action.
A week later in August of 1971, George and two friends, laid eyes on Three Bears for the first time in surfer history.
Convincing Vicky Jago to drive George, Mick Pierce and Mark Rudeberg to Sugarloaf Rock so the surfers could walk along the coast back towards Yallingup, was not at as hard as expected. But before you envisage a Dutch oven car ride, surfers with bloodshot eyes giggling mirthlessly, Janis Joplin blaring from the stereo and a flame-haired hippie at the wheel of a ’56 FE Holden fishtailing down the gravel Sugarloaf Road in a shroud of dust, George assures me “Vicky was the nicest of nice of ladies.” And so instead, the boys buckled into their seat belts, minded their p’s and q’s as Miss Jago drove at the speed limit, paused at each give-way sign and waved to farmers in the fields before dispensing her occupants at Sugarloaf and disappeared over the horizon in a halo of golden sunshine.
The surfers watched her go.
There was silence.
“How far do we reckon?” Mick finally asked.
“7 miles” replied George. And without further ado, the trio started their epic trip onto Bears for the first time.
It was a Wednesday. It was August and there was a slack swell. The wind blew from the North, Nor-West at about 15 knots and so the troupe revelled in the fact they weren’t missing out on waves anywhere else along the coast. Two hundred meters into the trek and George hopelessly ill-prepared for the occasion blows out one of his Dunlop thongs and so now he’s barefoot and clutching the useless footwear to his chest.
Conditions are not good. The scrub although a lot sparser than walking in from the Rabbits end, is thick and impenetrable enough to deny them access and it forces the group down onto the beach in several spots. Despite best efforts to stay on the ridge, with no pathway yet made by human foot traffic, the surfers are forced down the cliffs and onto the beach along the soft sand, which makes the going tough. They are hot, tired, scratched to shit, George is still clutching a thong and they’ve brought no water. Thank GOD it’s August and the relentless flies are not in season.
After hours pushing their way through the scrub, scarpering along the ridge and up and down cliff faces, the surfers finally crest the hill that overlooks Three Bears.
The sweet temptress that had called George for so many months was at this time, ‘NOT’ a picture of beauty. Onshore slop, a small swell and lack lustre waves spilling onto three distinct take-off points which had potential, but it wasn’t ‘ON’. They lingered at the top of the cliff assessing the waves coming in, direction the bay faced and all the curves and dips in the reef clearly defined by aqua versus dark blue water. They could see three distinct channels, easy to walk across limestone reef, high cliffs that would favour a Nor- East wind for perfect conditions and a beach littered in shells and sea glass that looked ideal to shelter at post surf for a toke around the campfire. After some time assessing the spot, they headed off towards home, arriving at Yallingup around 4pm that arvo, utterly exhausted but feeling vindicated.
1990 Three Bears beach & line-up twenty years. Photo Jim King
“We nearly called Bears, ‘Wednesdays‘ because we walked in four Wednesdays in a row before we finally surfed it,” says George now aged 73 sitting on his porch, scoffing down home-grown organic cucumber sprinkled with mineral boosting sea salt. So although they found the break in early August, it wasn’t until September when they scored.
“On the day we surfed Bears for the first time. Yallingup was about 3 feet, the wind from the North Eastand I said to Tony, Bruce, Russel and Glen, ‘Let’s go!‘ We got a car ride up there to Sugarloaf, and high tailed it in as fast as we could carrying our short boards and when we got there…well…let me tell you. It was perfect! It was 4-5 foot offshore perfection and mate, we were scrambling down the cliff, waxing boards, throwing on vests and racing out as fast as we could. We were beside ourselves with excitement.”
“I headed out to Babies and got a bunch of waves and then joined the others at Mamas. We couldn’t believe what we were seeing and the waves we were riding. It really was magic” reflects George resting back into his chair, a content smile that would be easy to label as smug AF!
1973 Tom Hoye surfing Mama Bears. Photo courtesy Hoye family.
The group of local misfit surfers kept their precious spot secret for about a year, but the summer of 1973 they were feeling the heat. Perth based surfers, or ‘weekend warriors’ were noticing that George and his mates disappeared for hours and days on end during smaller swells and a north easterly wind. Someone reckoned they saw a car parked at Sugarloaf and a fisherman declared he’d seen surfers up ‘that way’ and suddenly, everyone was up at George’s melaleuca tree gazing north towards Three Bears.
“I think in the end, we took a few of the Perth crew up there. And it was actually one of them who called it Bears. For ages, Tom Hoye had called it MGMs after Mick, Mark and me but it never quite stuck. Finally, Bruce King said one day ‘It looks like the Three Bears’ from the bedtime story and that name stuck.”
1973 Bruce King at Bears on Bill Oddy’s trail bike. Photo courtesy King family.
Surfers continued to park at Sugarloaf Rock and walk in for the next few years until another trio of locals: Geoff Culmsee, Craig Brent-White and Ralph Redman rammed a track through from the Rabbit Hill end at Yallingup. Their technique was not an example of engineering excellence (and these days we’d probably call what they did environmental vandalism) but quite simply, they drove Tom Hoye’s short-wheel base Landcruiser at the bush time and time again, till it gave way. They reversed up and charged at it again and again, and then, cut away bushes and rolled rocks out of the path for months until, they broke through to Bears.
