Butterworth, 60, died on May 13 from lymphoma.

It was a surfer’s funeral, with many of the stars of earlier times, including Peter Cornish, Ted Harvey, Sam Egan and Peter McCabe paying their respects.

A host of others sent their apologies, including Mark Richards who was in Queensland on a training camp.

Former pro surfer turned coach and contest commentator Terry McKenna raised the cathedral roof when he urged everyone to give three cheers for the life of a waterman with ‘‘a killer instinct and a big smile on his dial’’.

It was a sad day, McKenna said, but it shouldn’t be, because ‘‘Steve had such a cool life, and he enjoyed himself big time’’.

His brother, Darren Butterworth, delivered the eulogy, and told the mourners how Steve’s life almost ended in childhood, when he was pulled unconscious from the bottom of Newcastle Beach ocean baths as a seven-year-old.

Despite the ‘‘near-death experience’’, his brother loved the ocean with all his heart and was ‘‘hooked by surfing, hook, line and sinker’’ from his  first wave.

His former partner, Tanya Perry, said Butterworth was her ‘‘Viking warrior’’.

She said their son, Blade, 22, had inherited his father’s ‘‘striking Nordic looks’’.

Butterworth’s handsome appearance – he was in demand in his heyday as a male model – and charismatic personality were a recurring theme throughout the service.

So was his artistic temperament and intense interest in surf-craft design.

Butterworth spent years refining ‘‘channel-bottomed’’ surfboards and one of his finless, deep-channel boards was  at the front of the church.

Surfing green-grocer Frank Frasca said Butterworth was the embodiment of ‘‘Hui Nui – the sea god of Newcastle, a great man and a great surfer’’.

‘‘Steve was passionate about surfing, he loved everyone and everyone loved Steve,’’ Frasca said.

Former NBN personality Nat Jeffery said he had been friends with Butterworth for 38years, including a brief period when they were in business together.

He recalled road trips to Fingal Spit, the Boulders and Ghosties, as well as endless sessions at Butterworth’s local breaks at Nobbys and Redhead.

‘‘Steve surfed fast, he drove fast and he sure talked fast,’’ Jeffery said.

‘‘Steve was a local wherever he went. He knew everyone in the water.’’

Surfing legend Butterworth remembered - Newcastle Herald May 18

FAMILY and friends of Newcastle surfing innovator Steve Butterworth hope to turn one of his last dreams into a reality.

Butterworth died this week, aged 60, after a battle with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

The charismatic goofyfooter was widely respected in Australian surf circles, having achieved numerous shortboard and longboard titles over a lengthy competitive career.

He beat future world champion Peter Townend and the freakish Michael Peterson to win the Newcastle Mattara junior crown in 1970.

 Butterworth was as suave on dry land as on the waves, working part-time as a model.

He was renowned for experimenting with art and surfcraft design, from creating  collages of oceanic images to sawing noses off malibus and pioneering the use of soft-top foam boards.

One of his final obsessions was shaping finless boards with deep ‘‘channels’’ in the underside to help riders steer them.

 His family, including his son Blade, 22, wants to develop and produce these under the brand ‘‘Butters’’.

He also leaves behind Blade’s mother, Tanya Perry, brothers Darren and Wayne and nephew Joseph.

His funeral is 10am on Tuesday, May 21, at Hamilton’s Sacred Heart Cathedral.

Grief at loss of surfing legend, Newcastle Herald - Wednesday, May 15

THE Newcastle surfing community is mourning the loss of innovative board rider and shaper Steve Butterworth.

Butterworth, 60, died on Monday after a long battle with cancer. The stylish goofy-footer had been a fixture on the city beach scene since the mid-1970s, winning a national shortboard and state longboard title as well as numerous regional trophies.

Butterworth, who looked good, talked fast and dreamt big,  was capable of riding all manner of craft, many of which he created himself. 

He gained work as a model thanks to his archetypal surfie looks, complete with the square jaw, beaming smile, blue eyes, sun-drenched locks and eternal tan. Butterworth, who surfed and experimented with board and art designs until his last days in the East End,  is survived by son Blade.

Steve Butterworth was inspired to write the following story after his son's 11th birthday. It appeared in the Newcastle Herald on October 13, 2001, under the headline A Great White Tale.

I'M writing this to tell a story that has been in my heart for 40 years.

With all the stuff being written and said about our indigenous culture in Australia, well, I would simply like to tell a tale of two kids.

Since I can remember, my grandparents had a holiday house on the western beachfront at Soldiers Point.

So many great holidays ... I was there almost every school holiday 'til I was about 10.Summers were a breeze: kids, sandflies and toads were everywhere (the toads got stuck on the deep end of the prawn poles at night).

Summers were great but the winters ... In winter, well, I was still there holidaying but nobody else was. 

Totally desolate, so as any free-spirited seven or eight-year-old would, I started wandering around Flathead Point (my Granny's name for it) and would inevitably end up on the north beach side of the point.

One day, while kicking through the dry seaweed that piled up there during the summer north-easterlies, I noticed a small Koori boy doing something similar. 

Being a happy sort of kid and stoked to see another person, let alone a kid roughly my age, I just smiled at him and this glowing smile instantly erupted on his face too - and that was that.

Over the next couple of years our bond was forged and no matter what my parents (and grandparents) tried to say or warn me about my little mate it just went straight over my head (I was smaller then).

