Norwell9
The gorgeous, the funny Norwell9 aka David Cwikowski writes: "Just like the country song says, 'My camera broke down, care broke down, computer down...' After trying to nurse this season, tonight the axel on my old car snapped. That and with my camera down and costly repairs I am forced to make the decision to shut down the volunteer work that I have been doing in the Ventura area for the past three-and-half years. I will organize all current footage, make the remainder instas, and then make a final Insta Movie #2. And be gone.'

Just in: Surf Movie Titan Quits!

Rory Parker

By

Watch his last-ever surf movie cut right here… 

Ventura’s Norwell9 aka David Cwikowski is on the short list of heads whose stuff I’ll check based solely on his name. I don’t need to be told it’s good, just assume it will be and go from there.

I don’t really do instagram though, so I appreciate when he drops the long form vids comprised of all his short form stuff. They almost remind me of Voluptuous. Huge cast, decent music. Perfect to run in the background while your mind is on other stuff. Like drinking or reading or drinking and crying while reading.

At forty five minutes it’s fairly long. Maybe too long for a single serving. Cue it up and watch in drips and drabs. Or, as I’ve mentioned, crack a bottle of booze, suck it down ’til you get sad, then give it a gaze to break the sadness up.

Or just watch it sober and reflect on how much time the guy spends standing on the beach watching other people have fun. Filmers are weird. Just a weird as photogs. Semi-creepy voyeurs hiding from the world behind a lens. God bless ’em for the work they do, but it is a tad odd, yeah?

Cue it up and watch in drips and drabs. Or, as I’ve mentioned, crack a bottle of booze, suck it down ’til you get sad, then give it a gaze to break the sadness up.

Unfortunately, it looks like this will be the last we hear from dear Norwell9 for the foreseeable future.

Just like the country song says, “My camera broke down, care broke down, computer down…” After trying to nurse this season, tonight the axel on my old car snapped.  That and with my camera down and costly repairs I am forced to make the decision to shut down the volunteer work that I have been doing in the Ventura area for the past 31/2 years. I will organize all current footage, make the remainder instas, and then make a final Insta Movie #2.  Then celebrate all that we have accomplished with one final party and be gone. 

Ain’t life cruel?

Here’s hoping he gets his shit redialed and comes storming back onto the scene post-haste.

 

Which is the Monopoly Man and which is Rip Curl's Neil Ridgway? We may never know...
Which is the Monopoly Man and which is Rip Curl's Neil Ridgway? We may never know...

$$$$: Australia’s Silicon Valley of Surf!

Chas Smith

By

There's still a place to get filthy rich in the surf industry!

Have you dreamed of getting rich in the surf industry only to be told that the money has dried up? Gone away? Never to return? Well then you, honey bear, haven’t been to Torquay! Apparently, and according to Forbes, the little Victorian hamlet is Australia’s Silicon Valley of Surf!

Venture capital!

Teslas!

Valleywag!

Maurice Cole!

Should we read about the very rich company Rip Curl?

From the rooftop of Rip Curl’s headquarters in Torquay on Australia’s southern coast, Steve Kay squints into the scorching Victoria sun, surveying his surfing empire. Down below are signs for various Australian brands: Quiksilver, Reef, Strapper, Gboards, plus dozens more surf-related shops in the bustling Surf City Plaza. Rip Curl began in the 1960s, helping to spark the rise of Aussie surfing at nearby Bells Beach and launching a wave of entrepreneurial energy, turning this town into the Silicon Valley of surfing startups.

Torquay certainly isn’t a town full of beach bums, at least not anymore. Michael Di Sciascio, chief executive of surfboard and accessory maker Strapper Surf, remembers arriving as a teenage dropout and hearing landlords say: “I don’t rent to surfing scum.” Today the surf business is booming along the coast around Torquay. “There’s a strong entrepreneurial culture here,” he says. “Surfing is competitive, also supportive.” We chuckle over an earlier call. When FORBES ASIA checked in by phone, he postponed our meeting, the first time I’ve had a CEO reschedule an interview “because I hear the surf is really good.”

Ummmm what are you waiting for! Book your ticket to Melbourne then drive straight south! Don’t pause in Geelong even though you’ll be tempted by that city’s charm and wonderful footy club.

Drive on and on and soon you’ll reach a gleaming village where Rip Curl’s marketing guru Neil Ridgway walks the streets with pockets so filled with Australian dollars that little North Korean boys scoot along behind him picking up the bills that fall on the sidewalks, paved with surf wax, and send them home to their families, who out of gratitude, create beautiful Rip Curl garments!

Move now!

Surf riches are yours!

