Tassie surfing legend Mick Lawrence tracks the rise of our board riding culture
Mick Lawrence has seen Tasmanian surfing grow from its earliest days, when only diehards could be found at deserted beaches, to its current popularity.
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WHEN Mick Lawrence first started surfing in Tasmania in the 1960s, the infant sport required guts and grit to conquer the elements and the mishaps.
There were no wetsuits, so surfers made do with woollen jumpers with the sleeves cut off.
The surfboards were long and bulky and came without leg ropes, so the planks were frequently lost.
“When I first started it was a sexist boys’ club, because it was mainly boys in their late teens willing to do it,” Mr Lawrence said.
Mr Lawrence, also a filmmaker, is giving a free public talk on the history of surfing in Tasmania on Tuesday, organised by the Maritime Museum and held at the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery.
The 72-year-old was state surfing champion in 1966-67, and he was one of the early “discoverers” of Shipstern Bluff as a surfing location in 1994.
He has seen surfing grow from its earliest days, when only diehards could be found at deserted beaches, to its current explosion in popularity – and merchandise.
“In the early days your typical surfer’s gear comprised a surfboard, a sleeveless footy jumper and a length of rope to tie your board on to a car,” he recalls in his book Surfing on the Inside.
“If you were flush with funds, or from the upper echelons of Sandy Bay, you could also have a pair of occy straps, a diver’s wetsuit and a block of Ampol surf wax.”
Girls would tag along, and watch from the beach.
But the surfers who took their girlfriends generally regretted it by the end of the day, as did the girls.
“After she had been left on the beach all day while you surfed with your mates, the inside of the car was like ice … we soon learnt that sheilas and sand don’t mix,” Mick reflects in his book.
Times have changed radically, and when Mr Lawrence heads to his local Clifton Beach these days, he is delighted with how the sport has become more accessible and the passion has spread.
“Now it’s dramatically different, males and females surf and you see kids surfing with grandparents,” he said.
He was drawn to Shipstern Bluff because of the dramatic rock cliffs – which he filmed in 1994 for a Perpetual Trustees’ commercial offering “rock solid investments”.
“I had to find a location and a friend directed me to Shipstern Bluff. We filmed the TV commercial with helicopters and the surf was breaking where they surf now,” said Mr Lawrence, who has produced more than 100 documentaries.
Surfers had heard about the break before then, but few knew where it was – and those who did know, weren’t divulging it. Even Mr Lawrence ensured the location was not clear in the commercial.
“It was deliberately kept quiet for five or so years, it was jealously guarded. There were guys who surfed there who weren’t keen to share.”
He said surfers often liked to protect their waves, although it was getting harder now as surfing became more popular.
When the sport first started in Tasmania, when the first Malibu boards arrived in the late 1950s, there was only a small following around the state.
“Now the sport is the chosen lifestyle for around 5000 Tasmanians.”
Around the world, there are now 35 million active surfers – defined as those who surf twice a week.
“It’s now massive, and one of the problems is that deserted surf spots have become popular and we are seeing surf rage,” Mr Lawrence said.
“Living on an island, we are a bit divorced from that. And the beauty of living in a cold climate is that only the brave and the keen go – that’s nature’s speed hump.”
Mr Lawrence said he never surfed Shipstern Bluff himself, as it was “too scary, too consequential”. But his surfing has taken him to Hawaii, California. Mexico and the Indonesian archipelago. He has written for Tracks, Surfing World, Australian Longboarder and EuroSurf magazines.
For the past four years he has been a guide at a Port Davey Wilderness camp, and he is also mentoring young surfers through South Arm Board Riders.
Mr Lawrence has also withstood his share of life’s waves off the water, including the overwhelming grief of losing his son Tim Lawrence two years ago in a jetski crash. Tim, who was also a surfer, was 32.
The loss of Tim, his only child, was one so big that Mr Lawrence knows he will never stop feeling that wave of sadness.
“I’ve buried lots of friends and loved ones, but this is your worst nightmare,” he said.
HUNDREDS GATHER TO FAREWELL SURFER TIM LAWRENCE
Nature, and its therapeutic quality, has helped Mr Lawrence get through many of life’s hurdles.
About 10 years ago his aorta split, and he was told he had limited time to live.
“It was inoperable and I should have died.”
Although he had given up surfing at that stage, he took up kayaking and found the benefits helped him repair physically and mentally. His aorta self-healed, and he overcame the depression that followed.
“I got the black dog for four to five years. But I paddled solo in the South-West in all the lakes and rivers. I found the isolation very comforting.
“Nature rejuvenates.”
Mr Lawrence is in the final stages of making a documentary about reflections on his own life, called Rogue Waves.
Mick Lawrence will talk from 12-1pm Tuesday, September 3 at the Royal Society Room, TMAG, Davey St Entrance. Entry is free, no booking required.
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