All hail the Surfer’s Journal

Chas Smith

By

$15.95 has never been better spent. Unless it was spent on Apple stock in 1980.

In this age of advancement, this dayglo online wonderland, this 2015 when Michael J. Fox went into the future future and saw flying cars and his artificially boobied mama, the most prog thing is….is….is….

A printed, thick and glossy six times yearly reader-supported magazine that that costs $15.95 and is too big to carry, comfortably, in hand-held Louis Vuitton airplane luggage.

Is the Surfer’s Journal.

The most recent issue, 24.1, features an almost perfect picture of Dion Agius firmly glued to a Southeast Asian wave on its cover and is filled with stories that fire the brain. Like, Jamie Brisick’s exceptional piece on Peter Schroff. Or Thomas Campbell nailing Morocco. Or Chad Smith’s stroll with Raimana Van Bastolaer.

It is exceptional because it feels on the very cutting edge of popular culture without being self-aware. It tells stories that are important and rich without being preachy. It is neither corporate nor anti-corporate. It is just good. Just really really good. And I honestly don’t know how. It should be boring but it is more prog than anything in surf media and maybe anything in media media. Sit with the most recent issue for a few minutes and I dare you to disagree. It is curated perfectly and if I wore a hat, I would tip it toward editor-in–chief Scott Hulet.

Maybe I’m officially ancient. Or maybe quality is not an act. It is a habit. Aristotle said that and he is 2399 today. The truth never rusts, baby.

Hypothetical: Wade Goodall’s Ultimate Party!

Derek Rielly

By

With invites designed by Basquiat, a documentary by Spike Jonze and Jake Donlen and a homosexual gang bang in the toilet!

Wade Goodall is a 28-year-old surfer from a sandy stretch of coastline just north of the Australian city of Brisbane. For many years he was a staple of Billabong’s marketing (Air guy! He crazy!) but now he shucks cheques from the sneaker brand Vans.

BeachGrit asked Wade to imagine a party without the limits of money or legalities…

BANDS: The Kooks, Phoenix and The Clash play in the day. Then Joy Division, Mastodon and Children of Boredom at night.

BEHIND THE DECKS: Bareback DJs (Leigh Sedley and Paul Fisher) but it’s more than likely there will be no DJ.

SONG PLAYED AS YOU WALK THROUGH THE DOOR: Oblivion by Mastodon.

SECURITY: No security. Do what you want except fight. If you fight you will be shot by the person you hate most at the party.

DESIGNER WHO KITTED YOU OUT: I’m not big on designers. If I like it I rock it whether it’s St Vincent De Paul or Louis Vuitton. But, Louis Vuitton sucks.

STRIPPERS ON THE POLES: Lots. Gothic.

BEER ON TAP: xxxx bitter, Coopers Pale, Tooheys New, VB, Carlton Draught, Super Dry, James Boags.
PRE-MIXED COCKTAI: Baileys. Mmmmm, creamy.

def tapes: wade goodall and friends from RUNAMUK VISUALS on Vimeo.

FIRST THREE PEOPLE LINED UP TO GET INSIDE: are the three people I didn’t invite – Satan, Kevin Federline and Bono.

CELEBS: Carl Barron, Jemaine and Bret from Flight of the Conchords, Richard Hell, Juno, Stephen Bradbury, The Mighty Boosh, Ruby Rose, Zoey Deschanel, LPJ (Loony Bin Jim), Natasha Khan from Bat for Lashes.

LESBIANS KISSING (NAME EM): Miranda Kerr and Megan Fox but then they decide they don’t like it and look for the guy throwing the party

HOMOS KISSING (NAME EM):  Kele Okereke (Bloc Party frontman) and Dame Edna.

GETTING PUMPED IN THE TOILET: Chad Kroeger from Nickelback by 14 black football players. He deserves it.

CATERING: Mango Deli and Jamie Oliver.

DIRECTOR (TO MAKE A DOCO ON THE NIGHT): Spike Jonze and Jake Donlen collaboration.

ARRIVE IN: the dog car from Dumb and Dumber, an ’84 sheep dog.

DRAPED ON YOUR ARM: Riding solo, options open.

DEALER: Red, from Pineapple Express.

IN THE ROPED-OFF VIP AREA: Everyone’s equal in my party. I’ll put an extra two portaloos where the VIP would be.

DOOR PRIZE: A beige set of bi-fold doors.

YOU LEAVE WITH: An amazing girl, if not a spew stained set-up.

GATECRASHERS: Are very welcome. God knows me and my friends have gatecrashed our fair share.

SPEECH: Public speaking sucks.

SURPRISE GUEST: Kurt Cobain.

