Lewis LIKES it.

Either you decide to stay in the shallow end of the pool or you go out in the ocean.

Christopher Reeve

On my last day in Australia, I ventured down to Cottesloe beach, camera in hand, to shoot what I hoped would be a beautiful sunset. As it turned out, a surf boat race was taking place that afternoon between a bunch of Perth’s Surf Life Saving clubs. It’s something I’ve always wanted to capture on camera.

Reflecting Australia’s predominately coastal population, Surf Life Saving Clubs have played a significant cultural role for over a century. There are few more iconic Australian symbols than that of the bronzed Aussie lifeguard, clad in speedos and a red and yellow skull cap. Steeped in tradition, Surf Life Saving is one of the few cultural institutions to escape significant visual or social change in the 104 years since the first club (Bondi Beach) was formed. Whether it’s the old guys marching in formation, or the beer soaked BBQs back at the clubhouse after a competition, its an enduring hark back to an earlier era of Australian history.

Inflatable skiffs and jet skis have replaced surf boats for modern rescues, but surf boats remain a major part of surf life saving culture during competitions like the one I was about to witness.

In preparation for the races, crews carried their boats down to the shoreline, while some of the clubs just rowed up the coast to Cott. One by one, surf boats came into view and pulled up onshore. To an international visitor it must be a strikingly foreign scene, with large groups of grown men standing around decked out in coordinated speedos and cotton skull caps. In one of the more unusual traditions (albeit one with a practical purpose) surf boat rowers shove their speedos up their ass cracks before a race. It’s done to prevent the rowers butt cheeks chaffing on the boat’s seats during a race, but the visual impact is hard to miss. Thankfully, most clubbies tend to be in extremely good shape, which might explain the lack of public indecency outcries. It’s just an accepted part of surf boat culture, a tacit demonstration of the arbitrary nature of social mores.

click image thumbnails below to enlarge.

I used to be a member of the North Cottesloe Surf Life Saving Club. North Cott (as it’s known by locals) is a calm stretch of beach about three minutes walk up the coast from Cott. There’s a a longstanding friendly(ish) rivalry between the two clubs. Cott has a more egalitarian reputation than North Cott, perhaps stemming from the fact that it is the only beach in Perth publicly accessible by train. On a hot summer’s day, thousands of people from across the city flock to Cott, crowding the beach. North Cott, being that extra few minutes walk, stays relatively quiet, mostly populated by locals.

My Mum, a Cott girl since childhood, thinks I’m elitist for choosing to join the more well heeled North Cott club, but my decision was more about convenience than social hierarchy. During college, I worked in the cafe directly above the North Cott clubrooms and I wanted to use their gym after work, so I joined up. Their famously wild parties might’ve also swayed me a little.

Perth’s beachside lifestyle is idyllic, with fresh coastal air, a vibrant outdoors-driven lifestyle and near perfect ocean and weather conditions. Throw in some of the most spectacular sunsets you’ve ever seen and its not surprising that Perth is considered (by Economist magazine’s 2010 Livable Cities Survey) as one of the most livable cities on earth. These factors really made it tough for me to leave Perth for a new life in Los Angeles.

The first thing I do upon returning to Perth is head to North Cott for a quick workout in the gym (where you can train in boardies and flip flops!), then it’s a few steps down to the beach for a swim in the crystal clear waters of the Indian Ocean. The ultimate jet lag cure!

As the sun set over Cottesloe and the boaties rowed back to their clubs or loaded their gear onto trailers, I went across the road with my Mum for an order of fish and chips. We sat on the beach in the dark amber of dusk, eating out of our butcher’s paper package while seagulls circled hoping for scraps. May everyone have such good fortune.