wavegarden-paris
The proposed Wavegarden tank at Sevran, what you might call a "gritty" suburb in north-east Paris.

Olympic Blood Feud: Wavegarden vs Surf Ranch!

Derek Rielly

By

Paris Olympics to use Wavegarden Cove?

In a mostly ignored piece of news in December, it was announced that the city of Paris, which is holding the 2024 Olympics, will build a Wavegarden Cove as part of a multi-billion-dollar revitalisation of the city.

The Cove will form part of the Terre d’Eaux Project in Sevran, one of Paris’ poorest suburbs, one of those famously “gritty” banlieues. 

Surfers Village picked up the story, propaganda, whatever it was. In an interview with Baptiste Caulonqueon, a former Rip Curl GM who’s involved in the Terre d’Eaux project, he said, “Once surfing and para-surfing is scheduled for certain for 2024 Olympics in Paris, there is a fair chance that Terre d’Eaux will apply to host these events as the Cove offers world class waves in great numbers and Sevran is located at the very heart of the Olympic village.”

Y’hear that?

Surfing. Olympics. Wavegarden.

Now here’s where it gets interesting.

Our source says the WSL is scouting land in Japan to build a KSWC Surf Ranch in an attempt to prove to the IOC that it would be a better alternative to the beachbreaks and jetties of Shida, just outside Tokyo.

And that the WCT event at the Surf Ranch in September has been designed to show the IOC how it’ll all work.

If the play doesn’t work, or if the pool can’t be built in time and Wavegarden Cove steals the Paris games and becomes the first wavepool ever used in the Olympics, how’s that going to impact on the KSWC biz model?

Meanwhile, a player in the French surf industry is scouting for land out the back of Hossegor for a Surf Ranch.

Pools everywhere!

“Talk about a blood feud coming up,” says our source.

Confession: My favorite shithole!

Chas Smith

By

"Being a terrorist is a pain in the ass when you aren't spreading terror.”

There is a country, no bigger than greater Chicago, abutting Africa’s horn that appears unremarkable at first glance save its obscene heat, molten lava that regularly bursts through an exceptionally thin crust and being the eponymous star of a poorly received Elmore Leonard novel. If Leonard taught us anything, though, even in his poorly received novels, it is that first glances are never to be trusted.

The fates have tilted Djibouti in such a way as to catch the all the valuable detritus falling from an utterly destroyed Middle East. Or maybe it wasn’t the fates but rather the French. They first saw the strategic importance of this 800 square mile bay at the mouth of the Red Sea and carved it off of Somalia in the mid-1800s. They are still here, making up the country’s largest military force outside of France, wearing short shorts, smoking Gauloises, cursing the heat but have been joined in the past decade by the rest of the world.

The U.S. base occupies Camp Lemonnire, pronounced “Lemon Air” in open derision of the French, just to the south of Djibouti International Airport. It is the United States’ only facility in Africa and houses the joystick pilots who conduct drone strikes on Somali al-Shabab and Yemeni al-Qaeda to the south and east.

France’s European Union frenemies, the Spanish and the Germans, have mustered a few thousand anti-piracy troops. The Germans are billeted at the worst Sheraton on earth, a stinking husk of 1980s grandeur, while the Spanish are billeted at the much nicer Kempinski across. And how must it rankle those Germans to have to bolster the entire Spanish economy while hearing about the crab legs their pirate hunters eat for breakfast.

The Japanese, claiming “maritime nation” status have deployed their own anti-piracy forces that also stay at the Kempinski, away from the Germans, naturally, and near better wi-fi. Their operating base pushes up against the older part of town and is that country’s first overseas military presence since World War II and while they do ostensibly hunt for pirates their navy men mostly guard Japanese fishing ships trolling illegally for sea snails in the Red Sea to satisfy the homeland’s kink for strange ocean fare.

The Chinese, not to be outdone, will open their first overseas military base in six months. The boxy facility that will eventually house some 3000 troops is being built around the bend from American, European and Japanese stations but near new Russian and Saudi positions. They too promise to fight piracy and monitor the situation across the sea on the Arabian peninsula but also seek to expand their growing influence in eastern Africa and, of course, troll illegally for sea snails but also hunt for sunken treasure.

