In a mirror of the only other commercially operating
Wavegarden, NLand Surf Park in Texas
has been shut down almost exactly one month after loosing the
plough that creates the rippable little swells.
A bummer since nearly every session y’tried to squeeze into had
booked out, making a mockery of the naysayers who said they
wouldn’t be able to find chumps willing to spend ninety bucks on a
ten-wave session. For some visitors, the experience was…
divine!
Neighbors of a new surf park outside Austin say the park is
making waves next door, spilling water into their neighborhood. On
Monday, the park said they were closing for a week after finding
damage under the lagoon. The park, which opened Oct. 7, said they
would drain the lagoon and then make repairs.
The Austin Watershed Protection Department confirmed a
release of water from the park spread onto nearby
property.
“The Watershed Protection Department Spills Team
investigated the site and found a discharge of clear water from the
park, but they did not find any indication that the water was
polluted or chlorinated,” wrote Scott Prinsen, a spokesperson for
the watershed protection department. “The department can only
enforce water quality issues at the site.”
“It was full of water, I couldn’t even walk through here,”
said Patricia Garcia, referring to her driveway.
Garcia wants to make sure this doesn’t happened again and
says it has happened before. NLand Surf Park also confirmed that it
drained its lagoon Monday and the water ran off of its
property.
“[The city] let us know about this and we immediately
addressed the issue. We take every opportunity to be good
neighbors,” wrote NLand spokesperson Chris Jones in an email to
KXAN News.
And, in a poetic response from the pool:
President Theodore Roosevelt
famously wrote, “Nothing in the world is worth having or worth
doing unless it means, effort, pain, difficulty . . . .” President
Roosevelt, how prophetic you were, especially when it comes
building North America’s first surf park.
The liner in our reef section
has been compromised more so than expected by fin and nose cuts and
we need to do more extensive repairs. Therefore, we will be closed
through November and potentially beyond. If we open, we will
personally rebook you.
The line, “If we open…” is a little haunting, don’t
you think?
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Nathan Florence: “I can’t do airs!”
By Derek Rielly
Middle Flo don't have wings but watch his eyeballs
oscillate when he sees big waves!
Twenty-ish years old and already the middle Florence
bro has accumulated much street wisdoms. He
ain’t one for getting looped but ain’t afraid of a beer or two
either. And his eyeballs will protrude and oscillate wildly when
he sees big waves.
BeachGrit likes! Let’s French!
What are your favourite sounds?
I like the sound of the waves when I go to sleep. We grew up
directly opposite the beach and it was always there. You don’t even
realise that you like that sound until you stay the night somewhere
where you can’t hear it. It’s an addicting sound. It’s a rumbling.
There’s a constant static roar and then you’ll hear the sets
break… purrrraaah… yeah, that must’ve been a big one. If
it’s really big and you can really hear the big ones and the
windows shake a little bit, that excites me. It’s a little harder
to sleep when you know it’s going to be big in the morning and then
it’s calming when it’s summertime and it’s just hitting the beach…
super slow.
Tell me about where you live now…
We live directly next to the lifeguard stand at Pipe, right on
the beach. My bedroom is in the middle. I share a bedroom with my
younger brother Ivan. We have a bunk bed. He’s in the top bunk, I’m
on the bottom bunk. It’s a little cave.
In your reading, what books have moved
you?
It’s hard to explain books because after you read one, you’ll
always say that was the best book I’ve ever read. But then you read
the next one and you’re, like… that one… was the favourite
book I’ve ever read. Then you read another one and that is. As you
read the next one you forget about the one before. I’ve never read
a book I didn’t like ’cause after the first chapter, if I don’t
like it, I just put it down. The ones that I finish are the ones
that instantly drag you in. I read all the Game of
Thrones books. I finished ’em a couple of months ago.
Those things are… so… sick. I seriously finished them in a month, I
read every one, there’s seven of ’em.
When do you read?
Right before I go to bed or after surfing, whenever you have
time to relax and lay down for a second. Especially in airports.
