Characters and stories drive Nat Young's eminently readable new book, Church of the Open Sky. Young, a Rushmore-level figure in our sport, is complicated, almost overwhelming, a man of multitudes, to a point where everything in the vicinity bends toward him. Yet as a writer, he is and always has been incredibly generous. In Open Sky, Nat goes out of his way to shine a light on people and events that were off to the side or have otherwise slipped from view, and such is the case with his chapter on 1968 World Championships finalist Russell Hughes, an excerpt of which is presented here.

Young's West Coast book tour for Open Sky begins soon. Dates and locations are listed below, and if you're in the vicinity I strongly suggest you stop in and give Nat a listen. He speaks nearly as well as he surfs, and the man's voice is honey, thunder, and gravel, like James Earl Jones filtered through Steve Irwin. You won't be disappointed.

The first time I met Russell Hughes, we were riding on the back of a flatbed truck from Bulahdelah to Sydney with my good friend John Witzig. It was probably 1963—could have been ’64. Exactly how Russ ended up with us on the tail end of our surf trip to Queensland escapes me.

John and I were on a surfari to Noosa Heads, and I guess Russ had organized with John to get a lift to Sydney. Two-thirds of the way to the city, we blew up Mrs. Witzig’s VW beetle, which John borrowed regularly to go on our surfaris. After a day of dicking around in Bulahdelah, we were forced to leave the thing behind.

For some reason, a nice truckie took pity on us. That’s how the three of us ended up on the back of the flatbed, hiding under a tarpaulin to protect us from the driving rain, huddled close to the cab, bouncing up and down on the old two-lane Pacific Highway. In those days, it was a good four hours to Sydney. All those pies and Cokes from the previous days had created a gastric problem for Russ and me, and the situation was driving John mad. We were both farting like troopers.

Russ and I were laughing hysterically. However, every time one of us would let one go, John would explode, pulling back the tarp cover, gasping for air and punching the arm of the person he thought was responsible. The accused would scream with indignation at the idea that he was responsible for the pungent smell: ‘It wasn’t me! It was him!’

Russell said he had been raised in a circus. He knew some really dirty jokes and all the words to a couple of songs, one of which I have never forgotten:

After that trip, Russ and I became pretty tight mates. We didn’t do much surfing together while he was in Sydney. I lived in Collaroy and he was staying on the Peninsula, so we were 16 kilometers apart.

Russ landed a sanding job for one of the surfboard makers in Brookvale. A few months later, he moved back up to his home state of Queensland and worked for Hayden Kenny at Caloundra. I went back and forth between Sydney and the Sunshine Coast pretty regularly, so Russ and I hung out and surfed.

Russ wasn’t much of a competitor. He did okay, but he wasn’t ruthless enough—he was more of a soul surfer. He did win an early Mattara contest, though. The best thing about that event was seeing Russ step out of a car on Newcastle's main beach dressed exactly like the Beatles on the album cover of 

Other than that win, the best result he had in Australia was a third in the 1966 Australian National Titles, which were held on a good right-hand sandbank in the middle of Coolangatta Beach on the Gold Coast. That result meant he qualified for the Australian team for the 1968 World Championships in Puerto Rico.

When Russell turned up in Puerto Rico with his girlfriend Trisha Thompson, I was totally stoked. They had traveled from Australia to California, where they spent a month in North County, San Diego. Russell had a beautiful Bob McTavish surfboard with him. It was 8' and a little narrow for my liking, but I did not doubt that he would make it work.

Russell surfed well everywhere he went in PR. Mostly, he looked like a cat that had just been dropped onto something solid—crouching low, running free on the big smooth faces. Photographic evidence of how well Russell surfed in Puerto Rico is readily available.

 was the number-one TV sports show in the States at the time. The nationally televised program was pretty accurate in its coverage of how the '68 World Championships came down, showing the contrast between longboards and shortboards traditional and radical.

Russell and I both made it to the finals. In that heat, his surfing was smooth and stylish and he managed to stroke into some of the bigger waves. From my perspective out in the water, I thought he could have won under the judging system we had at that time, but when the results were announced, he came in third—a placing he seemed quite happy with.

Russ and I had one adventure that will stick in my mind forever.

A few months after Marilyn and I moved to Byron Bay, he and I packed up the kombi to drive to the 1970 Bells Beach contest. At that time, Russell and I would have to be described as a couple of tripped-out hippies. We were totally ready for another good adventure. We’d had a good look at a map to find the most remote place on the south coast of New South Wales or Victoria. It turned out to be Wilsons Promontory.

On the way down the coast we'd stopped at Narrabeen for a quick surf, and in the car park I ended up having a chat to a cheeky young grommet named Grant "Dappa" Oliver. I didn’t know him at all at that point, other than that he was a good little surfer from Narrabeen who had the potential to be much better.

Dappa was many years younger than Russ and me. He was short and stocky, a little powerhouse, especially when he took off deep and opened up, turning down the line. He asked me for a lift to Bells. I had some reservations, but he said he was desperate—all his mates had already left for Victoria and he really needed a lift. I made it clear that Russell and I were keen to spend a few days in the isolation of Wilsons Promontory, a plan that included ingesting some strong psychedelic mushrooms that we had preserved in honey. We had a healthy stash of food and were totally prepared for a few days camping out.

Having arrived at Wilsons, the three of us set out on foot from the end of the road, loaded with boards and sleeping bags. There were only a few shacks, and they were more than a kilometer from the coast. I remember how rugged the landscape was—dense bush, with huge granite boulders lunging out of the ocean. Maybe the mushrooms we’d gobbled made it all more intense.

About halfway down the track, we found a beach that was completely deserted. The surf was nothing special, with lots of rips pulling the waves in every possible direction. Closeout sets crashed between the boulders. We surfed when we could. Dappa was out there ripping; he was in training for the Bells contest. Russell and I were as high as kites most of the time, rolling around and laughing at nothing in particular.

For the next couple of days, we went completely back to nature. We surfed naked and slept on the beach with a big fire. The place was incredibly beautiful but the isolation started to drive Dappa crazy. He told us more than once that we were fucking idiots, and kept asking when we were getting back on the road—he didn’t want to miss his heat at Bells. Eventually a southerly buster came through and we ran for the van.

Because he didn’t partake of any drugs, Dappa had a totally different perspective on our trip. Russell and I laughed at him and considered him a full-on cheeky grommet. One thing was for sure: by the time we drove into the Bells car park, young Dappa was over hanging out with a couple of old hippies. He vaulted out of the side door of the kombi, stoked to get back to his mates from Narrabeen. Later, he came back to pick up his gear and surfboard. That was the last I ever saw of him.

[Photos: John Witzig, Dave Singletary, Nyarie Abbey]

BOOK EXCERPT: NAT YOUNG REMEMBERS MR. SMOOTH, RUSSELL HUGHES

Subscribe or Login

Subscribe or Login

Encyclopedia of Surfing

History of Surfing

Interviews

The Sunday Joint

Videos

Contests