1970s Dave Seward surfing Mama Bears. Photo Andy Jones.
And the rest of us followed in droves.
And droves.
And more droves…
1976 Ralph Redman surfing Mama Bears. Photo Andy Jones.
To this day, surfers without 4WD cars continue to leg it into Bears along the track carved out by George, Mick and Mark.
Surfers now access the break in cars via Sugarloaf Road or Vidler Road and the Department of Biodiversity, Conservation and Attractions (DBCA) maintain the 4WD track by dumping limestone in holes carved out over summer and fixing rubber mats on the sand dune to help drivers to pass through with as little environment damage as possible. It’s a shit-fight both in and out by the end of summer, and only the toughest of four-wheel drives and expert drivers get in and out to Bears unscathed. There are no plans by the City of Busselton to make it more accessible for the masses citing “we think there ought to be some places on our coastline that are 4WD accessible only and that offer people a sense of adventure when getting there”.
Because fortune favours the bold, after all!
Lizzie. “George getting lost in memories of his first mistress, Three Bears.😊”
2024 George Simpson with Al Bean surfboard at Yallingup. Photo Angie Platt
A big thank you to George & Lizzie for their contributions.
Caves House Hotel at Yallingup is holding a 3Bears Licence Plate Silent Auction and Fund Raiser. Bidding ends 4pm Sun 14 April 2024. You can submit your bids at the Caves House Long Bar. All proceeds will be donated to the Disabled Surfers Association and the Dunsborough Historical Society.
Caves House Hotel asked Dunsborough surfer/writer Lizzie Nunn to write a few words on the discovery of Three Bears surf break to promote the event. Lizzie sat down with SW surfing pioneer George Simpson and documented his story of the Beginning of Bears.
Beginning of Bears – Story by George Simpson, Words by Lizzie Nunn
To any observer down on the beach looking back up the raggedy limestone cliff towards the scrub set above Yallingup lagoon, they would have thought the lone figure sheltering under the twisted and gnarled melaleuca tree gazing out to sea, was just another long-haired, bum surfer checking out the surf rolling in over Main Break that day. A fisherman would have watched the surfer silently and suspiciously, perhaps thinking he and his catch were being spied upon. A farmer may have cursed the surfer’s presence given all the attention these blonde haired, fit-as-fuck, bronzed surfer-Adonis got from the local ladies at the YMCA dances. This meant in 1971, many a local dance ended up in fisticuffs between the two warring groups.
L-R George Simpson, Chris Brennon (RIP), Geoff & Owlie.
The turf war over the gals, however, was not at the forefront of the lone surfer’s thoughts under the tree that day. He had proven his worth working for a local farmer hauling potato sacks all day long. Stronger and fitter than the farm hands, the surfer tossed bags all day, hauling and packing, packing and hauling. Some days he’d even surf at daybreak before work started which earned him the respect of the farmer who declared “anyone who lays a finger on this bloke deals with me and I’ll wipe the bloody floor with ya”. And so it came to be that the surfer was protected from the maligned ‘Busso Bogans’ and local farm hands.
The surfer, George Simpson, leaned against the melaleuca that day, his arms stretched above him, forearms resting on a branch high up, long limbed and elongated he looked like a true brachiator of sorts. He was indeed eyeing the south swells pouring into Yallingup, but his attention was not focused on the waves rolling into the lagoon, rather, he was watching the big rollers swagger in towards the cliffs north of Shallows and Rabbits. He could see far in the distance a swell roll in, peak, crest and then throw white spray sky high as it thundered across the reef. And just like a long- haired temptress tossing her hair over her shoulder seductively, that wave called to George. It stirred something deep in him and he just knew ‘there are waves up there.’
He stood and watched for hours. Time and time again the swells consistently hit the same reef, the spray cast high, the peeling breakers shuddering along the reef like a train running on tracks.
“I’m going to walk it” he said out loud, suddenly, determinedly and to no-one in particular. But by saying the words out loud, by committing to the thought he put it all into action.
A week later in August of 1971, George and two friends, laid eyes on Three Bears for the first time in surfer history.
Convincing Vicky Jago to drive George, Mick Pierce and Mark Rudeberg to Sugarloaf Rock so the surfers could walk along the coast back towards Yallingup, was not at as hard as expected. But before you envisage a Dutch oven car ride, surfers with bloodshot eyes giggling mirthlessly, Janis Joplin blaring from the stereo and a flame-haired hippie at the wheel of a ’56 FE Holden fishtailing down the gravel Sugarloaf Road in a shroud of dust, George assures me “Vicky was the nicest of nice of ladies.” And so instead, the boys buckled into their seat belts, minded their p’s and q’s as Miss Jago drove at the speed limit, paused at each give-way sign and waved to farmers in the fields before dispensing her occupants at Sugarloaf and disappeared over the horizon in a halo of golden sunshine.
The surfers watched her go.