That’s when you really fly through them. I get through, in a
session, maybe a hundred pages. I never fall asleep reading. People
say they get sick reading in a car but that’s my favourite time to
read cause car rides are… boring.
What book inspired you to read when you were a
child?
The first book I read, The Lion, the Witch and the
Wardrobe when I was in third grade (six years old).
Before that I hated reading. My teacher gave it to me and said,
just read this book, maybe you’ll be more psyched on reading after
this And I read it, and there’s like seven of those, and, she was
right, I …so… psyched on it. And… boom… I read all that
series. My grandpa reads a ton so he’s always sending me the books
he finishes. He likes the same kinds of books that I like.
What is heaven for you?
When the waves are firing at home in late winter. Pipe’s going
off and everyone’s tired of surfing already ’cause it’s been, like,
a week and it’s me and my friends cruising and we’ve surfed all day
and relaxing, drinking a couple of beers. You look around, well, I
do anyway, and say, yup, this is exactly how I want to live.
What is the most remarkable thing you’ve seen in big
waves?
I’ve seen some crazy stuff John’s done in person. John’s always
blowing minds getting barrels. Koa’s last wave in Tahiti was pretty
baffling. The Code Red swell (August 27, 2011) was the sickest
thing I’ve ever seen in big waves. I love how they’re all eating
shit on ’em. And these are the types of waves when people make ’em
everyone says, “Oh, if you’d fallen you would’ve died for sure.”
But, then, those guys were eating shit on the gnarliest waves
possible and surviving perfectly. Nate’s (Fletcher’s) wave. Think
about it. If he had made that wave, everyone would’ve said,
“There’s no way you would’ve survived if you hadn’t made it. You
would’ve died, f’sure.” But he ate shit in the gnarliest part and
then…fucken… handled it. That’s the sickest
part. When they get the bomb, travel, travel, travel and then… eat…
shit. Wipeouts are my favourite.
Does it give you confidence in your own pursuit of big
waves seeing guys eat shit and nothing
happening?
Definitely. Whenever you’re going into a big swell, your mind
is…it’s a constant little stress case mind battle, I could die, I
could die, I could die, but then the thing about those guys is
that’s way gnarlier than anything I’ve ever surfed so it’s fate
whether you die or not. You don’t have a choice. Those guys were
surviving, so fuck…
How would you describe the hierarchy between the three
brothers?
We’re all even to each other. John’s obviously way ahead of me
and Ivan performance-wise, I feel like. He has the super
competitive drive. He loves the contests whereas I… hate contests.
I can’t stand them. I’d rather chase a swell and surf by myself in
bigger waves than go grind it out in the CT. Ivan’s the same way,
kinda. But then, Ivan has a sicker style. His style is way sicker
me or John’s. We each have our little pluses. John is a super
human.
Describe Ivan’s style.
I don’t even know how he’s so smooth, like, Tom Curren and then
he has that little drop-knee like…that guy…that air guy… with the
long, curly hair and he kinda drop knees…
Craig Anderson…
Yeah, yeah, yeah, he has a sick little drop-knee thing…
How would you describe the personality types of the
brothers?
Ivan is a serious little guy. Very serious little face. I’m more
of the sarcastic one who’s making a joke out of everything and then
John is just right in between. He can be super mature, just ’cause
he has to deal with so many interviews and business-like stuff, but
then at the same time he’s more immature than me and
Ivan… especially when he gets drunk.
What does he do when he’s boozed?
He looks like a little kid. He looks like a five year old.
When I was 10, John threw a rock at my face and knocked out all
my front teeth. It was completely by accident. He meant to throw
the rock at me but he didn’t mean to knock out all my teeth. He
threw it from 50 feet away. He had perfect aim.
What’s the worst insult you’ve ever
received?
I’ve never been super super rousted or else I didn’t even take
it to heart.
What’s the cruellest thing John or Ivan has said to
you?
