These moments don’t all have to be picture-perfect sun-drenched barrels. We paddle out into breaks all around the world, emerging with the same beaming smile from a mushy session at Saunton as the guy who just got slotted at an offshore, overhead Pipeline.

Then there’s the time you spend simply watching surf, whether it’s from your car on a clifftop or in a surf flick.

And think about how much you subconsciously observe while surfing. That split second the peak of a wave feathers up, the view from the shoulder as a guy sends some spray up on a deep turn, the view from beneath the surface as you duck dive.

What about the time you saw a whale jumping in the bay as you sat out back, or the dolphins that you so happily let drop in on you… Even spotting a shoal of fish can be pretty magical. What other sports get you this close and comfortable with nature?

It’s not just the animals that join you in the line-up either – it’s the people. What’s is more satisfying than seeing all your friends enjoying the same anticipation and stoke that you feel? The other day I experienced what I consider one of the most perfect moments I surf for.

I had a split session on one of my brother’s last days in Oz. We and our friend Jonesey headed to the Wreck in Byron Bay: not a huge swell, but lovely peeling lines. I swam out with my underwater housings to get some pictures of them both. Over the course of 2 hours I sacrificed catching some waves to shoot, but I emerged as stoked as them – simply watching them both carve lines knowing that I was capturing it for them got them pumped and put a smile on my face.

After regrouping on the beach we hit another spot at Main Beach. This time I had my log under my arm. For 30 minutes we caught wave after wave, dropping in and paddling back out to the whoops from each other.

45 minutes in, our friends Chris, Junior and John paddled out. A pack of friends in a lush sunset, on our own peak towards Clarkes Beach.

We traded sets, pushed each others’ surfing and messed around having some party waves.

We all emerged with beaming grins and spent the evening chilling with an ice cold slab of beers.

These are the moments we surf for.

It’s funny how something so insignificant can make a trip or period of time so memorable.

This sporty old number ferried us round the east coast of Aus for a couple of winters and did us proud. Apart from the freaky rattle it made when firing her up (we later found out we were putting the wrong fuel in) and a bust radiator, she just kept on going, even as the rust spots turned her from white to orange.

Apparently it was something of a cult car over there in the seventies, the preserve of c-list celebs and wannabe rich folk, confirmed by the thumbs-up I’d get nailing it along the highway and hearing one guy in the carpark at Cabarita exclaim, “Sentastional! It’s a 120y!”

Got some very funny memories of this car, including a 120-mile round daytrip on the hunt for a decent wave, knowing deep down there wasn’t going to be one. It got out of hand, the driver wouldn’t stop, we were all whingeing chronically, bearing in mind the car has less room than a mini and we’d squeezed five of us in it – three broad hefty chaps over 6ft, five longboards on the ropey $40 roof rack… We couldn’t sit up straight in the back; it was mid summer and there was no air con – sweaty, uncomfortable, but very funny.

It all started just going to check the surf at Burleigh… nah, might be better further down, just check Palmy; nah, might as well have a look at the Alley; nah, Tugun? Let’s have a look at Green Mount, Snapper, D-bah, Fingal, Salt… “Ok can we go home now? This is getting silly…” Driver, stern, “NO STOPPING”. Piled back in, quick stop at the pie shop, onward. Byron, finally Ballina to say a quick hello to Ed our mate from Woolacombe lifeguarding in the ass end of nowhere. Fortunately for us it was the end of the road; unsurprising it was no good – why hadn’t we just given up at the start? Ten-minute catch-up with Ed to hear his shark attack story, then shoehorned back in, nearly dying of cramp and heat exhaustion in the back, and where did we end up? Mermaid, two miles in the opposite direction from where we started.

Good times.

I like making photographs. Almost as much as I like surfing and tripping the globe looking at stuff.

So I stumbled across Drift a while back and a few months ago I summoned up the courage to offer up my portfolio for use as stock images – which has since developed into this… so you’ll be hearing (or seeing and reading) a bit more from me in the future.

I’ve spent the best part of my twenties so far lugging surfboards and camera gear around the world on an overly extended surfing, work and photography trip. Like many surfers who keep a camera by their side, much of my photographic output is directed more at the things that I see along the way, a result of either travelling for waves or embedding myself in surf locales; looking in on this lifestyle of ours from somewhere out on the periphery despite being well and truly in the thick of it. I shoot on film using a range of old and semi-broken SLRs, a few vintage medium-format cameras and a holga. I dig analogue. I have a far from fancy and often inadequate kitbag but it gets me through – my money tends to go on flights and surfboards before replacing camera gear if the truth be told.

