Santa Cruz-expat Ira Mowen's odd project about a
once-a-day wave that is, suddenly, in grave peril!
Can you imagine what it’s like to be a surfer living in
Berlin? Yeah, sure, you’ve got all those cultural hits
playing (marvel at the Brandenburg gate, the Reichstag, hunks of
the old Berlin Wall, stroll down the Kurfustendamm, hit the bars
and clubs) but old habits die the hardest.
Ira Mowen drifted into Berlin from the States and had soon
accrued all the attachments necessary for modern hipsterdom (moto,
cute cams, twin fin, mat, journals, Polaroids, long hair parted
delicately in the middle and accessorised with beard etc) but was
missing the most important ingredient, waves to shred.
And then after six years, there it was. The massive wake created
by a poorly designed ship coming back to port, once a day.
Head-high, fast and fat.
“Like a head-high swell hitting 38th, in Capitola in Santa
Cruz,”, says Mowen.
Except it’s real hard to catch. So hard Mowen had a seven-foot,
twin-keel Simmons-style sled built for the joint.
Anyway, the ship that creates the wave is being replaced by a
ship that’s sleeker, faster, with a hull that ain’t got the same
gas-guzzling drag. But sleeker equals no wave. And so Mowen is
making a film (and selling tees, books, framed photos too) about
the experience.
Throw some cash at his Kickstarter (click here) and at least let’s get some pretty
pictures of it before it vanishes…
Chas Smith reads from Welcome to Hawaii Now Go to
Hell. Here, Eddie Rothman slaps Billabong's Graham Stapelberg…
From the author: The extract you’ll hear comes
roughly one-third of the way through the book, if I recall, and was
a dream come true. I had sold the concept to my publisher based on
past North Shore experience. The New York executives sat across the
table and rubbed their eyes in disbelief as I described the ever
beautiful but ever ominous North Shore. I sold the dream/nightmare
and was hoping beyond hope that the 2011 season would live up to
the hype. Eddie going to the Billabong house and having a slap
while I was flying across the Pacific far exceeded even my wildest
hopes. That event sent the tone for my winter of 2011. It was
grandly amazing. Everyone was more tense, more scared, more weird,
more North Shore. Surfers of all stripes were, quite literally,
shaking as they walked down the bike path for their daily surf
check. And then John John won the Triple Crown. It was perfect. It
was so perfect, in fact, that I only needed 24 hrs to tell the
whole story. Fortuna? She loved me that winter. She loved me
lots.”
Opiates, self-loathing and sit-ups. Wait, screw the
sit-ups…
It’s been a rough year. I destroyed
my shoulder bodysurfing Pipe last December, got it rebuilt using a
dead man’s ligaments and assorted screws. Fought through physical
therapy long enough to break my collar bone spearfishing. Sat out
two months of life waiting for it to heal and then copped a bone
infection that put me put for two more. I’ve got this recovery
thing down.
Drugs
Opiates, weed, and booze are your friends. Pop a few Percocet,
hit the bong and drown your sorrows. You won’t heal any faster, but
life will pass in a blissful stupor. One day you’ll wake up hung
over and dope sick because your asshole doctor cut you off from the
gravy train and you don’t know any teenagers to score dope from,
but that’s a worry for tomorrow. Today you’re riding high in the
sky rambling on to your wife about the ASP judging criteria and how
they’re obviously inflating scores to create more tension during
heats.
Self loathing
This one dovetails nicely with the preceding. Spend hours in
front of a mirror, watch your waistline expand and your upper body
shrivel. Gaze in awe as your cock shrinks in increments, as
your shorts cut deeper and deeper into that sagging pile of shit
your call a stomach. You disgusting pile of shit, you should be
ashamed of yourself.
Contemplate suicide
Don’t do it. Offing yourself is for fucking losers and
pussies. But think about how you’d do it, should you ever turn into
such a sad sack piece of shit that you can’t think of any better
option than flipping the off switch and joining the void. Would you
don black face and drive around running stop signs in LA? Swallow
the balance of that bottle of benzos and chase it with half a
bottle of gin? Go old school and kick out a chair while wearing an
extension cord necktie? So many choices, but how to choose?
Alienate your loved ones
Fuck ’em anyway. What do they know about what you’re going
through. You’re the only person who’s ever suffered this much in
the history of humanity. Your wife’s a selfish bitch. Who cares
what she cooks for dinner? Why can’t she just leave you the fuck
alone. Throw a chair at her, call her fat, tell her she’s the
biggest mistake you ever made. If you’ve gotta feel this bad, make
everyone around you share the pain.
Do sit-ups
Nah, fuck that. Play video games. Go online and write racist
messages on youtube. Wallow in your own despair until it fills your
gut and spills out every orifice you have. Call an old lady a
faggot. Fuck this world and everyone in it.
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Is Sterling Spencer's new film Gold the
greatest surf movie ever made? Probably, yes!
