The Drop
Most blokes have had a mate that we now know in our mature years was seriously mental. Mine was Wayne Yates. He was not only mental but surfed with his right foot forward .. in other words, he was a goofy foot. This of course is now known as a sign that the owner of such a foot should be avoided at all costs, but not then, not in 1958 when Wayne lived at Dover Heights.
You might ask, knowing that Dover Heights is a bit of a wealthy enclove these days, what was the problem in those days?
Living by the Richmond River I know how some gents like to be able to fish right outside their front door. Drop a line, catch a fish, clean it and have it for breakfast in 30 minutes.
Wayne was like that and living by the sea as he did, he liked to consider how best to get to it and score a feed, however when I say he lived by the sea, he really lived above it. About one hundred vertical metres above it.
Wayne’s house once occupied the lot where that two storied red-roofed home sits at the top of this image; the house that is overhanging the cliff. And Wayne’s plan back in the day was to get to the water down there, way down there and go fishing, and of course I was to keep him company. That’s what best mates were for.
That was the plan, only when we got halfway down we ran out of handholds, being stubby little coprosma bushes that mostly pulled out of the sandstone when we grabbed them. So we had to get back up to the top without their assistance.
And the only reason I’m writing this is because I made it.
And to add to the drama, that rectangular slab of rock in the shadows at the bottom of the cliff below is called The Mat, and we got down there most weekends. The only problem there was if the tide came in we would be stuck there for about three hours.
And Mum never knew.
pics by Wolter Peeters and lifted from the SMH
Loved the ending!