The Russians have protested all these moves at the United Nations, the Saudis have claimed all of this is falling within their sphere of influence, the Americans have flexed by adding more warships and buzzing Chinese islands half way around the world and the French have shrugged while ordering another round of Chateau d’Yquem Sauternes 1998.

It is a mad geo-political ragout. Cold allies and hot adversaries each run live weapon drills and carry out top-secret missions within spitting distance of each other. After hours those who can get day passes mingle in the decrepit, portico’d town center drinking Heineken in shabby joints, where Ethiopian girls shimmy and pimps offer their services for a night, glaring at each other while melting in oven like-heat.

Looking on, drinking surprisingly more expensive Ethiopian beer, are the Somali pirates put out of business by the anti-piracy gold rush. They have been portrayed many different ways by many different visionaries. Paul Greengrass, director of the Tom Hanks vehicle Captain Phillips showed them to be scarily incompetent. Elmore Leonard decided flashy and filled with gold-toothed personality was more apt. I assume neither had ever actually met a pirate nor been to Somalia. The ones I had come in contact with were vacant. Not evil, per se, but without an inborn appreciation of human life. They pirated because it was there, I figure, and once the odds became silly gave it up. I was hanging out with one and wanted to go to a place with internet to check a Los Angeles Dodgers score. He did not want me to so cocked his AK-47 and pointed it at my head. An outlandish response, in my estimation, but not in his.

And even though the pirate is underemployed today, he might not be tomorrow. The non-profit group Oceans Beyond Pirates claims piracy is rebounding but now the targets are smaller private vessels. He is also branching into an increasingly lucrative heroin both hijacking ships carrying product and acting as a middleman, getting product on to cargo ships in Djibouti’s main port bound for Europe and the United States.

Away from the sex, beer and heroin, tucked into chicken restaurants in the crummier part of town, but still plotting the west’s downfall, are Yemeni al-Qaeda put out of home by American drone strikes. Yemen is only 90 miles across the Bab al-Mandab from Djibouti and dhows carrying refugees smashed during the past five years sail to camps in Obok, just across the bay from Djibouti-ville, twice a day. Over 250,00 are there now, mostly from the north and west of the country, waiting for peace. The bulk of the damage inflicted upon their lives comes from Saudi military, the third largest spender in the world after America and China dropping over 87 billion dollars a year on airplanes, tanks and bombs that, until last year, went unused.

The Yemenis running free through the rest of the country, though, are from al-Qaeda held territories in the coastal south. They have been in Djibouti for years and their network is deep and their roots are strong and for the first time since the 1990s Gulf War, back when al-Qaeda was but a glimmer in Osama bin Laden’s eye, the world’s militaries have come to them.

It is a wild underworld bouillabaisse where the old adage the enemy of my enemy is my friend somehow falls apart. The enemy of anyone’s enemy is also an enemy.

Like magic.

Surfing California’s official sport!

Chas Smith

By

Nothing represents the California Dream better than surfing...

I know many of you live here in California and have you ever been jealous of Australia? Oh not its love of public singing and liberal relationship with beer, though that too, but with the fact that surfing is the country’s official sport? I’ve never known exactly what that means but know more now after reading Maurice Cole’s masterpiece. All in all it seems to create wonderful dramas and scandals. Something surfing in California needs very much more of.

Which is why my heart leapt last evening when the great Matt Warshaw sent to me bill AB1972 being advanced through California’s congress by Rep. Al Muratsuchi from Torrance and Ian Calderon from Whittier that establishes surfing as the state’s official sport. Let’s read!

“Nothing represents the California Dream better than surfing — riding the waves and living in harmony with the beautiful beaches and ocean of our Golden State. Surfing in California has a rich history and culture. The surfing lifestyle attracts people from all around the world and generates over $6 billion in annual retail sales. Surfing is an iconic California sport and an important part of the multibillion dollar California coastal economy, particularly in the tourism and recreation industries. For these reasons, I am proud to introduce a bill that would make surfing California’s official sport,” said Assemblymember Al Muratsuchi (D-Torrance).

