AGAINST THE FLOW
West Oz. It conjures a stirring for unadulterated adventure. And for most, stereotypical images spring to mind: sparse desert environments dotted with piles of red and white cans crushed expertly by calloused foreheads. A landscape dominated by the firelit silhouettes of testosterone-fuelled, red dirt dwellers gorging on freshly killed fish speared from the bay. A perceived modern day Mad Max society revolving around demonic waves howling onto shallow subtropical reef. Perceived, because these days it’s as likely to be oestrogen-fuelled adventurers enjoying the simple life—and demonic waves.
After witnessing Bronte Macaulay during her dusty few months in “isolation”, turning and sending it on legitimate mutants no one, regardless of gender, was even looking at. Or to see some of the only residents in those northern parts, the Durant girls, heading out en masse on one of the biggest days in recent memory. Most surfers were developing mysterious “injuries”, which were confining them to the carpark.
We’d also heard of events in