I draw a lot of inspiration from surf photographer/adventurers, and relate most to work by photographers such as Jeff Johnson, Joe Curren and Dustin Humphrey and Jon Rose as well as those from outside the world of surfing, most notably Chris Searl, Mike O’Meally and Andrew Paynter.

Cut to today, and I’ve been shivering my way through this snowy Cornish winter distracting myself from proper work putting together a tatty and rather bulging “surf trip scrapbook”. It’s just a glorified manila folder full of ideas, newspaper clippings and mud maps drawn on scraps of paper, the result of plenty of map gazing and those surfing secrets that people let slip once a few post session beers have lubricated their tongues. Hopefully at least some of these ideas will see their way to fruition and keep me inspired and on the road, both at home and abroad.

So here goes, I hope you like my pictures and my angle on this life of ours.

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Photographing waves and people riding them is a bit of a sticking point for me. I’d rather be surfing, which reduces my ‘surf’ photography to the moments when I’m doing a run up the point or taking a pit stop on the boat for water and sunscreen. Cloudbreak, shot on Fuji Velvia with a broken old Minolta camera, October 2007.

But there’s been something lacking; something my brother has had no shortage of – surf.

I’ve spent five months on an island that’s host to some of the best surf breaks in the world, surrounded by crystal-clear, warm water. But I spent three of those five months without surf. I’ll admit it: I cried a little.

There are many reasons for my surfless Oz adventure. I spent a month in Cairns, the awe-inspiring Barrier Reef providing some salt-water therapy during my dive course… But there was no decent surf for thousands of kms.

The second month I spent travelling from Perth to Darwin. Sure, western Oz has some of the most insane line-ups you could ever get your stick wet in, and the mutant slabs of Margaret River offer suicidal-looking, dredging barrels on the right swell. But there wasn’t any. It looked promising for one brief day, but there was no way I was going to tackle 6-foot shore dumps in just inches of water – I left that to the local spongers.

Then I hit Sydney, home of the infamous Bondi beach. What a let down. The conditions weren’t appealing, especially after a couple months out of the water: shallow sandbanks, heavy shore breaks and hefty rip currents.

But things have changed over the last two months. I’m slowly turning the tide on my brother’s tales of winter swell. I’m living the dream in a van on the East Coast. The sun is shining and the swell is consistent. And my brother gets more and more pissed off every time he checks his email or Facebook.

It hasn’t been an easy two months, not by a long shot. I’ve had to go through the ordeal of re-losing my surf virginity, in Australian waters on unfamiliar breaks.

I grabbed my 9 footer and enthusiastically got stuck in to something I thought I could easily handle at Manly beach: 3-4 foot. But I was out of practice, out of energy, and out of patience. I spent the very brief session trying to re-learn the sets, paddling unsuccessfully into waves and resigning myself to white-water rides.

Things began to pick up when I headed to the Great Ocean Road, and I enjoyed a smaller session at Torquay beach, and another on the way back at some nice horseshoe bay. I felt better – I’d eased myself in and taken it slow; I was getting to know the ocean again before going all the way.

I made my way up to Byron, hitting a high with a sunset session at Park Beach North in Coffs Harbour; a slightly more punchy left with the advantage of being the only one out – every surfer’s dream.

Since arriving at Byron, I’ve scored numerous session at The Pass, Clarkes Beach and Watego. I’m back in the pack again.

I’m now holed up on the Gold Coast before heading to Noosa for some proper logging waves. I’m in the water most days and my stamina and performance are slowly picking up.

Yes, this article is meant to make you jealous of the fact that I’m sunning it up, sampling beautiful breaks, free of the constraints of the English climate and the rubber it requires. But – more importantly – I hope it makes you realise the importance of getting in the water as often as possible, even if it’s just to paddle up and down the beach.

Re-losing your surf virginity is painful and annoying.

Make your mum proud – stay a surf slut.

Organiser Grant Newby says: “The Fish Fry is a non-competitive and non-commercial gathering of board riders and builders of these sweet craft. It’s about you shapers who craft these boards, and those of us who enjoy the ride. Each year we see many new ideas on the original theme, and that’s what is so great about the evolution of the fish.
The day is held in the park across the road from the Currumbin Alley, which means there are waves at the point, the river mouth or the beach break depending on the conditions. So bring lunch, the family and your mates with you to celebrate the fish in its many forms.”