I can tell you the cruellest thing ever done to me. When I was
10, John threw a rock at my face and knocked out all my front
teeth. It was completely by accident. He meant to throw the rock at
me but he didn’t mean to knock out all my teeth. He threw it from
50 feet away. He had perfect aim somehow. I was bodysurfing and he
wanted to go up to the house and I said I wanted to stay
bodysurfing and then he wanted to get my attention so he started
throwing rocks at me. I remember, he was 50 feet away and he winged
it, and I watched it arc up and I was looking at it and I was,
like, ooh, that kinda looks like it’s coming at me and it was,
like, shit, it’s going to hit me and before I could even try and
dodge it the thing just smashed into my mouth. I
was crunching and I thought the rock had broken on my teeth so I
spit it all out and it was all my teeth. I ran up to the house…
What did Alex do?
She was all pissed. We put ice on my teeth but all the nerves
were exposed so the ice hurt super bad and then John got a spanking
or something. He got rousted super hard for that one. I felt bad
for him.
If you ever wanted to get under John’s skin, how would
you insult him?
Mmmmmm. Mmmmmm. By telling him he was cocky.
He doesn’t like that?
No, he doesn’t like that. Telling him he’s number one, “Oh,
sorry, sorry, John, you’re number one, you’re the guy, we’re
sorry!” (Laughter) That’s upsetting to him. He tries to play it
down, “Oh, you’re the guy, you’re the guy.” But he knows it’s
half-true so he can’t deny it…compleeeetly… but he doesn’t
want to be, he’s so modest that he gets super irritated that
someone thinks he’s cocky.
What’s right with the world?
I have no idea what’s right with the world? What do you think is
right with the world?
I think what’s right with the world is that everyone is
richer beyond their wildest imaginations and kids aren’t crippled
with polio and there’s no world war…
…that’s true…
…and there hasn’t been a nuclear explosion in 80
years…
Mmmmhmmm. Those are all pluses.
…and Obama’s president…
You think so?
Oh, I do.
I’ve never thought about presidents at all. I never focus on
such things.
To me, it indicates the strength of American society
when it elects someone as intellectual as Obama…twice…
I was actually thinking it would be sick if they chose the
president by a Gladiator’s tournament. The guys have to be super
smart but super good at warfare fighting stuff, too. Like they have
to fight their way to the top. They put ’em through a maze kinda
thing straight into a battle thing so that our president would be,
like, the gnarliest fighter and (italics) the smartest. Then
there’s not some guy just giving orders. He could go and destroy
(italics) if he wanted to.
What do you like most about yourself?
I seem to be able to get along with people. I guess that’s a
plus.
What do you find hard?
Airs. I can’t do airs, surfing.
At what level can’t you do airs. Can you land a straight
air, a little air rev or are you bereft of wings?
I’ve landed three air reverses in my whole life.
Where does the problem lay, in the mechanics or the lack
of desire?
First, I never thought of them. I didn’t care about ’em and then
the way people started doing airs, like John, Matt and Albee, those
things are actually nuts and then I started trying to do airs. And
I just realised that I was a complete failure at them. The
mechanics are foreign to me. I can get myself in the air but no
matter what, when I land on my board, I’m eating shit.
Is there anything you wonder about?
I wonder why I can’t be a super hero.
Do you want to be a super hero?
Yeah. I would like to be Superman. I wonder why there’s none of
those in the world. No straight super-humans. How sick would that
be?
Oh, it would be a thrill!
I’m bummed I can’t be a super… human. Like the Spartans in Halo
or straight Superman himself: laser vision, indestructible. How
sick would that be? There’s nothing like that, there’s no way you
could possibly beat that.
I wonder if life might seem unsatisfying without danger
or fear.
I guess that’s true. There’d have to be some flaw involved. But
I think it would be amazing, too. If you ever got frustrated you
could destroy whole trees. You could destroy an entire village
(with nobody in it).
That would be
satisfying.
Yes, that would be satisfying.
You are so wise for a professional
surfer.
(Mid-level shriek) Ha!
I don’t think I’ve ever encountered such
wisdom…
Thank you, sir.
