Malibu, 1952, will be the first stop after Amazon delivers my long-backordered Wayback Machine. Happy weeks will pass. Then Gary Cooper will hint that I need to vacate his Colony guesthouse, no hard feelings, and at that point I will graciously take my leave, return to the pod, twiddle a dial, close the hatch and depart for Yamba, New South Wales, 1972. Angourie calls. Not as loudly as Malibu, but louder than the North Shore or Jeffreys Bay. I will greet Baddy Treloar with a 10-pound bag of organic brown rice and a respirator, and that should be enough to get him working on my new shooter, and a few hours later we’ll both jog down that wooded trail together and I'll follow Baddy into the water for my Angourie debut like a baby duckling. Never shall I use my time machine to fuck with the future. Except in this small way—Morning of the Earth will have one more featured surfer, and that surfer will be pale and 57 and grinning to beat the band.
Morning of the Earth week is over, and I hope it was as good for you as it was for me. The Baddy video. The warm and soulful Alby Falzon interview, with that surprising dollop of profanity! The Earth page on History of Surfing, and this post on “country soul.” No leashes. No stickers. Terry Fitzgerald’s hair.
I’ll be holding focus on Australia in the days ahead, with a wet and salty salute to Tracks magazine.
Thanks for reading, everybody, and see you next week!
[Photos: John Witzig, Alby Falzon]