Matt Wilkinson WSL

Parker: On Slavery, Twin-Fins.

Plus, the stupidity of volleyball, a ribald adults cartoon and a dead skateboard mag… 

So… I don’t know. Feeling kind of empty today. Not emotionally or anything. Just not really in the mood to write about surfing. Which happens sometimes. Kind of hard to spend this much time focused on a single aspect of life.

But I need to get something done. Because it’s my job. Kinda. Not a real job, and I don’t make any money. But maybe one day we can flip this site to some deep pocket idiot who wants into the surf scene. Then it’ll all be worth it.

Here’s a few thoughts. And a surfing clip.

Volleyball is stupid: I lived in the South Bay for a good portion of my life. Born in Torrance, move to the OC or a while during my childhood. Ended up back there for high school and hung around until I bounced for out for a trip around the world. Moved to Oahu instead of going back. Don’t regret that choice one bit.

Volleyball is huge in the Hermosa/Manhattan stretch. Don’t see the appeal. Spend all day at the beach, get all sandy and sweaty. Never go in the ocean. A lot fo the guys who spend all day playing are tools. Did you know people try to localize courts? They do! And forget having a fun fuck around game with your friends. Some 6’6″ dweeb’s gonna roll up and say, “We play winner.”

So lame.

I’ve witnessed full-grown men fighting, literally, over a call in a pick up game. Rolling around in sand so hot they need socks to protect their feet. Volleyball is stupid.

I can’t wait for season three of Bojack Horseman: It premieres July 22. Gonna watch the whole thing start to finish in one sitting. Then over and over again. Who’d’ve thought a cartoon about a talking horseman would speak to me like this? I know I’m not the only one. Some serious life truths in there. Plenty of funny slapstick shit to keep it from getting too serious.

I can’t ride twinnies: Never could. Don’t know what the deal is.

Apparently all the shrimp I eat is processed by slaves: That sucks. I like shrimp. Eat a lot of ’em. Easy thing to toss in food because the wife will only eat living things that come from the sea. Which is an odd moral decision, but whatever.

So now I guess I can’t eat shrimp. Or I have to buy locally caught stuff. Not that I can tell the difference. Pretty easy with fish, but crustaceans are some whole other deal. I guess I could just go prawning more, but that’s a lot of work.

They just released a coffee table sized collection of Big Brother issues: Picked it up for $25 on Amazon. Not a bad deal. Thing’s slick, glossy. Haven’t done much more than flip through it yet, but it looks pretty cool. All the best articles, plus a bunch of little background stories from Carnie, Cliver, etc.

That’s it. I’m done. Here’s Curren’s part for 5’5 x 19 ¼. Hopefully I’ll feel more motivated tomorrow.

Dry hump: Mick Fanning injured?

Is WSL CEO Paul Speaker crying into his casual Friday loafers?

Surfing magazine, sister magazine of now quarterly Surfer and affectionately called “The Bhagavad Gita of the Sport” has reported that Mick Fanning may have injured his ankle during a surf and might be out of the J-Bay Pro.

The World Surf League and Rip Curl have spent their energies capitalizing on the shark attack seen ’round the world. Who could forget the WSL’s moody “We were always coming back…” spot with Mick exiting triumphantly from a real but also metaphorical cave. And Rip Curl’s moody “First surf” with Mick standing in the morning fog, bravely and gamely paddling out like a true warrior.

If true, if Mick is indeed out, how much does that hurt the bottom line?

Does it hurt as much as a shark attack?


The non-surf masses will not busily YouTube video highlights of heat 1 round 8’s Ace vs. Kolohe vs. Jadson. Unless one of them gets eaten by a shark.

Which makes me wonder. What is the biggest dry hump in sporting history?

Dave Dravecky throwing his arm off?

Pete Rose’s 4256 Hall of Fame-less hits?

Sam Bowie?

Filipe Toledo

Movie: Filipe Toledo’s Night Thoughts!

A frank exploration of a Brazilian favourite!

Filipe Toledo, as if you needed me to tell you, is the twenty-one-year-old Brazilian who famously took a woodcutter to Julian Wilson at last year’s Quiksilver Pro.

How can we forget Filipe’s dominance of 2015? 

Filipe is also famous as the surfer who scored zero points in a heat at Teahupoo, the lowest-ever heat total in professional surfing. Was it a brave act of cowardice, as suggested on this website, or were his nerves simply shattered by a wipeout in an earlier heat?

I think it’s fair to say that Filipe owns the skies and waves under four foot.

