Maurice COLE

Maurice Cole was born March 13, 1954, in the Terang Hospital in the middle of western Victoria, not super far from the surf zones he'd later occupy. Except he wasn't.

The kid born that day only became Maurice Cole after being adopted immediately following his birth by Frank and Mary Cole, a sturdy Anglican couple from Ballarat, some 80 miles north-east of Terang. Maurice's parents later adopted another child, Maree, and they never hid the fact of adoption from their two kids. But Maurice wore the label in unsettled fashion. Maybe it's a part of why he struggled to contain the explosive energies that arose within him as he grew; certainly it's a part of the story he tells himself about his life. He recalls as a child being driven past a big dark building, the Ballarat orphanage, and being told that if he didn't behave, he'd be going back there. That's what I am, he thought, an orphan. Something was unmoored, driven yet adrift.

Maurice never saw the ocean until the family moved down to the coast at Warrnambool in 1960. "We were made to go to church in those days," he says, "you didn't have a choice. Which became a real problem when I started surfing."

Surfing fell on him out of the blue one day in the summer of 1966, when he found himself at the beach with five shillings - the old British-inspired currency - in his pocket. By February that year he could have changed it to 60 cents, a bloody fortune. Instead he spent it on renting a surfboard. A big white-pigmented thing over nine feet long. Maurice walked the board out across a gently sloping sandbar through waist-high whitewater, strained his skinny 12-yearold body to turn it around, caught one of the little waves, and stood up. "All of a sudden my goal became to buy myself a surfboard. I was doing paper rounds and odd jobs like that. So I saved up $36 and bought one second hand off a guy called George Saffron from Ocean Grove. A 9'3" with a green GT stripe and a big D-fin. We didn't have any racks on the car or anything, but I had a bike and I dunno how I did it but I rode with the board down to the beach. My passion was really tested by the logistics." Maurice dragged that thing to the surf and back until one side of the tail wore off, then he flipped it over and wore off the other side. He reckons this was the first pintail he shaped. He repaired it with a builder's glue named Plasti-Bond, and joined the local volunteer lifesavers' club so he could store the board nearer the surf. The lifesaver disciplines, exercise drills and the rest, irritated that rebellious streak; when he tricked his way out of doing them, the club captain suspended him.

"But I'd been watching," he says, nearly 50 years later. "This little building down in the dunes, in this nook and cranny. The Warrnambool Boardriders Club. And all these cars. A big Valiant with a full V8 and twin pipes and mags. A customised Holden FJ. Mini Coopers, MG sports. And when I first saw those guys surfing, well they could surf. I told the lifesavers' captain to get fucked. Within 24 hours I was in Warrnambool Boardriders."

Maurice Cole was born on March 13, 1954 at Terang Hospital in Victoria, not far from the surf spots he would later frequent. Only that wasn't him (yet).

The boy born that day didn't become Maurice Cole until he was adopted, immediately after his birth, by Frank and Mary Cole, a more rigid Anglican couple living almost 130km northeast of Terang. Maurice's parents would also later adopt a second child, Maree, and never hid the fact that they had adopted both their children. But Maurice wore this label with difficulty. Perhaps that's why he had trouble containing his explosive energy growing up; it's certainly part of the story he tells himself about his own life. He remembers, as a child, sitting in the car, driving past the Ballarat orphanage, a large dark gray building, and being told that if he didn't keep his nose to the grindstone, that's where he'd end up. That's what I am, he thought, an orphan. Something had become detached from the harbor of his heart, and he felt as if he were adrift.

Maurice only saw the ocean for the first time when the family moved south to the coast at Warrnambool in 1960. "In those days, we had to go to mass," he says, "so we had no choice, which became a problem when I started surfing.

Surfing came to him out of the blue, one fine day in the middle of summer 1966, when he found himself at the beach with 5 shillings (the currency at the time) in his pocket. If he'd saved up until February, he could have turned that into 60 cents, a nice sum. But instead, he spent his money on a surfboard rental. A big, white, pigmented thing over 9 feet long. Young Maurice carried the board over a gently sloping sandbank until he was waist-deep in water. Using all the strength of his scrawny little twelve-year-old body, he flipped the board back towards the beach, caught a wave and stood up: "Suddenly, my only goal was to buy a board. I did odd jobs like delivering newspapers. I saved up $36 and bought a used board from a guy named George Saffron in Ocean Grove. It was a 9'3 with a green GT stripe and a single big D-shaped fin. We didn't have bars on the roof of the car or anything, but I had a bike. I'm not sure how, but I managed to get my board to the beach and my passion was challenged by the logistics." To go surfing, Maurice dragged his board to the water, until over time the tail was completely eroded. Then he turned the board upside down and used it the other way around, with the same result. According to him, this was the first pintail he ever made. He repaired it with Plati-Bond, a building adhesive, then joined a nearby volunteer coastal lifeguard club so he could leave the board closer to the beach. But the lifeguards' discipline, training and all, annoyed his rebellious instincts; when he found a scheme to avoid doing his duty, he was suspended from the team by the captain.

"But I had taken the opportunity to look around," he says 50 years later. "There was a little building in the dunes, a little shack of nothing. The Warrnambool Boardriders Club. There were cars, and what cars: a big Valiant V8 with double exhaust and great rims. A custom FJ Holden. MG Sports, Mini Coopers... And when I saw these guys surfing for the first time, well, they really knew how to surf. I went to tell the Captain that he could go to hell. The next day, I was part of the Warrnambool Boardriders.