"And," adds Kolohe, " If you're not in love with Filipe's full rotations, you're blind!"
Memorial day weekend here in the greatest country that’s ever existed. Banks are closed on Monday in honor of dead soldiers. People are gonna barbecue and get drunk.
Heard a radio ad in the car today. Some sort of sale in honor of the troops who “died for our freedom.” Really Christian concept. Pretty hard for me to swallow.
Atavist magazine has a very interesting article about a Chinese billionaire who tried to make a blockbuster film. Indulgent passion project, multiple director changes, an incomprehensible script. Hollywood types who thought their big break had come.
It’s crazy how Bethany Hamilton just torques her head and neck to make up the being short one arm. I can understand why she’s such an inspirational figure.
I recently watched a neat documentary about the use of “spin” during the ’92 presidential elections. Assembled using footage recorded from network satellite feeds, there are some fascinating candid moments when powerful types forget they’re on camera. Watching Larry King chat with George Bush the Firsts about the latters love of pharmaceuticals is lovely. Overall the message is kind of garbled, but it’s worth watching for the content rather than the whole.
I put a lot of effort into training my dog. Not to do stupid tricks and shit like that. Just so he’s obedient and friendly and isn’t super obnoxious. But I think it’s really funny when he sneaks up on sleeping people at the beach. They’re just zoning in the sun, not a care in the world, then some shocking cold wet snout gets jammed in their face. I pretend to be contrite and scold him but my body language is pure encouragement.
Same deal when he runs through people’s stuff. Total dick move but he’s a cute as hell french bulldog so no one gets upset. And it keeps him occupied so I can swim. Little idiot loves the ocean but has the swimming ability of a brick.
Derek sent me this WSL produced Flying Llama bio. Andino the younger compares Toledo’s ability to Charles Manson. Email header read “this is so you.”
I’m not really sure what he meant by that. I like the clip. The WSL should be pumping these out on the regular. Make for great downtime footage during slow moments. Give the chatterboxes a chance to catch their breath rather than ramble on and on and on.
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Can you believe it? Just watch her. Watch her tear the heart out of the future of surfing with one arm digested in a shark who, if I recall, got caught by fishermen and hung. I don't recall because I never watched Soul Surfer. | Photo: WSL/Sloane
One healthy motherfucking bicep straight outta Kauai! Bethany Hamilton! Yes!
Ain’t Tyler Wright just the future of surfing? Such power! So thighs! Except do you want to know what trumps thighs? One healthy motherfucking bicep straight outta Kauai.
Bethany Hamilton!
I’ve spent more time with Bethany than would be common. We hung out at the Presidential Prayer Breakfast, for example. And ummmm Oceanside. And while her public thing may slightly annoy she is fierce when Obama is sitting next to her and rages a wave.
Cloudbreak!
I’ve spent more time with Bethany than would be common. We hung out at the Presidential Prayer Breakfast, for example. And ummmm Oceanside. And while her public thing may slightly annoy she is fierce when Obama is sitting next to her and rages a wave.
Can you believe it? Just watch her. Watch her tear the heart out of the future of surfing with one arm digested in a shark who, if I recall, got caught by fishermen and hung. I don’t recall because I never watched Soul Surfer.
In any case, I’m camping in the backyard of a mega celebrity right now. Channing Tatum is here. Rockin bod but moon face!
Except do you want to know what trumps backyard mega celebrity camping? One motherfucking palmaris longus straight outta Lihue!
I’ve sat far away from everyone watching her on video. Watching her mock our shared expectations.
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The 2016 big wave world champ Greg Long didn't want a piece of big Cloudbreak earlier this week. Who can blame? Greg knows what it feels like to have the light switch squeezed off. This, at Cortes Bank, one hundred miles off the California coast, December 2012. | Photo: courtesy Greg Long
Matt Rott’s got an interesting interview with Greg Long up on Magic Seaweed right now. Focuses on Long’s decision to play water safety during the recent Cloudbreak bomb day rather than surf. Very interesting stuff.
Beyond the subject matter, I think it’s damn neat that Rott paddled out himself that day. I don’t think I would have. I like big waves, but there’s a limit. I know a thing or two about holding my breath, if the surf can keep you submerged long enough to turn out the lights shit’s just too damn real.
Today I paddled out into small slop. Bobbed around the lineup like a potato for around an hour without catching a wave, took off on a chest high double up to go in. Tried to do an ollie into the flats. “Look at me I’m Mason Ho!”
Timed the landing to perfectly hit some oncoming backwash, cased my entire oafish frame into the deck of my board. Shit hurt. Buckled my nose. Sebastian Zietz was just inside pushing some little girl into waves. But he doesn’t know who I am, and I wasn’t about to introduce myself at that point.
Got me thinking about safety gear. How surfing doesn’t really have any. Don’t think a leash counts, that’s just there to save effort. Big-wave vests exist, but they’re for a different breed.
Gath helmets and nose guards exist, but no one really uses them.