Want to know more? Check out our feature on the 2008 Fish Fry here, or visit the official Alley Fish Fry site.

St Kilda is, apart from an isolated archipelago in the Outer Hebrides, an inner suburb of Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. It is famous for coffee, the arts, as a backpacker Mecca and the setting of the onetime very popular television series ‘The Secret Life of Us’.

[photo by Rodney Hyett]

Melbourne is located on a huge bay, Port Phillip Bay, that has a twin, separated by the Mornington Peninsula, called Westernport. Sitting at the mouth of Westernport is Phillip Island. As a surfer, to get real waves, I have to drive to one of three ‘coasts’. The Island, the Peninsula, and the West Coast. There are other distant, legendary, alternatives.

There’s no surf in St Kilda.

Correction.

On a huge southerly blow a wave comes under the pier and there can be a serviceable left peeling for about 18 metres. Cowabunga. Eighteen inches of fighting fury that I watch from the rowing machine at the gym. Yes, it’s that good. Every time that wave breaks I make sure I’ve got some wax in the car to wax the windows of those brazen enough to ride it. Or to take photos.

Being a local is a strange thing. You feel protective. Territorial. The waves are your babies.

Unfortunately I still have that 25-year-old block of wax, because I have never seen anyone out there. Well maybe once, from a distance, but it might have been a penguin.

The reason no one rides it is it is self-editing. It’s crap.

Elsewhere in Victoria, the locals are restless, though I’ll not talk about that yet.

The thing about being a Melbourne – or any city-bound – surfer, is you are a local nowhere. The entire coast is both your oyster or your downfall. Melbourne is blessed with the above three coasts to choose from, all about an hour-and-a-half’s drive from the CBD. It’s a unique situation, with most winds covered and pretty much any swell will produce a rideable wave, if you know where to go. So if you must be a city surfer, Melbourne is a very good choice.

Because my career meant I needed to be city-bound, I persisted with that hour-and-a-half drive, minimum, for every surf I got. Then kids came along, around the time I realised I didn’t want to live in a city. By then though I was stuck, by a mortgage and a city-loving wife, so that still, 40 years since beginning to surf, I continue to make the hour-and-a-half drive just to get wet.

What it all means, after years and years and years, is that there is rarely a spot that I go to where I don’t know someone. I can always have a chat out the back, and generally feel pretty welcome – or at least not resented – wherever I go.

This has proven true all over the world. In my dark – and not-so-dark – past my travels have taken me to a fair few surf spots. France, Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Sri Lanka, Bali, Sumatra, Fiji, Tonga, Oahu, Kauai, Maui, England, Wales, New York, LA, San Francisco, Tasmania, King Island and all coasts of mainland Australia.

I have never paddled out anywhere, when there are other guys already out, that I have not known someone in the water, or somehow had a connection with them. The surfing world is tiny.

Victoria has not been cursed with localism to any great degree. I’ve seen it occasionally, most recently on a passable day at The Spot, when a group of after-work splashers did the loud, “where do all these idiots* come from?” thing as they drifted in a tight little pack out the back.

(*not fit for print – use your imagination…)

I think the guys that do this are usually a few brain cells short of the minimum requirement. Their loss is a smile and perhaps a yarn with someone who might turn into a friend. Their gain at these antics? Maybe a misguided sense of ownership, of rights, and sometimes, perhaps, protection. Most likely of fragile ego and sense of self.

My point – and this should not seem new – is that we are all locals, everywhere. It is our ocean, not yours by dint of geographic accident. Some of us have the good fortune of living right on the coast, and that proximity shows in their surfing. That is the local advantage, and that should be the end of it.

The best ’locals’ I have met have been the guardians of their spots, in the sense that sometimes they can be the keepers of a local flame. The man who comes to mind is Baddy Treloar at Angourie. Baddy is a hot surfer, still, at what must be 58 or 59. Out in the water he is gruff and loud, and polices the line-up against drop ins and kookiness, but not against outsiders. He is just connected to that place, loves it and tries to keep it working.

One day I paddled out on a moderately sizey day, maybe 6-8ft sets. I was on my little board.

I’d been struggling to get into the waves, that poppy under the lip take-off unfamiliar territory to one used to the ramps of Winki and Bells.

