There’s always been a special bond between surf girls and classic cars. Not the fancy, city-slicker type of cars, but the kind of rugged rides that could haul half your crew, a pile of boards, three wet dogs, and enough sand to recreate the beach in the back seat. You needed bench seats (perfect for stretching out or squeezing in), vinyl upholstery that could take a beating from salty bikinis and sunburnt bodies, and a boot big enough for spontaneous overnighters in some remote coastal car park. And let’s be honest—if your car couldn’t take a corrugated dirt road sideways with punk rock blasting from the cassette deck, was it even worth having?
These weren’t about style points—they were about freedom and function. Back then, no one drove a vintage car to be ironic. You could pick up a surf wagon for 600 bucks, slap your sticker collection on the bumper, and off you went. The love affair between surf girls and old-school wagons has been around since the ’60s, but it got a proper Hollywood moment in Blue Crush(2002). That scene of girls cruising the North Shore in a baby-blue ‘61 Chevy Impala, hair still wet, Bob Marley on the stereo—it hit different. And for so many of us, it felt exactly like home.
My own obsession started at 15, when my uncle rocked up in a Valiant Safari Wagon named Red Roo, complete with a three-foot replica kangaroo strapped to the roof after winning the Variety Bush Bash. From that moment, I was hooked. My first Valiant came at 19: a powder-blue 1967 VC sedan with purple carpet, venetian blinds on the back window, and a slant-6 engine that purred like a wombat in a hammock. It had a bench seat so worn out on the driver’s side that even now, decades later, I still instinctively lean left when I drive.
These old beasts had quirks—plenty of them. Water dripping onto your right foot from rust holes in the firewall during a rainy winter surf mission? Just wear a rubber boot. Cold mornings where you had to beg the engine to turn over? Part of the charm. Loose steering so vague you had to anticipate turns like a game of chess? You adapted! And don’t get me started on the dodgy key barrels—my car was started (and relocated) with everything from a paddle pop stick to a butter knife. I’d come out of the water shivering and wander around the Scarborough car park wondering where the hell my car had been moved to this time. Endless fun—for everyone else😊
Eventually, I “upgraded” to a VC Safari Wagon. More space, more mates, and a proper setup for overnighters. Bought it for 600 bucks, and the farmer threw in a second car for parts, rusting away in a paddock. We thrashed that car up and down the coast. Took it to Bears when you could still just make it in a 2WD. It got stolen so often from my folks’ driveway in Freo (usually around 4am on Sundays by local partygoers) that the cops just started calling weekly: “Your car’s at Clontarf Collage again.” Eventually, we started parking Dad’s car behind mine in the driveway so the thieves had to walk home.
By the late ’90s, I was getting serious. I bought a mint 1971 VE Regal Sedan straight out of Kalamunda—never seen the beach, not a spot of rust, and still rocking its original black-and-white plates. It had burgundy vinyl bench seats, red carpet, and a truck-style air con unit that could freeze your bikini to your chest on a 40-degree day. That car drove from the South Coast to Exmouth and back without breaking a sweat.
Eventually, I passed it on to fellow Yallingup surf girl Lisa Quinn (née Blackmore), who cruised every break between Margaret River and Gnaraloo in that beast. When she moved back to Queensland to be with her mum, she shipped the car over too. Her now-husband remembers: “I was standing on the Goldie when this absolute dream of a Valiant rolled past with the coolest surf chick at the wheel. Boards on top, music blasting. I fell in love instantly.” They chased waves all along the QLD and NSW coasts in that car before finally moving back west.
Selling it was one of Lisa’s biggest regrets.
The Legacy Lives On
Those cars weren’t just transport—they were part of the adventure. Surf girls didn’t just drive them, they lived in them. Every dent, every waterlogged footwell, every rogue gear shift had a story to tell. And even now, when I see an old Valiant glinting in the sun, I swear I can hear the distant hum of Spiderbait, smell the salt drying on vinyl seats, and feel the freedom of a dirt road leading to a perfect, empty break.
Because some rides aren’t just cars—they’re memories on wheels.
1967 Valiant VC sedan. Lizzie with her first Valiant in front of parent’s holiday home in Eagle Bay. Photo Lizzie Nunn.
This beauty went to Bears until one day we got so bogged we broke the exhaust off the manifold. My dad was furious. He’d threatened me NOT to go down the Bears track in that car, but we did and this time, we damaged it. I lied about it to dad saying I swerved for a roo, hit the gravel, and slid into a ditch breaking the exhaust. But one look under the hood and dad saw all the fine black dirt on the engine and our freshly surfed -out goofy smiles, and he knew exactly where we’d been. I got a royal blasting for that!….see next pic.
Ingrid (left), Melanie Redman-Carr (middle), and Lizzie Nunn (Right)) posing on the bonnet of Lizzie’s Valiant VC Wagon. Photo Lizzie Nunn.
1961 Chevy Impala from Blue Crush movie (2002). Web image.
1971 Kalamunda VE Regal sedan. Lizzie with her last Valiant & mate Lisa Quinn-Schofield. Photo Lizzie Nunn.
Marg’s surf check Kalamunda VE Regal. Photo Lisa Quinn (nee Blackmore).
Gracetown food stop Kalamunda VE Regal. Photo Lisa Quinn (nee Blackmore).
The Kalamunda VE Regal enroute to Gnaraloo via the Pinnacles. Photo Lisa Quinn (nee Blackmore).
When surf girls turn into Mum’s, they upgrade their car but not necessarily their lifestyle. Crystal Wallace showing us how it’s done living out of the back of your car with her youngest son, Dash….see next pic.
2025 Crystal with youngest son Dash on NW surf trip. Photo Crystal Wallace.
Thank you Lizzie, Lisa & Crystal for your contributions.
