The Mirage

The small town of Eagle Bay, on the West Australian coast a bit further along from Margaret River, gets a lot of visitors, attracted by our world-class surfing conditions, and who can blame them. But it can get crowded in the water, and so we like to get in early, at dawn, before any of the tourists wake up, shake off their hangovers and waddle down to the water to steal our waves.

For a handful of days every month we take the notion of "early", just a little bit further than most. In fact, we take it around the back of the shearing shed and explain a few things kindly but firmly with a crowbar and a pair of pliers. Because when the full moon is out we're on the water several hours before dawn, surfing the black water beneath silver moonlight, in the peace and quiet derived from the secure knowledge that no one in their right mind is insane enough to follow us. And anything lurking beneath the water entertaining views to nibble, bite, chew or otherwise gastronomically partake from any feet dangling unsuspectingly in dark water has to contend with a wide and impressive range of carefully cultivated toejam, a challenge that has sent many a nightly prowler off back to their mums retching, heaving and spewing. Underwater Protection 101. The smell alone creates a 100 metres wide impenetrable bubble of toxic proofing around us.

The Uncle was the recent proud owner of a brand new board. He had gone on a wild goose chase all the way to Albany on the south coast, homeplace of the fabled board shaper Harry Hollowbum. Reclusive and world-weary, Harry lives on a remote property at the back of Woop-Woop, down the end of a long driveway littered with booby traps, snake pits and landmines. He figures if anyone is stupid enough to try and reach him and lucky enough to survive it, they're entitled to one of his boards.

The Uncle had arrived back late the previous night, sporting an impressive array of fresh and inventive injuries, including a cast around his lower left leg. How that was going to go in the water was anyone's guess.

He reverently slid his brand new board out of the bag and proudly held it up in the moon light. We gathered around appreciatively and enviously and said ooo and aah.

'Oooo,' said I, the Baboon. It came naturally.

'Aaaah,' sighed the Snake Catcher ecstatically.

'Uuuurrrgh,' said the Reef Shark, Lord Of Man-Eating Pacific Island Coral Reefs.

'That's beautiful, mate,' I said wistfully.

'Yeah, real nice, you lucky bastard,' agreed the Snake Catcher, looking, in the moon light, a pale silvery green of envy.

'Uuuurrrgh,' concurred the Reef Shark. He was a man of few words.

'So, uh ... what's the go with this?' I said, pointing at something on the board.

'Ah, that?' replied the Uncle, looking shifty. 'Yeah, ... that's a special sort of something I'm trying out. Her-hum.' He coughed and looked at his feet.

'What,' said the Snake Catcher, 'a mouth drawn on the board with lipstick?'

'Yeah ...' The Uncle went red in the face, or, at least, by the light of the moon, silvery pink. It matched the colour of the lipstick, but wasn't quite as glossy.

'And what's the go with that bra strapped around the board?' enquired the Reef Shark, clearly intrigued now. 'And is that two oranges you've stuck in there?'

'Yeah, well, look ... her-hum ...' The Uncle looked mortally embarrassed. 'Look, I've got this theory, you see, that having a new board is like having a new girlfriend. It takes a bit of getting used to, you know, in terms of how it ... uh ... works and that ...' The glossy pink deepened to a ripe purple. 'So, I figured ... if I dressed it up a bit it would make the transition a bit easier, you know what I mean?'