His father, Ricardo, is awesome, too. Do you remember his blood feud with the big-wave guy Alex Gray? 

This is what he told Alex via IG.

I think you this wanting suck my dick! sorry but will not give, I am well settled sexually, and besides, my wife will kill you!!! Fuck yourself…(winky smiley face sticking out tongue).

Earlier today, a seven-minute short  (the internet’s equivalent of a four-hour epic) documenting Filipe’s return from injury was released.

Presiding over it all is Filipe, thoughtful, mournful, as he stares just past the camera, perhaps wondering if what the critics allege (big waves are a handicap) is true, and therefore a source of shame, or does he silently long for the day when he can again wield his woodchopper against his thunderingly boring peers?

Watch here.

Burt Waikiki
What, me bored?

Dear Rory: “Do you get bored on Kauai?”

No matter how far you run you can never escape yourself… 

Dear Rory,

Do you get bored on Kauai?

Short and Sweet Pete

Dear Rory says: Right to the point, I like that!

Do I get bored?  That’s a great question. I mean, I’m living the dream, right? Got no boss riding my ass. Totally my own man. Surrounded by adventure and amusement and able to run off to play at the drop of a hat. My every day satisfies me creatively. I’ve lucked into a career path which may never be financially rewarding, but means I most likely won’t look back at the end and think, “Well shit, I wasted that life.”

How could I be bored?

What sort of cynical asshole would I need to be in order to totally forget how awesome my life is?

Why would I fail to appreciate all the opportunities at my fingertips?


Hawaii seems to get a few weeks straight of solid rain each year. Makes sense, that’s why shit’s so green. But you’re pretty much trapped in doors and everything turns into an ankle deep mud pit. That can feel boring.

Sure, we live in the 21st century and there’s a kajillion forms of amusement ready for instant consumption at all times and not all of it is pornographic. But you get a touch of cabin fever and want out bad. The dog’s whining to go piss but won’t actually step into the rain. You and the wife are trying to think of something, anything to do that doesn’t involve getting soaking wet and covered in red muck. But options are limited. The price of living in the middle of the Pacific.

The other 340-ish days…  what do you want to do?

Spearfish? Surf? Hike? Drugs? Hump?

They’re there, a short drive away at most. The ocean is a never ending source of adventure. When the water is always warm and the sun is usually shining you’ve always got something to do. Even if it’s just drinking a beer clifftop and watching how the water moves over the reef.

But the thing about getting what you want, once you’ve got it, what next?

Because as fast as life passes when you’re looking backward, it sure as hell seems to move forward at a snail’s pace. And you just can’t always remember to appreciate what you’ve got while you’ve got it.  Real human failing right there. I know I’m not the only one.

My life could not be better. I have everything I’ve always wanted.

So, yeah, I get bored. I shouldn’t. But it would be the same no matter where I lived.

Because I’m human and I’m flawed and because no matter how far you run you can never escape yourself.



Rumor: Surfer mag to become quarterly!

"The Bible of the Sport" to maybe take a step toward leaving the print world entirely!

Surfer magazine, the monthly lovingly hand-crafted in California, has been published since 1960.


That’s 56 years of sun, tubs, personalities and heart. Some of the world’s most well-loved surf journalists have had their names emblazoned on its glossy pages and some of the world’s most well-loved surf photographers have done their best work whilst in the magazine’s employ.

Its monthly nature, in any case, means that I have at least twelve different things to look at while standing in the checkout line of Seaside Market over the course of one year not counting Blake Shelton or Gwen Stefani or Miranda Lambert or Oprah or Selena Gomez or Theon Greyjoy or Oliver Kurtz.

Rumor has it though, that soon I will only have four different things to look at while standing in the checkout line of Seaside Market not counting Kanye West or Prince or Blac Chyna or Gwen Paltrow or Blair Marlin.

That is, unfortunately, (maybe) right. The “Bible of the Sport” is transitioning from a monthly to a quarterly.

Print is, of course, dead-ish not counting the glorious Surfer’s Journal which somehow continues to defy the laws of human consumption. Still, it is sad to watch our proud institutions brought low, begging for attention amidst an increasingly crowded entertainment space.

Fucken surf websites n shit.

It is a shame, though Derek’s heartfelt story about staff buying Surfing Life and White Horses is touching. Maybe there’s still a place for print.

I meant to write “maybe there’s still a place for print?”

I meant to write “there’s probably not a place for print unless the printing reads The Surfer’s Journal.”

Fucken surf websites n shit.