There was silence.
“How far do we reckon?” Mick finally asked.
“7 miles” replied George. And without further ado, the trio started their epic trip onto Bears for the first time.
It was a Wednesday. It was August and there was a slack swell. The wind blew from the North, Nor-West at about 15 knots and so the troupe revelled in the fact they weren’t missing out on waves anywhere else along the coast. Two hundred meters into the trek and George hopelessly ill-prepared for the occasion blows out one of his Dunlop thongs and so now he’s barefoot and clutching the useless footwear to his chest.
Conditions are not good. The scrub although a lot sparser than walking in from the Rabbits end, is thick and impenetrable enough to deny them access and it forces the group down onto the beach in several spots. Despite best efforts to stay on the ridge, with no pathway yet made by human foot traffic, the surfers are forced down the cliffs and onto the beach along the soft sand, which makes the going tough. They are hot, tired, scratched to shit, George is still clutching a thong and they’ve brought no water. Thank GOD it’s August and the relentless flies are not in season.
After hours pushing their way through the scrub, scarpering along the ridge and up and down cliff faces, the surfers finally crest the hill that overlooks Three Bears.
The sweet temptress that had called George for so many months was at this time, ‘NOT’ a picture of beauty. Onshore slop, a small swell and lack lustre waves spilling onto three distinct take-off points which had potential, but it wasn’t ‘ON’. They lingered at the top of the cliff assessing the waves coming in, direction the bay faced and all the curves and dips in the reef clearly defined by aqua versus dark blue water. They could see three distinct channels, easy to walk across limestone reef, high cliffs that would favour a Nor- East wind for perfect conditions and a beach littered in shells and sea glass that looked ideal to shelter at post surf for a toke around the campfire. After some time assessing the spot, they headed off towards home, arriving at Yallingup around 4pm that arvo, utterly exhausted but feeling vindicated.
“We nearly called Bears, ‘Wednesdays‘ because we walked in four Wednesdays in a row before we finally surfed it,” says George now aged 73 sitting on his porch, scoffing down home-grown organic cucumber sprinkled with mineral boosting sea salt. So although they found the break in early August, it wasn’t until September when they scored.
“On the day we surfed Bears for the first time. Yallingup was about 3 feet, the wind from the North East and I said to Tony, Bruce, Russel and Glen, ‘Let’s go!‘ We got a car ride up there to Sugarloaf, and high tailed it in as fast as we could carrying our short boards and when we got there…well…let me tell you. It was perfect! It was 4-5 foot offshore perfection and mate, we were scrambling down the cliff, waxing boards, throwing on vests and racing out as fast as we could. We were beside ourselves with excitement.”
“I headed out to Babies and got a bunch of waves and then joined the others at Mamas. We couldn’t believe what we were seeing and the waves we were riding. It really was magic” reflects George resting back into his chair, a content smile that would be easy to label as smug AF!
The group of local misfit surfers kept their precious spot secret for about a year, but the summer of 1973 they were feeling the heat. Perth based surfers, or ‘weekend warriors’ were noticing that George and his mates disappeared for hours and days on end during smaller swells and a north easterly wind. Someone reckoned they saw a car parked at Sugarloaf and a fisherman declared he’d seen surfers up ‘that way’ and suddenly, everyone was up at George’s melaleuca tree gazing north towards Three Bears.
“I think in the end, we took a few of the Perth crew up there. And it was actually one of them who called it Bears. For ages, Tom Hoye had called it MGMs after Mick, Mark and me but it never quite stuck. Finally, Bruce King said one day ‘It looks like the Three Bears’ from the bedtime story and that name stuck.”
Surfers continued to park at Sugarloaf Rock and walk in for the next few years until another trio of locals: Geoff Culmsee, Craig Brent-White and Ralph Redman rammed a track through from the Rabbit Hill end at Yallingup. Their technique was not an example of engineering excellence (and these days we’d probably call what they did environmental vandalism) but quite simply, they drove Tom Hoye’s short-wheel base Landcruiser at the bush time and time again, till it gave way. They reversed up and charged at it again and again, and then, cut away bushes and rolled rocks out of the path for months until, they broke through to Bears.
And the rest of us followed in droves.
And droves.
And more droves…
To this day, surfers without 4WD cars continue to leg it into Bears along the track carved out by George, Mick and Mark.
Surfers now access the break in cars via Sugarloaf Road or Vidler Road and the Department of Biodiversity, Conservation and Attractions (DBCA) maintain the 4WD track by dumping limestone in holes carved out over summer and fixing rubber mats on the sand dune to help drivers to pass through with as little environment damage as possible. It’s a shit-fight both in and out by the end of summer, and only the toughest of four-wheel drives and expert drivers get in and out to Bears unscathed. There are no plans by the City of Busselton to make it more accessible for the masses citing “we think there ought to be some places on our coastline that are 4WD accessible only and that offer people a sense of adventure when getting there”.
Because fortune favours the bold, after all!
Lizzie. “George getting lost in memories of his first mistress, Three Bears.😊”
A big thank you to George & Lizzie for their contributions.
Coming event
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