After missing a hooter for the second or third time, Baddy gave me heaps.

“Get a bigger board if you can’t get in.”

So I did.

That bit of extra foam was all I needed.

After running back to the flat, changing boards, running back again and paddling out I found myself sitting inside Baddy when a good one came through. I spun and dropped in, only to find his nibs in front of me and driving. Not wanting to call him off it, naturally, I just rode behind, got a barrel, and pulled out in his track as he exited the wave.

“I got a longer board.”

“Good.”

Then we had a chat, and we still do if I manage to make it up there.

Other locals, worthy of respect, are the elders, like Jack Finlay or Joe Sweeney at Bells, or guys who have, as I said, a connection to one particular spot. Steve Demos down at Express Point on Phillip Island is a case in point, as is Russ McConachy, Rhino, and the late Shadow, at the Break That Cannot Be Named… on a Certain Coast.

Let’s call that break Voldemort, and that coast, to mix our literary metaphors, Mordor.

The thing about Mordor as a coast, and Voldemort as a wave, is that both are entirely self-editing. Just like St Kilda.

A few weeks back the swell in this rather swell-eventful year hit overdrive, with Bells and its environs occupying an intense purple patch on the swell maps. Four metres at 20 to 22 seconds saw close-to-if-not 20ft wave faces.

Only surfing could mix its measuring systems so perfectly.

Meanwhile, in Mordor, those who cared knew it was going mad, with waves nearly twice as big. Since we know that wave power is proportional to the wave period and to the square of the wave height, this meant it was packing a mighty punch.

Particularly in the morning. While the tide was low and the wind offshore, the sun not yet hidden by approaching clouds, Voldemort was a magnificent thing, and luckily someone was there to capture it.

But I can’t show the picture here.

The fact that it has had feature spreads in multiple magazines over the years, is in every surf guide known to man, and is located on a major tourist route seems to mean nothing. It is no real secret.

My time visiting this coast began in 1972 and I have been going there with varying degrees of frequency since then. I’ve watched a generation grow older and near as damn die out, and watched from a distance as a new bunch of kids grow into a very hot local crew, some of whom have developed a pretty misguided attitude to Mordor and its visitors, encouraged by some of their ‘mentors’.

Under the guise of Sacredness, you can surf here, but you can’t take pictures, or talk about it, or… anything really.

Pull up as a tourist and if you’re unlucky you might just get told to put the camera away.

Take a picture of a sunset.

No photos.

“What a beautiful bird!”

No Photos.

“Stand there darling.”

NO PHOTOS.

Why should I have a beef with this?

Well, for one I like to take pictures. For self expression, art, and memory, I enjoy it.

They tell me I saw that, I was there, and this is how I felt.

What right does someone have to tell me what I can do? If I set up my easel on the headland overlooking Voldemort, would I be told, NO PAINTING?

And so to Voldemort. One of the best and worst big waves in Australia, if not the world, by dint of (in)consistency, isolation, relative cold, and the fact that to get in you jump off a 15ft cliff into fuck-all water. It’s a quarter of a mile paddle from there to the take-off. To get out of the water – broken board or not – you have a paddle of a mile along a hundred-foot cliff line, then a dash across a black channel criss-crossed by the odd chum-smeared fishing boat that’s been working a coast that could be referred to as the Highway One of Australia’s great white shark population.

If you bugger up you rescue yourself. End of story.

Compare this with the legendary Waimea Bay. I’ve surfed Waimea a few times and though I’ve not personally ridden a wave over 20ft I did come close and saw a close-out set come through while I was thankfully on my way in.

That was the day I got a salt water enema so thorough I was lucky I didn’t find three stingrays and a gummy shark in the toilet bowl that evening.

At Waimea you have an easy paddle out, and a relatively easy exit. There are lifeguards and helicopter rescues. To die there you have to be very unlucky. The take-off – with the right equipment – is easier than Voldemort, and Waimea is, basically, a take-off.

Contrast that to Voldemort. Over 25ft, I doubt whether anyone has successfully ridden it paddling in. Too ledgey, too fast.

The intimidation factor alone would be sufficient for most if the wave height wasn’t enough.

I’ve never seen it really crowded… maybe eight or ten in the water at a maximum, and when it gets to tow-in size, just a few teams work it, if any.

Those times it really turns on it is a wonder of the world, a thing of great beauty, but only if you know where to look.