AFTER PARTY: Select crew with an acoustic set by the Travelling Wilburys and Neil Young.

INVITE DESIGN: Jean-Michel Basquiat

SPONSOR: Donald Trump. I know he’s a suit but how the fuck else am I going to get the funds for this gig?

Dane Reynolds wheelie air in Australia
"The biggest single difference between Australians and Americans," said Robert Hughes, the great Australian art critic, "is that you were founded as a religious experiment and we were founded as a jail." | Photo: Morgan Maassen

Hello Superpower! This is Australia!

Derek Rielly

By

A letter to America on the incessant romancing of a superficial stereotype… 

Dear America,

Is there any good blood in our veins? Do you really want to know? We might beat our tambourines in glory, but glory there ain’t.

For all of your romanticising of this island continent, this sparsely populated desert land with the cartoonish indigenous creatures and white sand beaches strung together for thousand of kilometres…

Australia… hates you. 

As a nation imprisoned by television, we see the USA as a land of Honey Boos and Kardashians, of Fox News and school massacres, derelict cities and a government driven into ruinous debt by the famous military industrial complex. And they’re the good bits. We grasp conspiracy theories as if they were written on ancient parchment. We worship at the feet of Michael Moore and Noam Chomsky.

America, the warlord, America the champion of terrorism finally having a mirror held up to its pockmarked face.

Yes, we are an ally in war. From the atolls of the Pacific to the mountainous ridges of Korea and the tunnels of Vietnam, the dunes of Iraq and the valleys of Afghanistan, the Australian dies for the American cause. When a trigger-happy neocon president (Jeb?) eventually strikes at China over some pointless cause like Taiwan or the Senkaku Islands, our tiny army will again climb the parapet and charge toward oblivion.

Don’t be flattered.

We died for the British cause in world wars part one and its much better sequel. Australians are like that. We tough talk about our inherent anti-establishment nature, our supposed larrikinism and mateship, but there ain’t a thing we like more than to be a bitch to the powerful and mighty, warming our little paws under your skirt and in your privates. In public we bark contemptuous; behind closed doors we moan and gasp.

Yeah, the modern version of Australia began as a penal colony for the British a couple of hundred years back. Convicts, mostly, but free settlers too. Under Governors Macquarie and, later, Bligh (yep, the same one), the European fought famine, the cruelty of 19th century justice and tamed a rough land.

We may’ve stole this hostile ancient land but that doesn’t make us unique. The American screwed the Red Indian, the Spanish did it to the Brown Indian, the New Zealander stole the Maori land (but gave it back), the Canadians, the Russians, the British, the French, the Italian… it was all part in the Imperial playbook.

What makes us unique are the advantages given to us and response to it. Because for all our geographic isolation (astonishingly difficult to invade – as experienced by the Japanese 70 years ago) and with massive stores of natural resources and the perfection of British-led democracy, and all under the long, warbling persuasiveness of eternal warmth and blossom, we’re a nation of bored, sissy bastards.

How did we get here? How about you imagine the Australian as the child of celebrity parents, the Pitts/Jolies, maybe. The Australian is gifted everything he could ever want. Money. Attention. Good looks.

But does that develop and refine his character? How can it? Character only grows in the troughs of great suffering. You’ll find more within the skin of a kid diving for pennies at a Filipino port or an ice-cream seller on the beaches of Gaza or the father of six massaging the squishy bones of Australians on Kuta Beach.

Open the door and look inside. Australia represents selfishness wrapped in a banana leaf of good times.

Sunny Garcia
"If you are my friend I’ll go to war for you. I’ll give you the shirt off my back. But if I don’t know you and you are talking shit, or messing with my family or friends? Then I will punch you in the face. I don’t care. The press has always made me out to be a rough character but it is not who I really am. I just don’t have time for people I don’t coming up to me and causing problems."

Sunny: “If you’re my friend I’ll go to war for you!”

Chas Smith

By

Let's open the confession box of Mr Sunny Garcia, a world champion and six-time Triple Crown winner. More than Kelly!

Sunny Garcia is the just-turned 44-year-old former world champion (2000). Perhaps more significantly, he has won the Triple Crown of Surfing, the title given to the best-performing surfer of Hawaii’s three events each year, six times. More than Slater. More than anyone. In comparison, Kelly Slater has won it twice.

Sunny is one of our legends. And while his arms look of hardened tough and his fists have pounded many faces, his voice sounds of educated professor. It is soft. Sweet. His sentences are well thought. He doesn’t fall into traps of over-using swears. Each time he does swear it carries authority and passion. His cadence lacks almost all island inflection. And it is wise. Sunny Garcia has lived. He has surfed professionally for a quarter century. He has been to jail. He has been married thrice. He has three children. He is known, in surfing, by one name.