Timed the landing to perfectly hit some oncoming backwash, cased my entire oafish frame into the deck of my board. Shit hurt. Buckled my nose. Sebastian Zietz was just inside pushing some little girl into waves. But he doesn’t know who I am, and I wasn’t about to introduce myself at that point.
It’s kind of surprising no one’s tried to market the equivalent of skate pads for surf. Seems pretty straightforward. Rash guard with padded elbows and shoulders. Board shorts with the same deal in the hips. They’d look damn kooky, for sure, but I could imagine using them at a shallow low tide reef. Like super small Rockies, when it’s breaking right on the inside ledge and straightening out puts you in six inches of water.
Most surfers’d be too cool to wear ’em, but I suspect non-surfing moms around the world would happily part with some ducats to keep their babies safe.
Even better, throw the same padding in a fullsuit, market it to beginners. You wouldn’t even have to build the damn things. Just toss a campaign onto a crowdfunding site then keep the money. Nothing wrong with separating chumps from their dough. Paying up front for a product that doesn’t exist is for idiots, people deserve whatever’s coming to them.
Even if the thought of 20 feet makes you pale to the gills!
Why would anyone wanna ride a 20-foot wave? Why not? What kinda reason could you make up not to ride the wave of your life?
Oh, you’re scared. That’s the same reason to paddle into a six-foot wave when you’re used to four-foot waves. We’re surfers, right. We all want to get better and push onto the next level. We all want to experience something new and something different. And for those that are into that, maybe you, paddling into a 20-foot wave is about as challenging and exhilarating as it gets.
Wait, what’s that about dying? Yeah, that is the big elephant in the room. But more people die in little waves than big waves. I know, it ain’t much comfort. But when you get in the ocean that’s part of the deal. The bigger it is, the more the chances go up. But, listen: even the craziest big-wave surfer has more of a chance of dying in a car crash en route to wherever than from having the air squeezed out of him.
That said, let me make something clear. The maybe-dying part doesn’t get me off at all. I don’t get some kind of thrill from the surfing-is-deadly thing. I ain’t in a hurry to add martyrdom to my vices. I love to surf, man. It’s something I just dig. Today I was surfing with my kid and it was fun foot and I couldn’t have been happier.
“The maybe-dying part doesn’t get me off at all. I don’t get some kind of thrill from the surfing-is-deadly thing. I ain’t in a hurry to add martyrdom to my vices. I love to surf, man.”
Anyway, let’s do this thing. First up, the chances of all the ingredients coming together to actually paddle into a 20-footer at Cloudbreak (Fiji) or Mavericks (California) or Jaws (Maui), Punta de Lobos (Peru) or Belharra (France) is low. Everything has to be right. The waves have to turn on. You can’t be sick, you can’t be out of shape, and your boards have to be ready to go. So you gotta be patient.
Butterflies? Yeah, I get ’em too. Serious butterflies. From the moment I see a potential swell on the map to packing my boards I get butterflies. And if it’s extraordinary swell, like Jaws or Mavs, I get a genuine fear. But all that nervousness, all that fear, goes away when you get into the lineup. And it should for you, too. If it doesn’t, if you’re hesitating or overcome by nervousness, maybe it just ain’t your day.
But then again maybe you just need a push in the right direction. I calm myself by thinking about what a special day this is; that it may not be like this again for years. I try and get myself into a mental state where I want to push myself.
So what does a 20-foot wave look like? It looks scary as shit. There’s a huge difference between a 15-foot wave and a 20-foot wave. It’s not just a difference of five feet. It’s bigger, it’s thicker, it’s more dangerous (sorry!). There’s a huge separation of people who surf 20-feet and those who surf 15 feet. Twenty feet is where it gets really, really serious.
Oh, it’s a lonely moment when it arrives. Do you: stay, go or pray to be transported back to your warm bed? Shane at Nazare.
What kinda skill set you need? Not a lot. You really just need to the balls to paddle in. To ride one well requires some serious skill but just to make it down the face, you don’t have to be a great surfer.
Now let’s paddle in. If you’re in the right spot, whip it around, put your head down and go. You can’t hesitate. Head down and totally commit. Do I hesitate sometimes? Of courses. I hesitate all the time. Sometimes for good reason, sometimes it’s a big mistake, sometimes it’s genuinely out of fear. It’s part of the deal. I’ve looked at a lot of good waves and not gone. My general theory is that there’s no wave worth killing yourself for.
When everything goes right it’s like being a super fucking ugly guy and having sex with the hottest super model on the planet. It’s like you pulled off the impossible. Because everythitng in the universe has to align for you to get this ride that you’ll remember for the rest of your life. And there should only be a handful of these in any surfers’ life, waves that you truly remember. That feeling is rare and elusive as hell. It’s a mix of pure elation and accomplishment.