A tourist pulling up at the town headland would see a mass of horror, not noticing the tiny traces of ants darting across the vast walls. The sight of their dropping jaws when you point out what their untrained eyes have not seen would be worth the price of admission to Disneyland.

On the day I mentioned earlier, there were tow teams surfing, a couple of locals, and a couple from elsewhere. There was a cinematographer, and a famous international surf photographer.

They were told to put away the cameras.

They stood their ground.

The shots I’ve seen are beautiful, magnificent and terrifying.

Non-surfers look in awe, as it is truly only when seeing surfers on giant waves do non-surfers truly ‘get it’.

Most surfers react the same way, but their desire to surf these waves is usually in direct proportion to the value they place on their lives, or on what they determine as fun, and fun, as Derek Hynd most succinctly put it, is the key.

Every surfer in the world capable of surfing Voldemort is aware of it. I would guarantee this. Most of these surfers have their own Voldemorts, and don’t feel the need to come and invade our temperamental beast. If one turns up occasionally to sample its delights, so be it.

One world. Our world. Their wave as much as anyone who lives there. If they choose to record this visit, that too is their right. One day it may be all they have from a unique time in their lives.

And photographers, from happy snapper to professional? They should be free to pursue their art and livelihoods. Just as the surfers who live there claim a right to work or study where they choose, so should photographers be able to record what is rare and beautiful. They give the fleeting, permanence. It pays respect to what is and can be.

In Voldemort, its extremes are treasures – diamonds rare and glittering.

Perhaps we should thank our lucky stars that we have been blessed with technologies that share what otherwise might be the fading memories of the few who are lucky enough to live across the road from a wonder of the surfing world.

I only had a few days in Oz before flying to Hawaii, so without delay I was on the first bus to Torquay which dropped me right outside ‘Bells Beach’ backpackers. I arrived with only an hour of light left so it was a case of dumping my bag and grabbing a board. I ran down to the beach in my wetsuit stoked at the thought of my first Oz surf experience… and what an experience it was!!

I knew I would not have time to run along to Bells as the light was slipping away so I opted for the closer break of Jan Juc. I spent a couple of minutes watching the waves peel in then dropped down to the beach and paddled straight out… wow I had finally made it! I caught a couple of great waves, holding off on my wave lust… waiting for the third of each set which was bigger and packed more power. I couldn’t help wondering why no one else was in the water… maybe they were scoring an epic session up the road at Bells!? So there I was sitting on my board circling my legs, blissfully enjoying having the waves all to myself when I got this kind of eerie feeling… I’d never really experienced this whilst surfing… you know the feeling that something’s wrong! I looked around and couldn’t really think of a reason. There was just me out there and some guy on the rocks fishing. So in came the set and I took off on the third wave then paddled back to my position. The feeling quickly returned and with that I looked down to see this huge shadow move beneath my board… I thought WHAT WAS THAT… it can’t be anything I’m just imagining it I told myself. Then seconds later it appeared again and again, my eyes were like saucers… hell, get me out of here… SHARK!!! I wasn’t waiting around for the third wave of the set this time… I wanted the first no matter how small as long as it carried me straight to shore. So I lay flat on my board, toes curled tightly onto the back, arms glued to the rails, paddling with my fingertips… I let out a silent EEEEEEEEEEEERRRKK and rode the board on my stomach until its nose hit the sand. I quickly stood on the beach asking myself if this was for real whilst looking for a fin to appear… but it didn’t. I couldn’t believe this had happened to me… maybe it hadn’t… even so why did I wait to see that shadow 3 times before I reacted, I guess I thought maybe it’s a dolphin or something, I’m just glad I didn’t hang around for confirmation!! I made my way along to Bells Beach the next day but that feeling still lingered. I spoke to a couple of local surfers who told me shark attacks were very rare but not unknown. They said the chances are it would have been a curious reef shark. I was heading to Hawaii next and I have to admit I was feeling a little more apprehensive than normal but more about that next time.

I guess as surfers we know there are sharks out there I just didn’t think they would be interested in me. The chance of being killed by a shark is so small apparently that it’s not worth worrying about. Nevertheless since that day I have become fascinated with sharks and soon learned the basics when it comes to avoiding any unwanted attention whilst surfing:

Check one – Don’t go in the water at dusk or dawn… feeding time!
Check two – Don’t surf alone!!
Check three – Don’t surf where people are fishing… throwing bait!!!