By Lizzie Nunn
There’s always been a special bond between surf girls and classic cars. Not the fancy, city-slicker type of cars, but the kind of rugged rides that could haul half your crew, a pile of boards, three wet dogs, and enough sand to recreate the beach in the back seat. You needed bench seats (perfect for stretching out or squeezing in), vinyl upholstery that could take a beating from salty bikinis and sunburnt bodies, and a boot big enough for spontaneous overnighters in some remote coastal car park. And let’s be honest—if your car couldn’t take a corrugated dirt road sideways with punk rock blasting from the cassette deck, was it even worth having?
These weren’t about style points—they were about freedom and function. Back then, no one drove a vintage car to be ironic. You could pick up a surf wagon for 600 bucks, slap your sticker collection on the bumper, and off you went. The love affair between surf girls and old-school wagons has been around since the ’60s, but it got a proper Hollywood moment in Blue Crush (2002). That scene of girls cruising the North Shore in a baby-blue ‘61 Chevy Impala, hair still wet, Bob Marley on the stereo—it hit different. And for so many of us, it felt exactly like home.
My own obsession started at 15, when my uncle rocked up in a Valiant Safari Wagon named Red Roo, complete with a three-foot replica kangaroo strapped to the roof after winning the Variety Bush Bash. From that moment, I was hooked. My first Valiant came at 19: a powder-blue 1967 VC sedan with purple carpet, venetian blinds on the back window, and a slant-6 engine that purred like a wombat in a hammock. It had a bench seat so worn out on the driver’s side that even now, decades later, I still instinctively lean left when I drive.
These old beasts had quirks—plenty of them. Water dripping onto your right foot from rust holes in the firewall during a rainy winter surf mission? Just wear a rubber boot. Cold mornings where you had to beg the engine to turn over? Part of the charm. Loose steering so vague you had to anticipate turns like a game of chess? You adapted! And don’t get me started on the dodgy key barrels—my car was started (and relocated) with everything from a paddle pop stick to a butter knife. I’d come out of the water shivering and wander around the Scarborough car park wondering where the hell my car had been moved to this time. Endless fun—for everyone else😊
Eventually, I “upgraded” to a VC Safari Wagon. More space, more mates, and a proper setup for overnighters. Bought it for 600 bucks, and the farmer threw in a second car for parts, rusting away in a paddock. We thrashed that car up and down the coast. Took it to Bears when you could still just make it in a 2WD. It got stolen so often from my folks’ driveway in Freo (usually around 4am on Sundays by local partygoers) that the cops just started calling weekly: “Your car’s at Clontarf Collage again.” Eventually, we started parking Dad’s car behind mine in the driveway so the thieves had to walk home.
By the late ’90s, I was getting serious. I bought a mint 1971 VE Regal Sedan straight out of Kalamunda—never seen the beach, not a spot of rust, and still rocking its original black-and-white plates. It had burgundy vinyl bench seats, red carpet, and a truck-style air con unit that could freeze your bikini to your chest on a 40-degree day. That car drove from the South Coast to Exmouth and back without breaking a sweat.
Eventually, I passed it on to fellow Yallingup surf girl Lisa Quinn (née Blackmore), who cruised every break between Margaret River and Gnaraloo in that beast. When she moved back to Queensland to be with her mum, she shipped the car over too. Her now-husband remembers: “I was standing on the Goldie when this absolute dream of a Valiant rolled past with the coolest surf chick at the wheel. Boards on top, music blasting. I fell in love instantly.” They chased waves all along the QLD and NSW coasts in that car before finally moving back west.
Selling it was one of Lisa’s biggest regrets.
The Legacy Lives On
Those cars weren’t just transport—they were part of the adventure. Surf girls didn’t just drive them, they lived in them. Every dent, every waterlogged footwell, every rogue gear shift had a story to tell. And even now, when I see an old Valiant glinting in the sun, I swear I can hear the distant hum of Spiderbait, smell the salt drying on vinyl seats, and feel the freedom of a dirt road leading to a perfect, empty break.
Because some rides aren’t just cars—they’re memories on wheels.
1967 Valiant VC sedan. Lizzie with her first Valiant in front of parent’s holiday home in Eagle Bay. Photo Lizzie Nunn.
This beauty went to Bears until one day we got so bogged we broke the exhaust off the manifold. My dad was furious. He’d threatened me NOT to go down the Bears track in that car, but we did and this time, we damaged it. I lied about it to dad saying I swerved for a roo, hit the gravel, and slid into a ditch breaking the exhaust. But one look under the hood and dad saw all the fine black dirt on the engine and our freshly surfed -out goofy smiles, and he knew exactly where we’d been. I got a royal blasting for that!….see next pic.
Ingrid (left), Melanie Redman-Carr (middle), and Lizzie Nunn (Right)) posing on the bonnet of Lizzie’s Valiant VC Wagon. Photo Lizzie Nunn.
1961 Chevy Impala from Blue Crush movie (2002). Web image.
1971 Kalamunda VE Regal sedan. Lizzie with her last Valiant & mate Lisa Quinn-Schofield. Photo Lizzie Nunn.
Marg’s surf check Kalamunda VE Regal. Photo Lisa Quinn (nee Blackmore).
Gracetown food stop Kalamunda VE Regal. Photo Lisa Quinn (nee Blackmore).
The Kalamunda VE Regal enroute to Gnaraloo via the Pinnacles. Photo Lisa Quinn (nee Blackmore).
When surf girls turn into Mum’s, they upgrade their car but not necessarily their lifestyle. Crystal Wallace showing us how it’s done living out of the back of your car with her youngest son, Dash….see next pic.
2025 Crystal with youngest son Dash on NW surf trip. Photo Crystal Wallace.
Thank you Lizzie, Lisa & Crystal for your contributions.
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