Read the rest of the story here if you need more convincing.

sunrise shack
Sunrise Shack features a minimal menu. Coffee, tea, papaya bowls. I'm not a huge fan of the last. Papayas are kind of gross. But I fucking love coffee. Suck down far too much each morning. Expensive local-grown jitters before I can face the world. | Photo: WSL

Get high with: Koa Smith + Koa Rothman!

Rory Parker

By

The new owners of a cute little coffee shop called the Sunrise Shack at Sunset!

Koa Smith, his brothers and Koa Rothman have opened a cute little coffee shack on Oahu’s North Shore. Called the Sunrise Shack it’s located right across from Sunset.

If you’re in town for the Triple Crown you might want to swing by. Not many spots nearby to grab a snack or early morning cup of joe. Kammie’s is long dead. You’ve got Ted’s down the road, which is amazing, but is always jam-packed and it’s too hard to resist grabbing a crab and bacon sandwich with a slice of haupia pie on the side. Tasty in your belly, terrible for an afternoon session.

Sunrise Shack features a minimal menu. Coffee, tea, papaya bowls. I’m not a huge fan of the last. Papayas are kind of gross. But I fucking love coffee. Suck down far too much each morning. Expensive local-grown jitters before I can face the world.

They’re selling Bulletproof coffee, something I’d never heard of before today. It’s coffee with butter in it! What will they think of next?

Prices are a bit high, but that’s to be expected in Hawaii. Nothing comes cheap here.

It’s been a long time dream of mine to run something similar. A little joint on the side of the road, stocked with tasty local goodies. Set outrageous prices, offer kama’aina discounts.

Coffee for locals- $2

Haole surcharge- $10

I’d be surly and rude, operate under a policy of “the customer can go fuck himself.” I’d let regulars cut the line, kick people out for the most minor transgressions.

With the right marketing, who knows? Maybe I could sell that as part of the appeal. Like one of those “insult restaurants.”

It’s a terrible business model, I know, so it’ll have to sit on the back burner until I’ve lucked into a ton of money and can afford to piss it away on what amounts to a very expensive prank.

Luanda Bay fort
The Lunada Bay fort is no more. Ain't it delicious? It was a cool looking little patio. Well made. Comfortable. A real boon to the local community. But they lost it. Because they're a group of insular rich assholes who couldn't learn to share. | Photo: LA Times

Just in: Lunada Bay Fruits Go Wild!

Rory Parker

By

Infamous fort destroyed. Now locals fight back! Slashing and burning!

The Lunada Bay fort is no more. Ain’t it delicious?

It was a cool looking little patio. Well made. Comfortable. A real boon to the local community.

But they lost it.

Because they’re a group of insular rich assholes who couldn’t learn to share. Too bad too.  They probably could’ve held onto the thing if they’d taken actual steps to open up the area. It’s not the only spot on the California coast where the locals have a DIY chill spot. But it’s the one that got targeted. Out of spite, mainly.

Its destruction was a foregone conclusion from the moment the California Coastal Commission stepped in. The local community eventually agreed it had to go, though I suspect it was only to show some compliance. Make it easier to drag their feet when it comes time to improve the path or install signage.

But some of them are still up to their naughty little antics. Someone decided to play the vandal, do some damage to the equipment being used to raze the structure.

According to police, vandals Tuesday night scratched the paint of several trucks in a staging area, slashed fabric containers used to carry debris and set fire to equipment stored at the structure, including an air compressor used to power jackhammers.

The trucks and equipment were being used by Ampco Contracting Inc., a demolition company that received a $61,000 contract from Palos Verdes Estates to raze the shelter located on Rocky Point adjacent to one of the best big wave spots in California.

City officials have condemned the incident, and police are investigating. No arrests have been made so far, authorities said.

A pretty fruitless endeavor.  Didn’t put a stop to the demolition. Didn’t even slow it down.

The question remains, will the local police put actual effort into chasing down the suspects? Slap ’em in cuffs, hammer them with charges.

Or will they continue their decades long of turning a blind eye, pretend there’s nothing wrong?

My money’s on the latter.

Jake Tellkamp
Can you? Will you? Please? Believe that I was once High School surfing champion in 2010, 2011. Not NSSA, but SeaView League. Competed against second-tier surf teams in Orange County. I was a big fish in a sticker-less pond. Didn’t lose in two years. Not one fucking heat. Kids at school called me “Telly Slater”.

Help: Surf Writer Join WQS Tour!

Jake M Tellkamp

By

He can beat Kolohe Andino and Kanoa Igarashi! True!

I was a winner, dammit! I had CT dreams! 

Can you? Will you? Please? Believe that I was once High School surfing champion  in 2010, 2011. Not NSSA, but SeaView League. Competed against second-tier surf teams in Orange County. I was a big fish in a stickerless pond. Didn’t lose in two years. Not one fucking heat. Kids at school called me “Telly Slater”. Done so mockingly, of course.