Strangely I have since convinced myself that, when it’s my time to go I’m going to be eaten by a shark, which obviously amuses my friends. So I’ve chosen John Williams- Jaws theme as my funeral song and I’m going to have “I told you so” engraved on my headstone. On a more serious note I have since dived with sharks whilst in Oz and I agree that we have little to fear. Sharks should be understood, respected and protected, they are critically important to our oceans and the balance of nature.

The surf here in Tynemouth has been pretty flat over the last couple of weeks so I decided to visit the Outer Hebrides (which was truly amazing, again I’ll tell all in my next blog… or I’ll have no room left for photography).

I wanted to photograph a still life close up under tungsten lighting at night, which requires a long exposure (with a cable release), so I used a modified Holga 120N for this shot. It’s easy enough to make basic modifications to a Holga, such as adding a cable release for long exposures or fitting a 52mm filter thread then attaching a close up lens.

So, I needed my Holga (complete with cable release and a 52mm +3 close up lens), tripod, light meter, a roll of Ilford XP2 super 400 black and white film and my living room light. If you feel like giving this a go, simply place your object on a suitable surface, position your tripod and camera at the correct focal distance (in this case 12’’ from the camera) and take a meter reading. If you haven’t used a light meter before, hold it at the subject position and point the meter towards the lens to take your reading. This will read the intensity of the light falling on your subject (which in this case was from a standard light bulb). I used a meter rather than simply pointing and shooting this time because my photo would have been totally underexposed with the available light. Holga’s given Aperture of around f11 and shutter speed of 1/100 sec would not have been adequate this time, I wanted to use the bulb exposure which allows you to hold the shutter open as long as you like.

I set Holga’s focal distance to the portrait image (which would normally focus at roughly 3’) and changed the shutter speed to the B (Bulb) setting. Selecting an aperture of f11 on the light meter, I took a reading. The result= 5 seconds at f11. A shutter speed of less than around 1/60 sec would blur my image if the camera was handheld (due to camera shake), that’s why I used a tripod and cable release. I pointed Holga in the direction of my Shark asking him to smile, opened the shutter with my cable, releasing after 5 seconds. The B&W film (Ilford XP2) I used can be developed at the majority of labs, as it is processed in C41 chemicals the same as colour negatives.

If you are new to photography I recommend that you understand how Aperture and shutter speed determine your exposure. Aperture or f-stops (e.g. f8, f11 etc) are mainly used to control depth of field (what is in focus), whilst the shutter speed is used to freeze or blur movement (e.g. 1/125 sec or 2 seconds etc). Aperture measures how wide the lens opens when you press the button and shutter speed determines how long the shutter stays open. This may not sound logical but a small f-stop number lets in a large amount of light (E.g. f2.8, f5.6 etc) whilst a large f-stop lets in a small amount of light (e.g. f16 or f22). Shutter speeds are easier to understand, as slow shutter speeds allow a large amount of light and faster shutter speeds allow a small amount of light. Basically, the combination of these two settings effects the amount of light that reaches the camera sensor which= Exposure. If your photo is too dark it is underexposed as you haven’t let enough light in, when there is too much light it is overexposed.

I appreciate that this may be a little heavy and no fun for some. If so… live for the moment and say bye bye to the tripod etc, grab Holga, turn on her flash and hey presto you have light. Better still jump in the water with a Frogeye point and shoot camera… I just wouldn’t recommend using your flash around sharks!
Frogeye, Fuji Sensia 400 slide film cross processed.

Burleigh Heads 6 to 8 foot. from Geoff A Charters on Vimeo.

Rhiannon Buck: What made you start using Canadian Aboriginal vocals in your songs?
Xavier Rudd: The voice we use is the Aboriginal Chief who sang on the White Moth album; his prayer was to Mother Earth and was a part of the song and part of a whole connection we had going on.
He’s incredible; he should be running the world. He has an amazing scientific mind, on the subjects of anatomy, spiritual existence and reasoning, the reasons for our Universe, you know his philosophy is very broad. His Aboriginal background is what I draw from, as I come from that background anyway. But he has the scientific knowledge to back it up.

RB: I hear you learned to play the didgeridoo by practising on a vacuum cleaner hose…
XR: Yeah, it works! It was one of the first instruments I tried to play – my mum was always looking for the thing.

