Issue link: https://viewer.e-digitaleditions.com/i/103334
regionalstopover Geoff travels around Australia with his wife and young daughter, writing, singing and playing his guitar at all sorts of festivals, private parties and events. As he played, the wind began to increase, hitting a crescendo on his last song. The trees began to bend, waves amazingly began to form on the lake, and we crawled into our tents, wondering if we'd done a good enough job on the tent pegs. After all, it's easy to be slaphappy when there isn't a trace of wind and you're over the moon that your tent put itself up (almost) while you sipped on a beer. As I laid on my stretcher, the strongest winds I've ever heard (probably because I've never camped in strong winds) raced across Wallis Lake straight at me. I felt like Dorothy before she was carted off to another land, lacking a Toto to hug. I managed to fall asleep while the 'tornado' threatened to unpin me from the sand and carry me like a flimsy bag of chips across the lake. As I dropped off, I realised it was actually quite soothing being so close to the wild yet snug in my sleeping bag, safe on my stretcher, so far from the usual sounds outside my window: traffic and loud strangers swearing into their iPhones while heading home. Gnarly wipeouts We rose early to a still, glassy lake looking serenely back at us as if nothing had touched it all night. There were quite a few decent-sized branches on the ground – proof that I wasn't 'bigging up' a little wind – and when I went to pack up my tent I realised the pegs I'd thrust into the sand were no longer in place and my tent had somehow managed to jump half a metre back from the lake. Perhaps it was because I'd put my stretcher bed lengthways, facing forward with the nose stuck out the zippered door (I did wonder at set-up time why the company didn't make beds to fit its tents), and not sideways as intended by the tent company, so it actually fitted neatly in its allotted space. I'd be a better camper next time. We were up early for surfing lessons. Surfing and I have never really clicked. I've tried it a few times and it's either earaches, fear of sharks or wipeouts that do my head in before my body is really given a chance. This time I was determined, and my teacher, Deano, from Waves Surf School was set on getting the lot of us on our feet. After lessons on the beach, where I was (silently) convinced I'd be on my feet, riding a wave into shore awkwardly while having a giggle, we headed out into the huge (not really, it was minuscule) surf. And that's when I made every mistake in the book: I thought too much about the moves I'd been taught and did everything wrong; I worried too much about when to stop and when to go; I fretted about sharks and earaches before I even knew what I was thinking; Clockwise from above: Geoff Turnbull entertains campers at Tiona holiday park; surf lessons on Elizabeth Beach; a beach worm captured on Seven Mile Beach. XXVII