“I’m proud to join Assemblymember Muratsuchi in designating surfing as our state sport,” stated Majority Leader Ian Calderon. “Growing up surfing not only had a significant impact on who I am as a person, but also taught me at a young age to appreciate and cherish our beautiful coastline that we are so fortunate to have here in California.”

Now, how thrilled are you that California Surfing™ is basically here? Gimme drama! Gimme scandal! Gimme Stormy Daniels!

Surfing Australia success story, Shane Holmes. Third at the 2015 ISA games in Nicaragua. | Photo: Surfing Australia

Opinion: “Bureaucracy killing Australian surfing!”

Maurice Cole

By

"If there’s not a massive change soon, Australian surfing is doomed," says surfer-shaper Maurice Cole.

A few months ago, Surfing Australia announced with much fanfare that it was going to demolish the old high-performance training facility in Casuarina in northern NSW and build a much grander version at a cost of $5.6 million.

The NSW state government threw in three mill, the federal government two and a half, and Surfing Australia a hundred grand.

A beautiful example of governments helping the kids, a, or money squandered on a failing system? I choose…b.

Explain to me this.

More and more money is being tipped into surfing in Australia and yet competitive surfing here is at its lowest ebb. How many surfers have we got coming through the WQS? How many have qualified?

Of eight new surfers on the WCT, five are Brazilians, two are Americans and there’s the single Australian, Wade Carmichael. (Side note: A few years ago, I spent a bit of time in Hawaii with Wade. He’s quiet but fuck can he surf. When I got back to Australia I showed Quiksilver footage of Wade. Said they could pick him up for fifty grand. They wanted to back Matt Banting instead. Good call that one.)

And that piece of shit ISA world titles in May? Australia finished twelfth, only a few hundred points clear of Germany. Round four was the best an Australian did in the blue-ribbon Open Men’s. A colossal failure.

At the world junior titles in Kiama, Australia didn’t get one surfer into the quarter-finals. In one-to-two-foot junk. Indonesians and Japanese finished higher than Australians at our home break. We should have the best one-to-three-foot specialists in the world. I see all these kids doing contests every weekend and we couldn’t crack even the minor finals.

And who won the world juniors? A Hawaiian kid. Finn McGill. In shit surf. A kid who can ride Teahupoo, Backdoor, Pipe, Waimea and Jaws. The complete competitor.

Australian surfing is really the tale of two surfers: Ethan Ewing and Jack Robinson. Is Trevor Robinson, Jack’s dad, a genius? Because Jack is twenty and he can win at big Pipe and match anyone at Teahupoo. He’s ready to go. The problem is, he can’t get out of a fucking heat in the WQS. But that’s easily fixed. Get a good coach. Jack should be on the WCT, easy, until he wants to retire.

But how long will it take Ethan to learn to surf big Pipe, big Backdoor, big Teahupoo? Who’s taking care of the surfers who come through the Surfing Australia system?

It’s a system that’s broken.

It’s not producing anything except salaries for the people at the top. They’re more interested in having shitty contests every weekend in every part of Australia.

But when do kids learn to surf? To really surf?

Meanwhile, the French kids, the Hawaiian kids, they’re out there charging. Killian Guerin just surfed Waimea. He’s fourteen. These kids can all surf top-to-bottom barrels no matter where. By the time they get to the WQS they’re ready to graduate to the WCT.

If there’s not a massive change soon, Australian surfing is doomed. It’s like Australian tennis. In the sixties there wasn’t a country in the world who could touch the Australia. Now, our best players, the prodigies Nick Kyrgios and Bernard Tomic, are spoiled brats. How did they get to that point? Why didn’t they straighten that shit out? What’s Tennis Australia doing?

Jack Robinson’s dad didn’t let him go into the Surfing Australia system. Trevor might be hard to deal with, and maybe he’s only liked by the lunatic fringe like me, but what we’re dealing with is a surfer who has no mediocrity in him, except going into a heat.

