Pictures and words by Madelaine Dickie
I'm sorry these pictures have been posted so late! As the Yawuru and Nyamal and Karajarri girls in my office would say, I've been a bit of a 'slack hole' in getting them up. But here they are at last, a teasing taster of some of the slabs Tom and I experienced or were simply awed by in Margaret River in autumn. All of these waves are linked by a road, a bit inland, weaving through vineyards, a venison farm, cheese factories and a spectacular and spooky karri forest. The road has a stack of cut aways down to the coast and we stayed down one of these sidetracks at Gracetown, a spot notorious for its shark attacks. Our pad was a ramshackle holiday house on the hill that growled in the wind and gave us sublime views over morning barrels and wind-troubled sunsets. The surf was serious. Flat to eight foot in a day. The water one afternoon at South Point was dead black. There were no tea-baggers. This said, even on the weekdays, outside of school holidays, the surf was packed with little lady and little fella grommets. Grommets 360-ing, grommets throwing perfect fans of spray, grommets getting barrelled. Getting proper barrels--not grommet-sized barrels. So there were crowds to match the name of Margs, but the waves, True God, the waves beat all our expectations.