Two tales from ‘Lockdown #Lost-Count’

Pagan Worship at Vera Lynn

A few days ago, I was walking my dogs to the beat of a strong south-easterly sea. Unexpectedly, I found myself transfixed by competing emotions – an intense and immediate pleasure and a twang of distant wistfulness – as I watched two 18-somethings ‘communing with Huey’, arms outstretched into the teeth of the gale on a high rock on Vera Lynn Point.

There was something pagan, earthy, intensely enjoyable to witness two kids playing at – or being – free spirits. To my mind, and I rather suspect in theirs, they were paying their due respects to Huey [some spell him/her Huie], the name given to the imaginary god who creates waves and surf.

As Tracks Magazine put it in a January 2011 article that researched the origins of ‘Huey’ [see: https://www.tracksmag.com.au/news/the-story-of-huey-423356], he/she seems to be a uniquely Australian god… though putting that hint of national ownership of a clearly international god into print likely invites swift contradiction by others who commune with this essentially benevolent deity.

From ‘Tracks Magazine 2011

As Tracks puts it: ‘…since the dawn of surfing, surfers have had a bit of a love/hate relationship with ‘the man in the sky’. When the waves are good, we praise his generosity, kiss his feet, and apologise for any sin we may have committed in his garden of Eden. But when the waves are bad, surfers sacrifice boards, goats, and throw middle fingered salutes at old Huey in acts of desperation to feel his wrath’… and whip up a swell.

As Yogi gnawed and tore at [yet another] juiced-up kelp-stalk as his daily hors d’oeuvres, and as Rosie, ever-bemused by her deafness, snuffled around in the cowrie-beds, I must have seemed like a suspect old man as I enjoyed their uplifting expression of freedom. I was drawn to watch and enjoy their moment of weather-worship, even if I may have seemed intrusive by doing so. They probably had no idea the effect they had on me.

If truth be told, ageing is no fun, so seeing lithe youth doing exactly what once I did [but now have a snowflakes chance in hell of replicating] returns memory-snippets from a greatly treasured past life—and moments to be greatly enjoyed.

I don’t even know if Huey was their focus of the moment—though he was, for me. It recalled those many years past when astride my old triple stringer, 9 foot, 10 inch Bennett at the Lorne point [equivalent to 2.75m … the usual length for a surfboard in the 1960s], I would beseech Huey to send down a quick set that Wayne, Alan, and Gail might miss while paddling back out.

So, thanks, unidentified guys. You may not have known it at the time, but your simple action of embracing the wind and summoning Huey gave me great joy.

Nautilus Shells

I received a Messenger question the other day: ‘…do you know if nautilus shells still wash up at Lorne anymore?’

While I normally don’t answer Messenger questions, it was intriguing and demanded a thoughtful attempt. As I thought about it, I found the question more complex than simply ‘…do they still wash up?’ 

The short answer was ‘yes, they do still wash up’… indeed, I have found three separate ‘pieces’ – but no intact shells – in the last 18 Covid-months.  Most seem to be found in Lorne’s ‘nautilus stretch’ from Point Grey to the lesser point at ‘Weeds’ where the small, disappearing ruin of Hector Stribling’s summer house can still be seen nestling back into the cliff face halfway from Vera Lynn to the George River mouth. Those who walk the beautiful rock shelves and sandy coves of this short 1km stretch of the coast will know it well as a local place to hunt for cowries.

My grandmother used to take me nautilus-hunting when I was a small boy – always on Point Grey and always after an easterly. The exposed rocks would always be flecked with ‘Father Christmas’s Whiskers’ – our family name for the off-white, feathery spume that an easterly-angered Huey [see above] spits onto the shore.

Spume [or sea foam] forms when the naturally occurring organic matter that comes from algae is churned up by wind and wave action [i.e., heavy seas] in the presence of dissolved proteins and lipids [fats] that also naturally occur in seawater as the detritus of long-dead living creatures.  Spume also forms a perfect ‘feather bed’ for a nautilus shell to float unharmed to the shore

My gran used to say – whether correctly or not, I do not know – that the much-prized nautilus shells we occasionally find rise to the surface when swirled around by a troubled sea. But the ‘shells’ we find are not the true cephalopod shell – these are much heavier and far less commonly found. The ‘shells’ we find are actually the paper-thin egg case of the cephalopod: see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Argonaut_(animal) that, if disturbed to the surface, traps air, becomes buoyant, and floats to the shore.

Paper Nautilus ‘shells’ may be found whole [with luck and great good fortune] though sadly, and more commonly, they are in pieces. There are some excellent specimens in the cabinets at Lorne Community Connect. It is always worth a hunt on Point Grey after an easterly has subsided, but remember that rock shelves can be dangerous, and due care and respect should be accorded the sea if you choose to go searching.

That the fierce anger of Huey can cushion, protect, and deliver up – unshattered – such a delicate delight as a Paper Nautilus through the soft and feathery auspice of ‘Father Christmas’s Whiskers’ seems to me to be one of the most remarkable and delightful contradictions of nature.

John Agar