(Note: This story first appeared what feels like a
zillion years ago here, hence the Obama refs. On the occasion of
John John’s ascendency we reprint.)
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Shit: “Thanks a lot, Nick Woodman!”
By Chas Smith
GoPro CEO Nick Woodman rides his company, and me,
into the ground!
Nothing is worse than an armchair quarterback.
Someone who lounges while proclaiming how, if they were in charge,
things would be so much better etc. How, if it was their hand on
the lever, things would be chugging right along.
And you know how, from time to time, I poke at the brands that
deserved to be poked (All good-natured, Volcom! Dry those tears!) so
one year ago I decided to invest my hard-earned
dollars in two extreme sport companies. Quiksilver and GoPro. I
decided to hop out of the armchair and into the game!
It has not gone well. Quiksilver, of course, bonked a while ago
but I love the Mountain and the Wave so much that losing that money
felt like a wonderful offering. It make-a me happy.
GoPro really tanked today and has not made me happy. Should we
read from Business Insider?
GoPro shares fell 14% in early trading on Friday after the
company reported quarterly earnings results that were worse than
analysts had expected.
The shares fell 21% after regular trading hours Thursday,
following a trading halt requested before the earnings
announcement.
The maker of action cameras said its net income dropped 330%
from last year and swayed to a loss of $84 million, or -$0.60 per
share. Analysts had forecast a $0.36 loss according to
Bloomberg.
GoPro’s sales totaled $241 million, down 40% year-on-year,
and short of the estimate for $313 million.
These numbers reflect weak demand for GoPro’s handy cameras.
In September, the company entered a new product category altogether
and launched its first drone called Karma.
Its guidance for fourth-quarter revenue and earnings per
share was also weaker than expected. The fourth quarter is crucial
for makers of consumer electronics because there’s lots of revenue
to be earned from Black Friday and Christmas shopping.
So you’re saying there’s a chance…
Just kidding. I know there’s no chance. But at least I’m in the
game!
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Parker: “The Squalid Glory of Travel!”
By Rory Parker
Or how to win friends and influence natives
abroad!
I spent the last few months of 2007 selling most of my
possessions. Suffering from a self-diagnosed case of
ennui, I had chosen to self medicate through travel.
I unloaded most of what I owned, save boards, clothes and
keepsakes, in order to partially finance my expedition. The plan
was to take a trip around the world, spending a year exploring
places I’d never seen, and, due to lack of surf, most likely never
would.
For the first time in my life, I would leave my surfboards
behind, probably not surf at all, and hopefully shake loose the
middle class melancholy which had enveloped me in the preceding
months.
I hedged my bets.
Though most of the places I planned to visit had only a passing
acquaintance with the ocean, I couldn’t help but add one
destination that might find me in some good surf. As my flight plan
would take me over the northern tip of Africa, I decided to make a
stop off in Morocco.
We would arrive towards the end of the season, meaning surf was
not likely. Though as a well-known surf destination, I was fairly
confident that should we encounter swell I would be able to find a
board somewhere.
I would not be embarking on the globetrotting sojourn solo.
Joining me was my then girlfriend, now wife. Life partner
extraordinaire and the only woman I fully trust not to lose her
shit when the going gets rough.
Morocco was an unknown entity. I’d done little research before
buying our tickets, and beyond a vague notion of hash and cumin
scented desert breezes, had no idea what we should expect.
We arrived in Casablanca on the red eye. After negotiating the
standard third world airport, hands white-knuckled on bags to ward
off thieves, we paid a taxi to deliver us to our initial
destination. We’d booked a hotel on the edge of the Old
Medina, ready to experience a foreign culture in all its squalid
glory.
The next morning found me unprepared. Though my wife was
enraptured by the old world charm, I could not escape my own
twisted view of reality. The Old Medina, though picturesque, was a
labyrinthine warren, replete with hustlers, cut purses and hash
dealers beckoning from darkened alleys.