Is this the Greatest Surf Film of all
time?
By Chas Smith
In which, among other things, Mark Occhilupo admits
his largest regret.
Gerard Butler stood at the urinal pissing a vigorous
stream. He had been holding it in all the way down the red
carpet, those infernal camera flashes flashing. Through the
interviews. Past empty conversations with drones. Fame was a heavy
burden. Heaviest, maybe, on his bladder.
But, for the moment, he was free and his flow was strong. He
looked to his left and it was empty. And he looked to his right.
There, he saw a handsome young man with a chestnut brown face and
lips as soft as pillows.
“You in the biz?” he asked.
“No, I’m just Sterling,” the young man responded. “Abby’s
brother.”
Gerard squinted his eyes, recognizing certain features shared by
his most recent co-star Abby, or Abigail, Spencer. “I see it,” he
confirmed, before continuing, “Do you know who Rob Lowe is? Damn
it. You look just like Rob Lowe…”
The young man said nothing. Gerard kept looking at him, sighed
his approval, then zipped up and waltzed into the night feeling
like a new man.
Sterling Spencer also left, feeling very good but not because he
had a satisfying micturition. He had, in fact, been unable to
perform while Gerard Butler stared directly into his face. He felt
very good because he was not Rob Lowe. He was, rather, what Rob
Lowe dreamed of being. A professional surfer and he knew he was on
the brink of his own total fame.
Surf has, for the past sixty years, held a unique place in
America’s cultural mythology. It represents vitality, youth, sun,
perfection in a way nothing else quite does. Tom Wolfe wrote it
better, though, in his essay about La Jolla called The Pump House
Gang. “Surf is yip yip yow and the bronzed surfer is a-oooooga
a-oooooga honk honk zow!”
And even though surf is being represented everywhere these days,
from Chanel to Mazda to Visa to the Point Break remake and even
though everyone, including Rob Lowe, wants to be a surfer, surf’s
true stars are unknown outside of the cloister. Kelly Slater would
maybe get a second glance on the street but that is mostly because
he dated Pamela Anderson. And Gisele Bundchen. And Cameron
Diaz.
Sterling was born knowing that even though everyone wants to be
a surfer, to become truly famous, as a surfer, is a very difficult
nut. He knew because his father, Yancy III, is a legend in surf
circles. Sometimes called “The Duke of Gulf” and other times the
“Godfather of East Coast Surfing,” Yancy III brought the sport of
kings to Floridian rednecks. A statue has been erected in his honor
in the town of Pensacola. But outside, Yancy’s legend means
nothing. Initially, Sterling didn’t care. He looked up to his dad
and wanted to be a surfer just like him.
He had the skill and the inimitable style born of great
genetics. He danced on waves. His turns were almost perfect and his
airs were second to none. The people on the beach went crazy
anytime Sterling paddled out. They just couldn’t get enough.
He started competing on the east coast National Scholastic Surf
Association tour when he was very young. The E.C. NSSAs are, in
many regards, more difficult than surfing’s World Championship Tour
where Kelly Slater has won twelve titles, smashing a field of
drunks and heroin addicts. The competition is stiffer in the NSSAs
and the stakes higher. Sterling shrugged off the pressure and
surfed better than anyone, eventually winning four titles in a row.
He was sponsored by surfwear manufacturer Billabong and laughing
all the way to the bank. He was getting paid hundreds of thousands
of dollars to float in the ocean. Then he laughed at Billabong and
traded them in for Rusty.
One night, though, fate intervened in the form of a centaur.
Sterling says it was not dreaming. He says he was wide awake when
he walked outside the family home to the woods. There, a half man,
half horse approached him and said, “You will never be famous.”
Sterling responded, “What? I’m four time NSSA champion. I’m
sponsored by Billabong and someday Rusty.” but the centaur was
unimpressed. He shook his head and said, “No. You will never be
famous.” Sterling decided, then and there, to prove him wrong.
His older sister, Abby, had already taken a more direct route to
fame via Hollywood. She has been lauded for roles in Mad Men, This
Means War, Rectify, Oz the Great and Powerful and alongside Gerard
Butler in Chasing Mavericks. Sterling, though, decided to get
famous as a surfer. He quit competing knowing that anyone outside
of the surf world could not care less about titles and started a
blog showcasing his unique ability, soon winning Surfer Magazine’s
Battle of the Blogs. He became a big swell daredevil, snagging one
of the largest waves ever ridden in the world off the coast of
Alabama. He was interviewed by CNN’s Anderson Cooper. And he just
finished filming his biopic titled “Gold.” James Franco recently
caught a private screening and told Sterling, “I’m speechless. I’ve
never seen anything this good in my entire life.” They subsequently
became best friends.
Fame, real fame, is now within his grasp. Sterling is fairly
nonchalant about it though, saying, “Surfing and being number one
are really easy for me.” The ease can be seen in this film
where a young Sterling finds his Occy. The greatest surf film of
all time? Probably.