Now let’s open his confession box.

On being an icon: Ahhh, I don’t think about that, you know? I believe people everywhere, all around, guess whatever they want to about me, about my life. I don’t know them and I don’t try to create anything necessarily or change anything about myself. I don’t think of myself in any particular way and people might just fill in the blanks. But I am just me. I just do what I want to do and have fun.

On winning the title:  I was just so relieved, you know? I seriously thought that I had squandered the early years when I was capable of beating anyone. But I was young and partying and just having fun instead. Then fucken Pipe in ’95…So when I won the title it felt great. Good. I was relieved to have it finished. I am thankful for it.

On modern surfing: This can be a trick question. Are you talking about the judging or what? Just the surfing? Ummmmm. Shit. As much as I don’t want to say I think it looks pretty terrible. Every single one of the new kids looks the exact same. They do the same things on the wave. Some kind of bad style to the end section where they punt. It looks fucken bad. In the past you knew the style of everyone who surfed. All the guys had their own styles and you could walk up and down the beach and pick guys out. Now they are all doing the same exact fucking thing. All these fucking kids just go down the line looking for the air section and punting.

I love watching Dane and Jordy. To me that is fucking great surfing. A lot of the new kids just can’t surf with any style. And I blame the judging, in part, for that.

On Kelly Slater: Kelly is one of my favourite surfers even though I don’t like to admit it. He is the greatest surfer that has ever lived. I couldn’t say anything about it when we were competing because I wanted to beat him so bad. And he was my main competition. I love the way he surfs. He can do whatever he wants on a wave. And consider him one of my best friends.

On judging: When they got rid of Perry (Hatchett), the lead judge, I think it was a huge fucken mistake. The judges now overscore one air… a guy cruising and punting one air… and I think it is really hurting the sport. Kids are surfing to that standard now which is just not good. I love surfing so much that if I feel the judges aren’t doing their job I have no problem calling them out. And that is the way it should be. I’ve done it (called the judges out) for my friends and they have done it for me. Fine me. I don’t fucken care. Fine me every single day of the week. Keep my fucken money. I was born with this talent and born competing. I don’t do it for the money. I do it because I love it.

On being seen as a rough character: I don’t fucking care. I don’t think of myself that way. If you are my friend I’ll go to war for you. I’ll give you the shirt off my back. But if I don’t know you and you are talking shit, or messing with my family or friends? Then I will punch you in the face. I don’t care. The press has always made me out to be a rough character but it is not who I really am. I just don’t have time for people I don’t coming up to me and causing problems. You would too.

On marriage and divorce: We all get married. When I was younger I just wanted my own family. My own wife and kids. I have been married three times now and you go through the highs and the lows. With my first two wives we just never made it through the lows. Divorce? I don’t have any problem with divorce. If you’re not getting along in your relationship then it needs to change. My first divorce really broke me up a lot. My ex-wife got married pretty quickly after and I couldn’t imagine another man raising my children. So that broke me up. But 12 years later I see things in a different light. Now we are great friends. And I have a good relationship with my second wife as well – she got re-married. And I am remarried. So I feel it worked out good for all of us, you know? Everyone is happy. In order to be successful in life, in marriage, you have to get to the point where you admit things to yourself. All of my experiences have made me who I am.

On thankfulness: I say thanks to my friends, my family, and my fans. Everybody who has helped me do what I do. I have enjoyed it. I am enjoying it.

surfing in Israel
…oh look at you, brave little country that's suffocated by hate on every border. Still you carry the shield of democracy and the sword of freedom. Surfing in Israel is the sweetest fruit.

Movie: The Hebrew Hammer

Derek Rielly

By

The surf has been pumping in Israel. Jew fever! Catch it!

Who knew the Med could whip up this kinda milkshake?

Ten days ago, a four-to-six-foot swell lit up the Israeli coastline. This film by Noam Eshel captures the best of Israel’s surfers at a surfing contest in Sokolov Beach, Nahariya, right there on the border with Lebanon, a dear friend to world Jewry.

Israel has waves and not just in some oblique theoretical way. Pull out that old school atlas and swing into the middle east. See how much fetch there is in the Mediterranean west to east? Over four thousand kilometres. Enough to create swells that’ll hit, at times, eight feet plus and light up one of the most wonderful collection of reefs, breakwalls and beaches you could ever imagine.

Take a swig!

Billabong Up North 2015 – אליפות ישראל בגלישת גלים, סוקולוב נהריה 2015 from BoardShop Israel on Vimeo.

Photo: Jack English
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