Home News Waimea Bay’s iconic Samurai house “not for sale” says owner as Jonah Hill expands North Shore property search to include $US7 million estate adjacent to softest wave on seven-mile miracle!

Waimea Bay’s iconic Samurai house “not for sale” says owner as Jonah Hill expands North Shore property search to include $US7 million estate adjacent to softest wave on seven-mile miracle!

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However, there is a caveat. “You have to have a ball. You can’t be fragile…on every trip you meet at least one shark.”

In the Pacific Ocean, there is an island quivering behind black cliffs 3,000 feet high. Shortly before noon, the sun only edged two mountains covered in moss and ferns.

Ears tune to the hissing of the sea swell as it flows into the undisturbed reef thickets, to the calls and chatter of seabirds, gannets, petrels, petrels and gray terns.

The air on this Caucasian island was cool and pleasant, and unknown to Polynesian sailors, a Royal Navy ship was subsequently sighted and claimed en route to the country’s greatest experiment. A distant southern continent.

But here, 400 miles northeast of Sydney, 400 souls live in deliberately splendid isolation. Never touch white guilt. Because the indigenous people are not ruined. Many are from the same families that first built a small farm there. The people live among 3,000 acres of subtropical forests, valleys, ridges, plains and mountains, free of snakes, stinging insects, and threatening terrestrial animals with rearing, baring teeth. .

When you visit this island, your phone is a glass and aluminum paperweight. There are no towers. No reception.

No cars, with some exceptions.

too hot? Open the louvre window. Air conditioners are prohibited, as are garbage dumps and the disposal of household items.

If a local gets tired of, say, a sofa, then by law they have to ship it to the mainland for $1,000.

It’s all about recycling and if it doesn’t get mulched in the island’s vertical composting unit it gets sent back to Australia.

Small wooden huts around the island operate a good faith system for fruit and snorkeling gear rentals. Pay $2 for an avocado, $2 for a bunch of organic parsley, and $10 for a mask, tuba, and flipper slices.

Government House raises a pink or blue flag whenever a local resident has a baby, but the gender issue remains unresolved. All profits from the liquor store go back to local activities.

The ocean varies little from 68 degrees in the winter months to 78 degrees in early spring.

When naturist prophet Davey Attenborough landed and sniffed around the island’s Providence petrels, he described the place as “an incredibly special place… Few islands are as accessible, astonishing and yet so pristine.”

Yes, it’s a paradise in one sense, and a brooding island of nostalgia and bitterness in another, haunted by the ghosts of vagabonds.

A surfer on a bike spends a day researching his options.

The outer reef that hugs the Blackwater drop-off. An electric blue beach break that evokes the well-traveled King Island. A deep-water reef pass shadowed by Gower and Lidgbird.

Squint into the January sun and imagine yourself in French Polynesia, but these aren’t world-class reefs. Great for photos, and as with most places, a certain undulating pressure cutting through a labyrinth of caves and fissures can lead to something surfers can exaggerate later on.

he looks around. A fin cuts through the water in a school of 4-foot left-handed fish 300 yards offshore. A curious reef shark he’s too big to be one. Either a mako, a tiger, or a whaler. Fins disappear. School moves south.

His decision is fairly straightforward.

He’s going to surf alone.


In the Australian Spring of 1974, Greg Webber, a 13-year-old surfer from Bondi Beach, already in his third year of shaping, walks down the small wooden pier at Rose Bay on Sydney Harbour, surfing the two Sandringhams. boarded one of the flying boats of , Beachcomber and Islander who served the island.

After 30 years in the sky, these birds were converted for civilian use by the Royal Air Force after the war. Basic as hell. The cockpit looked like a Dambuster, with all the levers and wheels and a huge domed windshield.

The two Sandringhams convoyed to the island and landed in the lagoon.

Greg walked through the starboard door and sat down with his 15-year-old brother John and parents John and Dee in one of the 41 vinyl-covered seats in the lower cabin. (His mother designed her Webber Rorschach logo, which Greg still uses the following year.) Both brothers kept their self-made surfboards in the hold with his one screw.

The Webbers set out on a whim, as this was the last time the birds would fly an island route from the terminal, a 10-minute walk from the family’s home. A runway being built on a flat ground slab near the southern tip of the island meant that airliners would soon take over.

The now 60-year-old Greg still adores Kelly Slater’s squat, massive design, rattling finned hulls and side pontoons, flames blazing from the back of one of the engines, and the unfinished I remember igniting the burning fuel.

“Taking off and landing on water was a strange and beautiful experience.