Dusty Payne wins the Reef Hawaiian Pro at
Haleiwa. Let's ask personal question. Does he like sexy toys? "I
don’t have any and I’ve never used one," he says. "No chick has
ever pulled one out. If a chick did, I’d be kinda rattled, like,
'I’m not good enough?'" Anal (on her)? "Why would god put a sewer
so close to a playground?" he says wisely, adding, "I’m definitely
curious but I’ve never tried."
Dusty Payne: I’d rather be playing NFL
By Derek Rielly
Today's winner of the Reef Hawaiian Pro, Haleiwa,
talks life-dreams and the day his dad nearly throttled him to
death!
Who doesn’t love a tragedy with a happy ending?
Two men from the famous class of ’88 gone for all money, both left
on the sidewalk of broken dreams, suddenly amplified by the spectre
of ignominy.
Julian Wilson, the world-title apparent gasping for breath on
the World Tour; Dusty Payne swishing around in the most
unimpressive 97th spot on the Qualifying Series, 50 places below
Argentina’s Santiago Muniz, even more behind Australia’s Stu
Kennedy.
But, here, today, in a final that also included Jeremy Flores
and Adam Melling, Julian hit two nines, Dusty, two nines and a bit.
Such defiant displays of power! “Some of the most incredible
surfing I’ve seen,” said Taj Burrow. “Dusty Payne you are
weapon!”
Dusty is now 24th on the QS though is unlikely to qualify;
Julian is fifth and will.
Now let’s prise open the reluctant tonsils of Mr Dusty Payne,
from Maui.
BeachGrit: What’s the biggest mental hurdle you’ve had
to overcome?
Dusty: Competing. You don’t feel good when you
lose. I get really bummed out and disappointed and down on myself.
I get about a thousand voices in my head talking to me. Stuff like,
“I’m such such a kook.” I get real negative. So I’m working on
turning those negatives around and being positive on the whole
thing. But it’s not easy. It’s harder than going and training
physically. You have to constantly work on it. Not every event is
going to be perfect for you.
Have you ever truly believed you were about to
die?
Yeah, I’ve had a few of those. When I was younger, maybe 17,
when I was just getting into towing with my Dad, we were out one
day and he let me go into a wave. And when he came back to pick me
up the rope went around me and then a wave came. My Dad had to
leave and he went around the other side and the rope did a full
circle around me. Underwater, I felt the rope tighten against my
neck. My Dad was taking off on the ski and the rope tightened all
the way, choking me. I was thinking, “Oh my goodness, this is the
end” as it pulled harder and harder. All of a sudden, the handle
hit me in the head right before I blacked out. I really thought
that was it. My neck was bleeding, I had no air, I thought I was
going to die. Afterwards people looked at me funny for a bit. They
thought the rope burn on my neck was a suicide attempt.
What do you dream about?
Beating Kelly Slater. That’s my dream. I thought I’d had him so
many times, I’ve come so close, but then he just bumps me. I
thought I had him one time at the US Open and he did a huge
backside air and got a 9.8. That would’ve been a good one to win.
Damn it Kelly! I just want one!
What about real-life, childhood
dreams?
I always wanted to be in the air force here in the US, an air
force pilot and fly those fighter jets. My dad was a pilot for
Aloha airlines, my Uncle was in the navy and I totally looked up my
Dad and my Uncle. Later, I got terrified of flying. I still hate
it.
Ultimate sense of happiness?
Sitting on the couch on Sunday watching football.
When you lie in bed, late at night into dark, what do
you think about?
That I wish I was playing in the NFL. That’s my ultimate dream.
I always think about it.
What’s your biggest fear?
Flying is my biggest fear, for sure. I remember this one flight
on the way to California when I was younger and we hit turbulence
and I was, like, what…is…going…on? Ever since then I’ve been scared
of flying. Turbulence is the worst thing in the world. But I’ve
come to peace with it. If a plane goes down it’s God’s way of
saying it’s my time. But it’d be a bummer to die in a plane crash.
I’ve always thought of bringing a parachute on an airplane. Like,
it starts going down and I open the door and say, “Peace! I’m
out!”
Do you think about fate?
I know you can control your own fate but there are things that
are just out of your hands. There are certain things you can’t
control.
What do you like about your body?
My teeth are straight.
What do you dislike about your body?
I wish my knee was better.
Have you ever felt love?
Yeah, my parents love me. I’ve never had a girlfriend or
nothing. I dunno why. I haven’t found the right one.
What’s the worst insult you’ve ever
received?
Being told my hair is reddish-blond from you.
What one person do you hate most in the
world?
Osama Bin Laden. Hitler.
Have you ever felt truly hated by
someone?
I’m sure there is. But I don’t know ’em. To them I say, I’m
sorry! Whatever it is I’ve done!