We spent our days in a constant state of confusion, lost amongst
switchback alleyways. My wife blithely shopped, I peered around
corners, gripping a six inch folding knife in a sweating palm,
ready to stab at the slightest provocation. After a week I reached
my breaking point, and following an incident in which I punched a
ten-year-old pick pocket in the side of the head and brandished my
blade at a merchant, we decided a change of scenery was in
order.
How we found our way to Taghazout is beyond me.
Somehow, using a mishmash of child level French and Spanish we
were able to procure bus tickets to Agadir, and after an all day
bus ride, and an hour spent wandering around the Agadir bus
terminal, we ran into Sam. An amiable Kiwi on holiday. He was also
on his way to Taghazout, and was equally clueless as to how we
would go about getting there.
After some discussion we hailed a cab, engaged in the customary
fifteen-minute haggle over fare, and were on our way.
We pulled into Taghazout after the sun had set. Our cab driver,
who would eventually introduce us to Ahmed, the hash dealer and
fixer we would employ during our stay, took us to a small,
two-bedroom house on the beach front. He knew the owner, who soon
arrived to talk rental prices. After another drawn out haggle
session we acquired lodging.
The next two days were spent walking through town, which was
nearly devoid of fellow travelers, and drinking mint tea until our
hands shook from the caffeine buzz.
On the third day the swell arrived.
Anchor Point was overhead and perfect.
I spent the morning frantically scouring the town to find a
board I could rent, borrow or buy. Most of the boards on offer were
pop out Bics, an option I preferred to forego unless no other
option presented itself. New boards were priced in the US $800-
$900 range, which was completely outside my grasp. I persevered,
and eventually came across a 7’6” minilog shaped by some obscure
French guy. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a real board, so
I made the best of the situation and paid in advance, offering a
white lie to the owner of the small shop about passport theft.
Convinced him to take a California drivers license as a deposit on
the board.
The board had previously been broken, about a foot from the
nose, and as my wife and I walked back to our rental I made a
comment which would come back to haunt me.
“You know, it probably won’t go over well if I break this
thing.”
So, of course, I broke it two days later.
I’d snagged a set off the point and connected through to the
inside section. The tide was low, and as I came off the bottom I
could see it was going to bowl and pitch. I swung the board around,
stalled, and pulled in at an awkward angle. I watched helplessly as
the lip threw out over my head and came down on the nose of the
board, exactly where it had broken been broken before.
I came up to find the nose of the board floating next to me. It
was a clean break, totally repairable, so I grabbed it and paddled
in.
On the walk back to our house my wife and I discussed the best
course of action. We decided that I should pay for the repair, so I
grabbed some cash and went back to the shop I had rented it
from.
When I showed up the owner wasn’t there. A younger kid was on
duty, and as I walked up he didn’t recognize the board under my
arm.
“Too bad friend. But we can fix it. Only fifty dollars American.
We make it good as new”
Okay, fifty bucks. That seemed fair. I borrowed it, I broke it,
I should pay to have it fixed. I pulled out fifty dollars, ready to
pay. Then he noticed the board belonged to them.
“Wait, I must call the owner.”
Twenty minutes later the shop owner arrived. He took one look at
the two pieces of board sitting on the ground and told me I owed
him nine hundred dollars.
“For a used board? No way. It was broken when I rented it, and
it broke in the same place. I’ll pay to have it fixed.”
“It was in one piece when you rented it. Like new. You owe me
for a new board.”
“But it had been broken. It wasn’t broken when you rented it. We
fixed it.”
“And your repair job sucked. I’ll pay to fix it. That’s
all.”
“You pay, or we keep your passport.” (Which is why you NEVER
give anyone your passport.)
This went on for some time, steadily growing more and more
heated as the shop owner refused to budge on his price, and I
refused to pay it.
Eventually our argument drew the attention of the various
underemployed fellows who lounge about the town during the day,
looking for an opportunity to make a quick buck. They started to
gather around us. I was about to learn a quick lesson in group
dynamics.
In short order I found myself surrounded by what seemed to be
the entire male contingent of the town, a malnourished,
underemployed crew bombarding me with a guttural cacophony of what
I assumed to be arabic epithets.
