This photo, taken by Peter Wilkinson in the early 70s, was shot from above the reef looking through to the point on a big offshore day.

Unfortunately, nothing much has changed surf-wise, as Pete’s caption on the back reads: “One of the only good winter swells this year.” We know it's the early 70s because at this stage there was no housing on the lower reaches of the Pt. Leo farm and Shoreham estate. Today, there is no visible farmland left when you’re in the water looking back up the hill—just housing and heaps of trees.

Taking a closer look, two surfers have just passed over the lip at First Reef. I’m thinking it's “Mumbles” and a young Johnny Clatworthy, two exciting goofies who used to tear the reef to shreds and run the barrel onto dry sand. Ask any of the old-timers and they will tell you the reef doesn’t break anything like it used to for consistency and shape. We think the reason for this is the direct impact of the housing estate, whereby the creek rarely ever overflows to deposit sand and form shallow left and right banks. The rainfall is simply soaked up by all the "greenies" (the trees and the people). Pines river mouth is a good example this year of the flow-on effects when our waterways broach the ocean.

Rupert White, whose grandfather Jeff Rawes owned Pt. Leo Farm (all the land from Leo through to Shoreham), told me recently how he, his mum, and Richard Collier would sometimes dig out the bank so the creek could flow through to the sea and build an A-frame on top of those few scattered rocks at the reef.

My surfboard that day was a 6'2" purple single fin with a full concave. Some of the drops were like sliding down a telegraph pole and hoping to come out alive at the bottom. The highlight of Wilko’s magic with the camera is, of course, the Point (Suicide) firing at 6 to 8 feet. It’s never going to be a Bells Beach, but it can have its moments. In fact, when Bells was around 15 feet on Easter Saturday 1981, Suicide was only 8 to 10—the biggest I have ever surfed it, and great fun, but substantially smaller in power and size than those monsters Simon Anderson carved up on the first Thruster.

Three surfers are attempting to ride the wave off the point. One is way too deep, then there’s Ted Bainbridge bottom-turning and setting up, only to see Bazza Burns dropping in on the shoulder (not a bad tactic, as many surfers would get caught behind the whitewater and eaten up). Most regulars at Point Leo are of the opinion that it doesn’t break as well as it did in the 70s and early 80s. Perhaps that’s why P.S.C. no longer holds comps in the bay, preferring to put their cadets, juniors, and women out in playful 8-foot rip bowls instead. How quick they have been to forget that the best surfer the club has ever produced by a mile, one Garry Taylor, cut his teeth and honed his skills under Wilko's coaching at Treloars and First Reef.

Brother Phil now calls the Suicide area "Hastings" on a big swell, as the takeoff has shifted so far across in that direction. On the high tides, a large group led by Cal Nicholson and Wade Cochrane are riding at Sometimes, while John Jolly is dropping in at Idiots, and there will be a few trying their luck at Mystery Lefts. It has been suggested the muscle farm has been pivotal to the changes we observe in Western Port, or maybe it's just nature taking its course.

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Linking in with the landscape shot of the point on a big day is this eighties close-up view of the judging panel for the Peninsula Boardriders Club on a rare visit to Western Port Bay.

Wilko was not only Head Judge for the club but also the Victorian A.S.A. Head Judge, and he even carried that position all the way to a World Junior Titles in California. His trackies were a big seller back in the day, though the colour is one usually preferred by the ladies! On Pete’s right is Cameron Mole, a seasoned surfer who is still hanging out at Gunnamatta on a good day.

A very young Kane Tankard (a Leo local) on the top row is still a very good surfer on shortboards, while in his younger days he was more noted for his Malibu surfing. He made finals in both the 8-foot and 9-foot divisions at the Australian Titles. Kane and his dad, Gus, started manufacturing surfboard blanks under the name Tank’s Blanks (the first surf company in Victoria to do so for some 40 years), and Kane has carried on his father’s dream, with their foam now shipped all over Australia.

The judging panel starts with Shane Lowe in the foreground, a concreter-turned-painter who was not to be messed with, but also a lover of great music. A driveway in Fleetwood Crescent, Frankston, was once redecorated by Shane with a pick after the owner reneged on payment following a day’s hard yakka and a first-class finish! He was a member of the Trigger Bros kneeboard team and a great guy to travel with.

On a memorable trip to New Zealand (memorable for misadventures), we took a late afternoon bus from Raglan to New Plymouth. Nearing the end of the journey, a friendly local invited us to spend the night at his house, which we unwittingly accepted. Our first observation upon entering was that there was no front door. Then, as we were led into the kitchen, the newspaper cuttings adorning the walls like trophies revealed the pride that this notorious bikie gang took in its murderers, rapists, and armed robbers.

Nazi swastikas and flags were everywhere. Shane politely passed on a cup of coffee, while silly old Triggs looked into that poisoned chalice and wished he hadn’t volunteered a "yes, please."

Upon being ushered into our quarters, at least two or three rats scarpered through the broken floorboards. It was all too much for Shane, so we waited until almost midnight, sneaked out of the house, and once we were 400 metres down the road, we were screaming for joy like madmen recently released. As luck would have it, we managed to find a motel still open.

The following morning, we set out hitchhiking to the Kumara Patch, a left-hander and one of New Zealand's finest waves. A long-haired surfie in a Kombi pulls over and offers us a ride. After a few kilometres down the track to our destination, it's obvious he has marijuana buds sprouting out of his ears. The Cheech and Chong characters were, without a doubt, based on this man. We declined all the drugs we were offered and arrived at a feeble 1 to 2-foot beach break below a lighthouse. Because he was so stoned, he wanted to stay in the van, smoke a joint, and keep a safe eye on all our gear while we caught a few waves. How could we have been so lucky!

Sitting beside Shane is Phil Taylor (G.T.’s older brother), another of the Peninsula’s hot goofy-footers and a very popular guy. On this particular day, with a strong swell and a nor'wester blowing, Phil snapped his leg rope in a pre-comp surf. He swam in, only to find his brand-new "ocka" had been swept out and was heading towards Somers. Brother Phil and J.T. went in search of a tinny while three or four of us tracked its path from the lookout. After drifting only some 400 metres, it vanished completely from view, even though we were in an elevated position. Phil Taylor's new stick was never recovered.

Leigh “Reds” McClure was a fantastic surfer who, unfortunately, had to face the unbeatable G.T. in every club and state comp. His signature move was the floater, and I doubt there was a better exponent of that manoeuvre in Victoria. For a short period of time, he partnered with Ian Weir in a surf shop on the Nepean Highway in Frankston.

Matthew “Ando” Anderson, now of Phillip Island, was once a true-blue P.S.C. clubman and an all-round good guy. He wasn't your greatest club competitor, but he was never scared to have a crack and was a real team player.