I thought I was the shit. I beat Kolohe Andino once. If memory serves me, he received an interference for standing up after the hooter. Checked the scorecards though, had him fair and square.  It is a feather in my hat that I wear every time Brother dons a rashie.

Smoked Kanoa in an AirShow too. But he was, like, 13. I’ve never worn that  feather past round three, but hope one day too! Keep swinging Igarashi!

My story begins as all washed-up athlete stories do.

It all happened in my senior year of high school….

I got a sponsor. Lost… ! Stickers, clothes and Matt Biolos shaping me surfboards at cost. Announced contests back then, too. Was able to save enough for an ASP Pro Jr. membership and fly myself to the East Coast. If I made a few heats, I told myself, my competitor wristband would get me so much tail at the U.S Open come summer. That was the goal.

 I was once High School surfing champion  in 2010, 2011. Not NSSA, but SeaView League. Competed against second-tier surf teams in Orange County. I was a big fish in a stickerless pond. Didn’t lose in two years. Not one fucking heat. Kids at school called me “Telly Slater”.

So I trained and I trained and I trained. Surfed everyday. Hucked myself into the wind after school. Desperately trying to extend my bag of tricks past the standard three to the beach.

So I go to New Jersey with my older sister. Stay in a shitty hotel far from the contest. Show up a few hours early for my professional debut. Nervous as hell by the guys in my heat who had actually gone through puberty. This was back when Pro Juniors were under 21, not 18.

My plan was to do an aerial. The night prior, I went over and over it in my head. Board leaving the lip. Hand clutching the rail. Spot landing. Compress into the whitewash. Rise with hands firmly kept by my side. Look judges directly in the eye and beg them to free me from a life of mediocrity. 

I showed up that morning with my game plan firmly intact. Mother Nature didn’t agree.

A hurricane had blown through the night before and the waves were offshore, head high, and tubing. I gorged before my heat. Pulling into cylinders spinning off the jetty with the other competitors. Feeling like I was finally in the scene. But I wanted to win. I wasn’t there to make friends.

Grabbed my jersey three minutes before my heat. My big sister told me to have fun. I told her I was out for blood. Paddled out dismayed. Every wave was breaking right. Zippy freight-trains that I couldn’t get more than a turn off on my not-so-stellar backhand.

Get myself a little tube. Not very deep. Get a five. Sweet. Guys behind me get sevens and eights. Shit. They are men. Man-handling sections that I was going around. Pull into close out after close out. Wasn’t backing down without a fight.

Few minutes left, I go on a wave with foam in its face, very difficult to ride. Fins never felt the face. I bottom turn, go for a slash and accidentally do a reverse. I make it. Disbelieved but still going, I bonk the end section. Gave a lion stare to the men in the judges booth. The announcer laughs at me.

They give me a four and a half. I needed a six.

In my adolescent rage, I left for California convinced that if I had only done a backside air reverse, I would’ve made the heat.

So I start skateboarding. Every day, different skatepark. Trying to learn how to air on transition. I progress slowly. One fateful afternoon, I break both wrists simultaneously .

Miss the next few contests and fall out of touch with competitive surfing. Late one sleepless night, I learn that I love to read. That poetry is my true passion. Fuck the ASP, I had open mic night dreams!

And now here I am. Typing my miserable tale.

Laugh as you will,

But understand why I must give the QS one last swing.

It is not for the women. Tales of travel. Rekindling friendships with those who have probably long forgotten about me.

It is because when you google my name, it says WSL Professional Surfer: Jake Tellkamp.

You think I’d be thrilled. Surely this would go off on a Tinder profile right? No. Because there isn’t anything there. Not a photo, not an embarrassing last place in a grade 1 Pro Jr. Nothing.

http://www.instagram.com/p/5BN_FLFBP4JhIQ_7NFY6IGQcH_Rcza5rNHJIg0

It is a hanging reminder. A cloud of suffocating weight. That I am trivial and a nobody. An unshakeable burden that I can no longer bare!

Considering you guys were generous enough to give a heroin dealer money for his fake cancer treatment, 

I figured one of you might be willing to swing ten gees my way so I can pay for my membership into the World Surf League and help me join the tour!

In return, I’ll decal my board in honor of our favorite surf site, and ride into battle screaming, “Ultra Hard Surf Candy!”

With a bit of luck, and lots of back paddling, I can qualify for the Volcom Pipe Pro. I promise to wear Chas and Derek’s size 31 short shorts in my heat, and the slight chance I actually win, I’ll tell surf fans on streaming webcast anything you so please.

Donate here.

Photo: Steve Sherman/@tsherms
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