As I continued to argue, now with the entire group, I noticed
the crowd was quickly becoming a mob. I began to fear harsh
retribution, driven not by a sense of righteous justice, but,
rather, propagated by their own disenfranchisement and boredom.
“You pay, you pay,” became their slogan.
Deciding rash action was better than martyrdom, I began to
scream and swing my arms about wildly. The mob backed off
enough to provide a small opening, and I turned and ran. Whether or
not they gave chase, I have no idea. I didn’t look back.
I made it back to our house, and collapsed on the sofa to relate
to my wife what had just happened. We decided that an early
departure was most likely our best course of action. This decision
was further supported when Ahmed stopped by that evening.
“Rory, I hear you break a surfboard. People are very angry with
you.”
“He wants too much money for it. I offered to pay, but he’s not
reasonable.”
“Yes, I know him. He is very greedy. But, maybe you should go.
This town is not very happy with you. Come back later, when
people forget.”
A good plan, but with a small problem. Catching a bus or cab
would mean walking through the center of town with all our gear,
right past the shop which now, apparently, considered me some sort
of criminal.
“My friend will pick you up early. Before sunrise. Pay me now
and he will pick you up.”
Now, I liked Ahmed, as much as you can like anyone who is
obviously a hustler. But I didn’t have much confidence we would
ever seem him again, much less get a ride from his friend, were I
to give him any money.
“I’ll pay him in the morning.”
“No, you pay me now, then he comes. Thirty dollars.”
This was extortion, plain and simple. He knew it, I knew it, but
at the moment there didn’t seem like much choice.
“Okay, I’ll pay half now, the rest in the morning.”
“No, you pay it all now.”
Left with no other choice, and no better ideas, I paid him,
packed my gear, and waited until morning, jumping all night long at
any noise, terrified my door was about to be kicked down by a
proverbial mob of torch wielding villagers.
At four am my alarm sounded, and I finished packing away any
odds and ends I forgotten, and we waited. Five am came and went,
then six. At seven we began to hear the town waking up, and I was
certain we were lost.
Finally, at 7:15, Ahmed’s friend arrive, driving a tattered,
ancient sedan. We loaded up our gear and prepared to sneak out of
town.
“Where are you going?”
“To Agadir. We told Ahmed.
“Yes, to Agadir is twenty dollars.”
“No, we paid Ahmed. He pays you.”
“Ahmed does not pay me. You pay me. Or you stay.”
His smile told me all I needed to know. I was paying, fair or
not, whether I liked it or not. I pulled a twenty from our
emergency stash and we were on our way.
On the way out of town we passed by the surfshop I’d had trouble
with. The proprietor was opening up shop, and, as our car passed
by, he and I locked eyes. He started shouting, what, I have no
idea.
Our driver just laughed, but, for a split-second, he hit the
brakes. It wasn’t for long, but it was enough to send my heart into
convulsions.
Then we were out of town, driving past perfect point after
perfect reefbreak, until we reached Agadir.
Note: Noa Deane’s experiences in North Africa, meanwhile, blaze
and they heave. Read here or watch below!
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How to: Make Fins Great Again!
By Chas Smith
Discover a fin made with enormous, sincere and
difficult effort!
We here joke about very many things because very many
things are funny. Everything, in fact, in our surf world
is funny except the actual feeling of surfing a wave. Can anything
beat it? Does anything come even close?
No. It is as close as any one of us will ever get to
redemption.
And so we take these bits seriously. Boards. And trunks. And
wetsuits. And fins.
And there’s a fin out there you should back and it ain’t FCS. Oh
sure I poke at them because are part of the larger Surfstitch x CoastalWatch empire but I
also poke because they make an inferior product.
I have wandered Futures Huntington Beach factory more than once.
I have watched the precision. I have seen the fire in my eyes. And
so, like very few things, I completely back their product and… the
only thing that matters… they work on a wave.
This fin is better than anything out there. Better than FCS’s
molded plastic.