Once you’re at the point of no return, your tail is lifting and your about to drive down the face, everything, all that nervousness disappears. Sure, you’re hyper-aware of making a mistake but, in the moment, you’re focussed and completely in the zone. You think of nothing and, instead, you’re relying on all your past experiences to get you through.
When everything goes right, like at Puerto Escondido recently, it’s like being a super fucking ugly guy and having sex with the hottest super model on the planet. It’s like you pulled off the impossible. Because everythitng in the universe has to align for you to get this ride that you’ll remember for the rest of your life. And there should only be a handful of these in any surfers’ life, waves that you truly remember. That feeling is rare and elusive as hell. It’s a mix of pure elation and accomplishment.
When everything goes wrong, it’s the shittiest feeling. You immediately go from this mode where you’re out there thinking, I’m going to charge, this is going to make my day, Why and I so fucking selfish? Why did I do this? Now I’m at the bottom of the ocean and about to drown. But you won’t drown. This is what you trained for. Remember that. Breath-holding training is important here. If you know you can handle two waves on the head, you won’t punch that big red panic button lighting up in your head. At least not straight away.
For your first 20-foot paddle experience, and obviously this depends on your ability to travel at a moment’s notice, I’d go to Belharra in France. It’s the outer reef at the port town of St-Jean-de-Luz. There are no rocks, there are channels on both sides and the wave dies out into deep water. And at 20-feet it’s barely breaking. You’ll need a ski to get out there, but I’m guessing you already figured that out.
And here’s something you may not have thought about: the comedown after such a tremendous event. It’s almost like postpartum depression. You have this crazy euphoric moment when it’s happening where you’re on this razor’s edge and you feel like you’ve reached the absolute pinnacle of your life but then…almost in slow motion… it starts to fade as you reach the channel. Even though you just rode the wave of your life and you knew it and felt it while you were riding, it evaporates as you flick off and becomes, immediately, past tense. It’s such an emotional swing! You’re definitely not high forever.
Men aren't raised to play with hair and make-up, dress up and pretend to be fancy…
Dear Rory,
I think most BeachGrit readers are aware of Chas’ discerning taste for fashion and style, but for those of us who aren’t into having Ellen Degeneres’ hair style or tight pants I was hoping you might offer a few style tips for surfers. It seems like everyone is trying to sell surfers some clothing, but few are making much sense out of it all. We need an impartial arbitrator of style! Sure you might take a few free tees or throw up a few ads, but I trust you’ll look past specific brands give general tips like:
Should I roll the cuff of my pants and show off some ankle? Is it okay to do this in a work environment?
Earth tones or is brighter better?
Board shorts length? I’m usually a 19” guy myself. That whole huge baggy thing looked terrible on my scrawny ass.
Is it okay to wear boardshorts everywhere? What about my wallet cell phone and keys?
Is it time to ditch the short beard and go clean? Are mustaches still okay?
Best jacket for rainy days that aren’t all that cold (okay maybe a brand would help)?
Confused Couture Cunt Craves A Confidant
Dear Rory says: Men’s fashion is a mystery to me.
One of the many advantages to being born male, we aren’t heavily socialized from a young age to place a high value our appearance. Sure, there’s the genetic lottery thing going on. Life’s always easier when you’re easy on the eyes. But we aren’t raised to play with hair and make-up, dress up and pretend to be fancy.
So long as you’re not ugly, maintain good hygiene, I don’t think it really matters how you dress. Body language, attitude, they’re what’s important. No one ever sees the real you, that shit’s internal. The way you carry yourself projects an image into others’ minds. WHOA!
Maybe nice clothes help some people with that. I don’t know. I just see a pair of pants that cost as much as a surfboard. Or a pile of drugs. Or a million other things that mean far more to me than pants.
I do live by a few fashion rules. Grown men should never wear hats inside. Sweatpants are a sign of failure. Never have a haircut that could hamper you in a fight. Jewelry is for old ladies. If you wear suspenders and a belt simultaneously you’re a fucking idiot. Bow ties belong on cartoon characters.
But my root advice is this: Cool people don’t care what others think. They do what they want and everyone loves it.
Some people may disagree, say the clothes make the man.
They’re stupid, and I don’t give two fucks what they say. Because I’m cool, and they are not.
In answer to your questions:
I live in the tropics, I do not wear long pants. Ever. If I’m in a cold climate and am forced to put some on I roll my cuffs up so they don’t drag in the mud.
Color color color! Bright is right! Be a peacock, don’t worry about matching.
Short shorts are great if you’re a hairless little manboy whose balls haven’t dropped yet. Otherwise, keep ’em at the knee. I shouldn’t need underpants to shield innocent eyes from my majestic man package.
Board shorts everywhere. Ditch the cell phone, get a home line. Make people communicate via email. Wallet and keys will fit in one pocket.
I grow a mustache every six months or so. Always expect to look like Tom Selleck. Instead, about a week in, I find my dad staring back at me from the mirror. Not the look I’m going for.
Fifty gallon trashbag with head and arm holes cut into it.
