One of the problems with our little surf club is that too few people put their hand up to volunteer for stuff. As a result you get the same faces doing all the donkey work. One job that’s been unfilled for some time is chief instructor – as a result of which many of us have had to go to other surf clubs to do awards. Anyway – a member of the club who has been out of the whole surf lifesaving movement for 12 years recently rejoined and the great news is that he’s an IRB specialist. The upshot of all this was that starting today, regular IRB training began.

You honestly couldn’t have asked for a nicer day than today. It was in the high 20s, the ocean’s as warm as it’s going to get and the surf was perfect – nice glassy waves and no shitty dumping shorebreak. I got down to the beach a bit past the 10:00am start time on account of going to bed at 3am the night before after an evening of boozing with good friends. 

We had both of the IRBs on the go – the older, slower, but far more nimble Achilles and the newer, bigger, faster and far less nimble Achilles 2. There were eight people on-hand for crew training and four of us doing driver training. That said, everyone had a go at driving off the beach and out through the breakzone, which lead to some moments of high drama as people got thrown out left, right and centre.

One of the people doing driver training had never driven an outboard powered boat before and she (much like myself) wasn’t a natural. At one point she was out in the boat with her two teenage kids who were doing crew training. We had all been instructed to try and get the boat as far up the beach as possible, which means picking your wave and gunning it onto the sand. Unfortunately the novice driver took our instructor at his word and rammed the boat full pelt onto the beach, neatly ejecting all three of them in cartwheels onto the beach. Funniest fucking thing I’ve seen in a long time. I could hardly stop laughing long enough to ask them all if they were okay (ermmm, which they were).

Several of my landings were far from text book too – on one occasion I managed to fall off the back of the boat into the water leaving the motor chewing sand and my bemused crewman wondering where the fuck I’d gone. Highlight of the day was a game of tag. I drove one of the boats and an experienced driver called Wes drove the other and we pursued each other in and out of the break. It was so full-on that I got stuck into waves I’d normally have backed off from. I think I learnt more in those four hours today than I have in two years of crewing and driving IRBs.

God’s Own Country…
I have found a most excellent book called, “God’s Own Country – An Appreciation of Australia”, which was written in 1914 by C.E. Jacomb. I plan to write a longer article on this book, because I found the text, though written nearly 100 years ago, to be incredibly accurate with regards modern day emigration. Check out this paragraph from the introduction,

There are essential differences between Australia and England, and whole-souled admiration of Australia is not universal amongst English emigrants as it is with native Australians. There are phases of Australian life that do not appeal to some of the visitors as Australians could wish. Every hundred English emigrants contains a percentage that is frankly disappointed. As I remarked above, Australians cannot understand anybody who is unappreciative, and this percentage appears to them a harrassing and inexplicable phenomenon.

So – some time before the term ‘whinging pom’ entered the lingua franca of Australia – there we have one of the first references to the phenomenon! And how about this one,

It is this lack of precise information on all conditions of life in Australia that permits the introduction of many men unsuited for, or unsuitable as, colonists. It equally prevents the introduction of a much larger number of men who would be both useful and contented men. It is said that the ” malcontents ” should leave. True, but they do not find out their unsuitability at once. In the meantime they may have bought land or a business, from which they can only free themselves by heavy financial loss. For in Australia the maxim ” It is easier to buy than sell ” is equally true as in other countries.

And there’s another first, “If you don’t like it, fuck off” – in the modern vernacular. Check out the expat forums and you’ll find countless tales of woe from people who found themselves unsuitable as ‘colonists’ but can’t sell their house or business in order to return to the UK. And check out this cracker,

It is widely known that the large towns of Australia are heavily over-populated, considering the total population of the country ; and it follows naturally that the professions are overcrowded. There is as much competition in these walks of life as there is in London, and absolutely no more certainty of making a larger income, or of leading a more comfortable life to balance it.

Isn’t that hilarious? Nothing changes. Anyway – like I say, I’m still reading this book and plan to write an article comparing and contrasting it 100 years on. 

Keep it real.