The family stayed for a month, and the boys volunteered to pump aviation fuel from 44-gallon drums into storage tanks, telling locals they weren’t just “pretending to respect them.” proved not.

The boys ignored the reef on the other side of the island and surfed at Beach Breaks, Nez and Blinkies on the east coast.

In 1975, they had a local kid’s father take them to a wave he saw flying.

“It’s a really nasty, radical wave,” says Greg.

The man’s son was too young to surf, so Greg and John cracked cherries on the 4- to 6-foot tube of the wave.

“Surfing the reef in the ’70s was some of the best things ever. No one was surfing then.”

Twenty years later, his brother John joined Lance Knight, who discovered and named the Lance right of the Mentawai, on regular supply trips from Yamba to the islands.

You’re listening to a diesel-powered drone for 30 straight hours. On flat-bottomed barges. open ocean. hell ride.

There are no glory days of airship atmosphere here.

The island got inside Greg’s head, got inside his brothers’ heads, got inside at least one of his sons’ heads, and spent three years of his twenties there.

He likes that it’s not easy to be a surfer there.

“You have to have the ball, you can’t be fragile,” he says. Anglers know how sharks can be.They rush to pull up the amberjack.It’s a tough fight to get it before it bites you in half.The shortest time it takes for a shark to break in. It’s time. It’s a beautiful place, but it’s a raw place.”

Once, years ago, Greg decided he wanted to experiment with consciousness inside a tube. His intuition was that the only thing he could think of inside the tube was the tube itself.

To at least prove this theory to himself, he surfed naked and if he had noticed himself naked in the tube, he was wrong. , conducted a tube experiment at a small shore break, but could not recall noticing the nudity inside the tube, thus proving his theory.

But what he remembered from the tube was some sort of panicked noise: enthusiastic splashes.

He looked over and saw an 8-foot shark in the water with its tail fin completely exposed as well as most of its dorsal fin. Maybe two feet of water.

“Every time we went there, we saw sharks at least once,” he says.

In ten trips in all, he lived there for two years in the first two thousand with his wife Christina and boys Hayden and Joe.

While a resident, a newly retired couple from Brisbane, Queensland, arrived on this beautiful and peaceful little island to celebrate a life without work. One warm autumn evening he told his wife that he was going for a walk. he never comes back

A few weeks later, a 12-foot tiger shark was caught, disemboweled, and Arthur’s head spilled out.

If you want to get really tough, your fear glands are sufficiently cauterized and you want to do something for the waves, pay the captain to take you to Middleton Reef and Elizabeth Reef on Sandy Cay, about 60 nautical miles north. Let me take you.

“It’s the scariest surf trip I’ve ever been on,” says Greg. “Absolutely shark and bubbly. Only a couple of people have ever surfed. Ten hour boat trip. A reef like nowhere.”

2016’s sleeper hit, The Shallows – a surfer hit by a Great White must return to shore without being snatched in death’s jaws – was filmed at Lord Howe.

However, not all are sharks.

The best wave is a joint called Little Island. This is a wavepool-esque right-hander with tapered shoulders that snap at the cliffs of Mount Gower and edges. Nearly 35 years after sessions with fellow shapers Rodney Dahlberg and Murray Bourton, and 1980s surf doctor Narrabeen’s Rod Cursopp, you’ll still be telling reporters.

Lefthander is named after the 19th-century French warship La Meurthe, which was abandoned and sunk in 1907.

But there is stillness to life on the island. It looks the same from the same face. The same change at the same point in the same story told over the same schooner beer in the same bowling club.

It’s not for everyone.

“You have to be able to handle a certain level of quietness,” says Greg. “I could live there for 10 years, but the city people could only last a month.”

The trick, he says, is to take a step back and feel where you are.

“The biggest is the fact that there are two mountains at the end, Gower and Lidgbird. There is a mountain in the background of everything.People are stunned to visit this mountain, one is square and blocky, very masculine, the other is convoluted and curved, feminine, island Like a mother and father who protect the

Greg says he will be back on the island soon.

He wants to buy there. Given the opportunity, multi-million dollar housing will be offered first to residents and then to approved applicants on the waiting list who want to live there.

He was once told by a local that the Webbers were some of the few non-Islanders welcome to purchase.

“I can’t wait to go back there. I love it,” he says. “Older people are highly respected in Australia because there are no former residents to change the feeling of being local that they should feel guilty about in Australia. I have a sense of connection to the island that no one else can get. It’s the perfect place to have a base forever.

(This article is the first title of issue 31.2 of The Surfer’s Journal, lonely in the pacific. Sign up here for a great bulwark against all bad things in the world.)

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