Surfing Australia, I feel, is a mediocre bureaucracy that produces mediocrity. We have some of the best free surfers in the world, Ando, Creed, Noa and we have that in bucketloads, but for the competitive kid, all they get prepared for is years and years on the QS.

Look at Jack Freestone. Two-times world junior champ. Came through the Surfing Australia system. For the amount of talent that he’s got, his mediocre results are a failure of the system. He never learned to surf Teahupoo, Pipe or even Fiji. Jack Robinson, meanwhile, had the passion to learn to surf those places.

Right now is the lowest Australian competitive surfing has ever been and the Olympics are coming up. God knows how we’ll go. Normally, I’d say Australia is odds-on for a medal but I fucking doubt it. We don’t have the depth of surfers. But we have all the infrastructure, all the academies, the six-million-dollar high-performance centre, all the bureaucracies.

What do we want to produce? World champions. Australia loves world champions. Nat Young’s still walking around with his hand in the air saying, “World Champ!” No one remembers second. You could have twenty-five seconds in a row and no one would remember. Being a world champion sets you up for life.

We used to be a nation of mongrels. We were that strong, we were that dominant. We’d go to Hawaii and fucking surf and fucking party and fucking headbutt each other, knock each other out and then buy each other a beer. We were raw. We were passionate. But loaded with ability.

And then came Surfing Australia. More money than ever. Worst results ever.

Right now is the lowest Australian competitive surfing has ever been and the Olympics are coming up. God knows how we’ll go. Normally, I’d say Australia is odds-on for a medal but I fucking doubt it. We don’t have the depth of surfers. But we have all the infrastructure, all the academies, the six-million-dollar high-performance centre, all the bureaucracies.

Why has Brazil produced all these amazing, hungry surfers? Not because they have more talent. They do a few local contests, do the ISA, world pro juniors then they’re straight onto the WQS. We dick around for another two years, hold onto ‘em until they’re twenty. Meanwhile, teenage Brazilians are spending their winters in Hawaii.

What are the Key Performance Indicators for Surfing Australia? All this money has been given by the state and federal governments, supposedly with KPIs attached, but where is the success?

My question to Surfing Australia is this: do you believe your system is a success and can you show us the how you reached that conclusion? Are we teaching kids to get out of heats or to become competitive? What are we actually doing?

As for me, why am I qualified to ask these questions? I’ve been competing sine I was thirteen. I became a shaper as well as a pro surfer and I was on the advisory board of the ASP for twenty-plus fucking years. It’s part of my culture and I’ve been mentored by the best since I was a kid. My networking is second to none. I can call any owner or CEO of any major surf company. In my forty-five years of surfing I’ve seen the cycles come and go. That’s who I am and what I am.

The Great “Anonymous Troll” Lie!

Chas Smith

By

Stab magazine is a piece of shit!*

Even though this nugget has been mined from a vein of which you are no doubt tired, I think it is important to discuss. At some point, near the end of our conversation, Stab magazine’s Ashton Goggans claimed that the editorial staff decide to turn comments off on certain stories to protect individuals/brands from “anonymous trolls” spewing vile garbage. I checked him at the time but should have maybe choked him out for emphasis.

I don’t believe the “anonymous troll” exists anymore, you see, or at least not where the platform Disqus is used. Sure the avatars and handles may not be a one-to-one reflection of the owner but neither are they altogether detached. Everyone’s comments, I feel, are a rough proximation of what he or she feels in real life. The more one comments, the more the comments reflect reality. The bar for entry is relatively high (having or creating a working email account etc.) and even though many of Stab twelve full-time employees on two continents created one-time only Disqus accounts to support Ashton Goggans post-debate, this phenomenon is entirely rare.

Tossing out the “anonymous troll” line feels to me like using cliches that are neither true nor relevant. Like “money can’t buy happiness” or “the early bird gets the worm.” It also feels completely demeaning and paternalistic.

But maybe I’m wrong.

How much do your comments here, or there, reflect the way you really feel? How much of what you write would you say in person?

*I wrote it. I believe it.

Photo: Justin Jay/@justinjayphoto
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