RB: How did you get involved in the ‘Surfer Dude’ film?
XR: I did three days of recording for it. It was a pretty light-hearted comedy and it was cool for me to work on, you know, jams and things that I thought suited the film. I haven’t heard the outcome of it yet.
I knew what I needed to do: I laid down a bunch of grooves and then they cut them up and used them. It was sort of funkier than usual. I had a Hammond organ player with me, and you know it was kind of fun. I know they added some stuff to one thing that I did, which was weird, I wouldn’t expect that. I’ve never had someone add stuff to my music, I wasn’t that happy about it, I guess I was kind of disappointed, but you know… It was fun really.

RB: You’ve got a reputation as an activist campaigning for indigenous rights. How did that start?
XR: Well, I think it started when my great-grandmother had my grandmother and she was taken away. She was then raised by the Irish sisters of the father. I’m not entirely sure of her origins but she seems to be responsible for my journey, she had a very strong spirit. She comes through me, through my music, and shapes my whole existence. My passion and connection to culture is maybe the reason why I got involved in the campaign.
She’s not a figure that I see, but I feel her and I know she’s around. It gives me the strength of character I’ve needed at different times; it comes from another place, it’s hard to explain.

RB: Has your love of the ocean influenced your environmental campaigning?
XR: I guess my music is a reflection of how I feel. I grew up in the bush surfing, camping, spending time on my own, connecting with the energy of my country and home. My biggest appreciation is for the natural earth, and I guess that comes through in my music. Lots of the places I visit have environmental groups, and I see those groups voice growing over the 10 years I’ve been around. It’s good to see.
I care about the preservation of this planet and what time we have left on it and I get upset about how things are.

RB: Do you try to reduce the impact your travelling and the music industry have on the planet?
XR: It’s easy at home, we live in a carbon-neutral home with solar panels and we do all kinds of stuff with the sewage system and the like. But when we go out on the road I just feel like it’s really hard. We try, but it’s a pretty toxic industry. And in some places it’s harder to do than others. For example, in America we were carrying bags around with us trying to find somewhere to recycle. But in the music industry it’s really hard to have some kind of sustainable tour unless you’ve got a huge budget. If you have a huge team and someone dedicated to make that happen in each place, it will happen. I think it’s important that promoters and organisers in each place are aware of the impact they have – a standard thing that comes with all the shows seems to be plastic bottles and cups, it’s always there. At some of the festivals I play at, it’s not well organised, but I’ve noticed in Europe it’s getting better. Glastonbury was good this year, they had it organised. But the V Festivals weren’t.

RB: Do you bring your board on tour with you?
XR: Yeah, I usually do, but I blew it on this tour. I didn’t bring it and I bought a crappy one in Spain for way too much money. I think we finish up in Biarritz, so I’ll give to someone on the beach!

RB: Do you surf in the UK when you’re here?
XR: Yeah for sure, in Cornwall. I don’t remember where exactly. It was good, I had some fun waves, and it was warmer than I thought too. Although another time when I went in I was freezing!
It’s cool to see a surf culture here in the UK; growing up in Australia I knew nothing about it at all, so it’s really nice. There’s a good scene here, and there’s some good surfers too. They’re tough you know, kind of like Canadian surfers.

RB: Are you riding your way around this retro scene right now?
XR: Yeah I actually like twin fins and old single fins. You know I get on thrusters a bit – I guess you can perform better for today’s standards, turn vertical and stuff – but I grew up on thrusters, and it’s nice to ride something else. It’s like my dad, he grew up on old designs and then suddenly was blown away by the modern thruster technology. But I like the old slower boards, twin fins and stuff like that. I ride them back home and all my mates are on thrusters and are like “Get on the thruster you tripper!” but I love it.

RB: Does surfing feature in your music? Does it help you write?
XR: Oh totally, surfing is always there in all my work. I’ve always written a lot of my music in the water, since I was young. I still do now; a lot of inspiration is drawn from that.
Music is an experience that I guess humans have had since the beginning of time and so it’s a very sacred and old experience. Surfing is the closest you can get to Mother Nature out of everything I’ve done. You’re dancing with a pulse of energy from Mother Nature, it’s very strong, prevalent and it can be intimidating. And it only exists for a certain period of time before it disappears into the history of the universe, you may have been the only person that was able to dance with it, get inside it. For me that is as raw as it gets and my music has the same power for me, it brings me together with other people and this world.

www.xavierrudd.com

Photos: James Looker