Off I would go in my little double-ended wooden canoe and paddle just out of sight of everyone (not hard in winter). 

I would pick up my mate and we would paddle to one of the islands off the point (I wasn't supposed to do this either, sorry Dad).

Our favourite island was the one straight off West Beach as it had a lagoon with mud crabs, wild ducks and mangroves in the centre and a white sand beach fully surrounding it with trees (I don't know what type but they are still there) which had branches that touched the saltwater. 

In doing this, they completely obscured our paradise from prying eyes (the right side of the island is three little atolls that were in easy reach at low tide).

In our time there we found these reeds in the swamp (lagoon) that made very resilient spears (we thought) and Sally and I ¿ oh yeah, my little Koori friend was called Sally Ridgeway (his real name was Selwyn but everyone knew him as Sally). 

Over the next few years Sal and I would terrorise all and sundry that dare venture on or near our island with bamboo woomeras Sal made and the dreaded reed spears. 

Ducks, crabs, divers (birds), 'rays, mullet, whiting and neither of us were safe once the trusty vessel was safely hidden (my Dad had binoculars) and our hunting began.

As I got to know Sal better I used to go round to his house and was welcomed by his considerable family in a big bright green house on the point at North Beach. 

I remember it had the best views all the way to the heads and I could never figure out why I didn't see other white kids there.

Sal had heaps of brothers and sisters and they seemed to only have Koori friends except Sal, and they never did anything but show me kindness. 

Anyway, at the house I learned more about Sal's culture, about the Great White his family had seen a few times and the legendary giant turtle that his family had spotted for generations but we could never find in our canoe (and it wasn't for lack of looking!) 

This family was extremely athletic and handsome and I heard over the ensuing years that Sal's big brother Lionel was not the man for anybody in the whole of the Port Stephens area to say anything bad about his family or the colour of their skin. 

He looked a warrior (to little me) and I never let him catch me staring at him - not ever.

Sal and his family had the most stunning eyes but I never realised just how round they could be 'til late one arvo Sal and I were having our usual paddle around and ended up in the corner of West Beach, nearest Taylors Beach.

The tide was very high and, with not a breath of wind, the water was a golden mirror beneath the setting sun - one of those reflections where if you look in the water you can't see through it - anyway, we're paddling over the big sand bank that's always been there (when the tide was out we used to roll armies of soldier crabs with sand balls to much cheering). 

We were cruising in about about five or six foot of water when, all of a sudden, a great wall of sand and water rose about 10 feet (or more!) in front of us, stood still then fell right back from where it had just arose.

Sally, being in the front of the canoe and unfortunately closest to this thing, turned to me covered in water and sand. 

He had the biggest, roundest and whitest set of eyes I will ever see. As the canoe slowly stopped rocking, we sat completely petrified for the first time in our lives. 

We looked at each other wondering where the smell was coming from (I don't think it was me). 

We then noticed off to our right this whirlpool and then another one about 10 feet away then another one. We realised, almost at the same time (we still couldn't talk) that something much bigger that my 9ft canoe was slowly swimming the right way-  that is, away from us. 

By the slowness of its tail flips we could tell it was not nearly as worried about us as we were about it! Just as it reached the channel near the oyster racks it gave us the slightest glimpse of its dorsal and tail fin and, holy s---, it was a seriously big shark. 

We finally dragged the canoe back to my place (we weren't going back in the water) and went inside raving about sand walls, whirlpools, sharks, whales and everything else.

`It was all OK junior, that's enough excitement and stories for one day (ho hum).' 

But when we got to Sally's the tale had much more meaning and maybe, just maybe, we had scared off the Great White. 

I fondly remember we were made to feel like little warriors (they fussed over us) and I will never forget the feeling.

Over the years as we both grew and slowly got more distant (my grandparents sold up and bought at Tanilba) I would run into Sal out on the town in Newy every now and then. 

My little mate was now over six feet tall and about 17 stone and always had an entourage of up to 10 with him. 

But he always stood out. He had, like his big brother, become a warrior!

Those clandestine meetings were as special to me, as I could tell by his smile they were to him and we'd run into a bear hug that had my white mates (always staying safely across the road) wondering whether I was on a death wish. Sal's friends were always black and formidable, like him, but I always knew that I would never be in trouble if he was in cooee distance because he would always whisper in my ear `what could possibly hurt the two little shark hunters'.

At one stage in my life I moved away for about 18 months to do something with my surfing career and when I returned I sadly found out that my little mate had died.

I'm writing this as my way of sharing this beautiful, intelligent and, when he grew up, fearsome friend of mine called Sally Ridgeway from Soldiers Point, the heart of the water wonderland.

In closing I would like to say a few words to Sally.

Even though I wasn't there at the end I'll always remember the beginning of your life. 

Thanks for letting me be part of it, and thank you for showing me the futility of racism. Rest easy as I will support your incredible race 'til my last breath. 

Thank you for showing me your water spirits. I did learn to use waves to my advantage as we did on our longer paddles. 

Thank you for screaming out at me in town when I hadn't spotted you and the generous hugs that affirmed to me that we were and still are brothers no matter how distant our last meeting may have been. 

Thank you for that huge white smile and those huge white eyes the afternoon of the shark. 

Finally, thanks mate for I know when it's my time to go for that walk around Flatty Point, you'll be there with the canoe ready to go to our island and from there we will find the turtle.

'Til then.

Steven Butterworth, surfer.