This shot was taken by Peter Wilkinson after a winter session in the cold, harsh environment of Flinders (1978–79). The huge cliffs offer great protection from the strong offshore winds, making waves like Cyril’s very surfable when most other spots are blown out. There has always been plenty of driftwood washed in to build a fire, and perhaps because our wetsuits by today's standards were pretty average (I’m wearing a vest over my steamer), this was a regular occurrence.

Ian Cochrane is in the frame with Matt “Ando” Anderson, me, and Pete’s super dog, Jep. If there were a doggy Olympics, he would have won gold!

Matt was a good, solid surfer and a plasterer by trade. Since those early days, he has spent most of his adulthood living, raising a family, and surfing the waves of Phillip Island. In 2001, I was lucky enough to share a trip to the Australian Masters Titles held at Rottnest Island in WA with him and fellow islanders Johnny Mason and Oggy. Ando's amp and motivation saw the team bring home a few big titles. It was just extraordinary how he took over as coach, and his energy carried us through a week of competitive surfing.

After almost 30 years away from surfing, Cocky is back at Cyril’s and every other spot that fires up on the Peninsula. At 12 years of age, he was a precocious talent who just kept getting better and better. By 18, he lit up every spot he surfed with talent to burn, but by 25, the candle had burned out long before the legend ever did.

The ride at Cyril’s is fast, exciting, and—over the suck rock—a wee bit dangerous. Cocky recalls being knocked out and luckily coming to, floating on his back. I’ve broken a few ribs on the rock myself, and I can attest that hundreds of boards and bodies have been destroyed on that shoreline. We might not have a ding-repair business if it wasn't for the Flinders stretch of coast!

Even before a sperm whale was washed ashore there recently, these waters have always been kinda spooky. A small group including Mick Pierce, Joe Briglio, and his son had a very close encounter with a 4-metre white pointer at the nearby Big Left (Joes). Mick told me the long paddle back to shore was covered in record time, but not before he’d fallen off in a rare nervous moment.

This must be a pretty old shot—we all had hair back then!