On Sunday, 27. October 2001, I decided on impulse to drive to Yorke Peninsula. Leaving fairly late at 8 am, I was initially wondering if I was driving into the right direction because about twenty cars with boards on top where heading down to the Southcoast. After a non-eventful three-hour drive I arrived at the Innes National Park office, where I was robbed of an exorbitant admission fee of $6 and in return got two dinky little tourist maps. Since 1996 the fee had increased from $3.

Driving slowly along the gypsum-covered road, keeping my eye at the the ever-present roos or emus that tend to make a mad dash for the bonnet of your car, I first passed the well-known surfbreak of Chinaman’. I kept driving, mainly because there was nobody out. At Cape Spencer LighthouseI stopped to take the obligatory tourist photos.

I continued on and pulled into the Ethel Beach carpark. My heart jumped: there were cars! I got out, had a look and said aloud to myself, "That’s better!" There were decent size waves and there were surfers out. Eager I grabbed my equipment and marched along the cliff, wondering how the hell I could get down there! There must be a way, I pondered. I returned to the carpark where in the meantime a surf vehicle had pulled up and two surfers checked out the break. Approaching the nicer looking one I asked where I could make my way to the beach because it was very steep and there was no visible track . He was kind enough to point out a goat track that didn’t look too easy to conquer, but I was determined to give it a go. "I’ll just follow those two, and they can pick me up if I fall," I said, nodding in the direction of two other surfers who were just about to make the arduous climb. So I followed in their footsteps and made it successfully down to the beach, where I parked my camera gear on a limestone ledge. The limestone was very sharp and there were hidden holes going straight down, waiting for the unwary foot to get stuck in. Actually very much like Cactus. It was nearly midday, there was plenty of light and I was pretty close to the break. What more could I want? I wondered why people were prepared to drive three hours to surf here, and when I asked one of the surfers he replied, "Because it is relaxing". At first I thought he was referring to the drive over, which was sure to make everybody fall asleep, but he actually meant Yorke’s!

Eventually I decided to tackle the return climb, passing the remains of the "Ethel" which wrecked at Reef Head in 1904. The "Ethel" was a three-masted iron barque, bound from South Africa to Semaphore. One crewmember drowned. Just seventeen years later, only a few meters away, the steamer "Ferret" ran into fog and, after steering too close to shore, ran onto the beach where she was battered and holed by heavy seas. The remains of "Ethel’s" hulk were used to secure a line to the steamer. All crew reached safety.

The next stop was Pondalowie Beach, but the onshores had gotten into it and there were only two learners in the shorebreak. I turned around and decided to give West Cape a try. When I arrived, I had a chat to two young surfers, Leigh Sorensen and Adam, both originally from the West Coast. They’d already had a wave early in the morning at Baby Lizard’s and were standing there, leaning relaxedly against their car. They thought I was taking photos for a surfing magazine, which was very flattering, and when I mentioned that I surfed, they were even more impressed. Unfortunately, according to them, the Cape’s banks weren’t so flash, but I decided to judge for myself. I had to agree when I overlooked the long beach. The two surfers way in the distance didn’t catch anything worthwhile a twenty minute walk along the beach. Upon reflecting on Leigh and Adam and male surfers in general, I find their mateship truly amazing. They can be together without saying anything, just enjoying a wave and each other’s company, a piece of bread or a can of baked beans and maybe the odd stubbie at a campfire. The memories of these surfing trips and adventures shared will accompany them throughout their life, even when their ways may part one day.

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Photos & Story Sibylle Martens, copyright Ron Taylor/Sibylle Martens 2003