"Evo: A Special Tribute," Nat Young's salute to Bob Evans, ran in Australian Surfing World's 1987 Photo Annual.

Bob Evans' father was a dedicated fisherman, and took his two sons on countless trips to North Coast NSW, relentlessly searching for access to hidden points. It was during these trips that the family hit upon Angourie, Crescent Head, and Scotts Head—all of which Bob would reveal to me in years to come. Evo’s love and appreciation for the North Coast was something he carried with him till death.

I remember a particularly still winter in the mid-'60s, without much swell, when Snow McAlister and I did a trip north with Evo. Snow at that point was the grand old man of Australian surfing, and he and Evo both were absolute connoisseurs of this way of life that we all cherish. The waves on that trip weren't much to talk about, but every day at some stage Snow and Evans would manage to find the perfect spot to boil the billy and appreciate some outstanding North Coast landform.

Bob Evans was a first generation surfer in his family. He learned to surf by spending hours at a time pushing a 16-foot toothpick around at Queenscliff and Fairy Bower, where he earned the nickname “Surge." It was given to him by his surf club mates for his ability to broach a takeoff right on Surge Rock out on the Racecourse at Fairy Bower.

In 1956, along Sydney's northside beach, the US lifeguard team gave surfing demonstrations on their new "malibus," and Evo set his sights on getting one of the Americans' boards. He spent every available minute hanging around wherever beach the team was visiting. The tenacity paid off, as he became the proud owner of Greg Noll’s 10’6” balsa.

The die was cast. Evo became one of the first Aussies to dedicate themselves fully to riding waves.

Also in the '50s, Bob faced the biggest challenge of his life in the form of a serious bowel disease that sent him back to five stone, and nearly wrenched his life away. The subsequent colostomy meant that Evo would forever poo into a bag attached to the front of his lower stomach. As it turned out, this was just another development that gave him an appreciation for life.

Thinking back, the most memorable times I spent with Bob were not the hundreds of surf trips we made together up and down the coast and overseas. No, it was the guidance and attention he showed me as a teenager. He was sort of like a manager, but much more like a substitute father—something I really needed at that time. I recall, for example, long lunches Bob and I had at fashionable Sydney restaurants. Often these lunches included prospective surf magazine advertisers or contest sponsors. I could always tell when it was going to be a serious lunch because Bob would have on a new shirt or tie that he’d bought that morning. He always was a smart dresser. A man of style. It was Evo who taught me how to order from a French menu, how to talk like an adult—in essence, how to always put your best foot forward. I was still just a kid, and it meant the world to me to know these things. I wonder whatever happened to those gold 

 cuff links Bob gave me for Christmas in 1964.


Bob Evans died of a heart attack while showing his latest surf movie in Jacksonville, Florida, in 1976. He was only 48 years old—he went before his time when you consider the three-score and ten held as the average innings. Still, by any standard, he'd achieved heaps. All the movies, all the issues of 

, the first World Surfing Championships, a long string of surf club awards—and most importantly, a proud line of surfers in his three children, Brett, Glen and Fiona.

Evo was sophisticated in many ways, but also very simple. He was pleased by the lifestyle he’d set up. Sitting down for a cocktail and reflecting on the day—this was another Evans' habit that stuck with me. In Tahiti this year, I was on the lanai, drink before me, waiting for the green flash that happens just as the sun dips below the horizon in the tropics—and I recalled that it was Bob Evans who first told me about that phenomenon and how important it was to take a moment and appreciate it.

NAT YOUNG REMEMBERS BOB EVANS

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