The Cosby! Better than a box of Ludes! | Photo: @nickybuttonshaw

Wade Goodall on the “Cosby!”

It's the move…everyone… is talking about!

A few hours ago, this website turned the naming of a two-turn combo, which had just premiered, over to its readers. The move, which is a floater-in, chop-hop out, drew out the following names.

Chop Gooey. (OttoBeenThere)

Cosby! (Nicky Buttonshaw)

The Stormy Daniels. (Noncompetitor)

Taiwanese Botched Tit Job (Wiggolly’s Paddling Style)

We threw in Teflon Floater and the Bored Housewife.

The winner, as it had to be, was “Cosby!

As explained by Nicky Buttonshaw, “Wave thinks you’re just going to do an innocent floater but you end up doing something ugly at the end.”

When I call Wade Goodall at his house in Bangalow, near Byron Bay, about the move, which took place at White’s Beach and was filmed by his friend Harry Triglone, he says, “It doesn’t need a name. No commentators are going to be talking about it. It’s a fun way to do a floater It’s disco, it’s a party.”

Wade say the Cosby in its current form, on a two-foot wave, is unimpressive and therefore his goal is to nail it on something of relative consequence. Maybe a six-footer.

“Real excited to try it out on a bigger one now that I’ve worked out the movement,” he says.

The inspiration, say Wade, came from watching skaters pop out of tricks, “the crazy footwork” and so on.

The trick to making one, or at least throwing your hat in the ring of attempting a Cosby!, is doing the chop-hop before you lose all your speed in the floater.

“The pop is hard,” says Wade. “I’ve lost heaps of mine having metal legs (Wade has broken his legs three time). I’ve had so much…rod work… knee-to-ankle on both side, knee-to-hip on my right. I’ve got no pop! I can’t suck it up like I used to. Although, it’s just got to a stage where it’s not hurting so I can try hit again.”

Wade, who is thirty-one years old and the father of two small children, is currently “getting the band together” for a movie with Vans, which will premiere during the Hawaiian season in December.

A working title?

“Not as Yet”


How to pretty up two dirty ol turn with Wade Goodall.

Watch: Goodall’s floater-to-chop-hop!

How to pretty up two dirty ol turns… 

Ain’t it just the most wonderful thing about surf, that you can twist a couple of dirty old turns together and make magic.

In this very short clip by Harry Triglone, we see the Sunshine Coast surfer and grandpappy of jibs, Wade Goodall, who is barely thirty if you can believe it, riffing on a floater-to-chop-hop combo.

“I don’t give a shit about staying relevant. I surf because I love it. If your main concern is staying relevant then you’re on the cow’s tit and milking it hard. I don’t want to do that.

Do you love? Make you wanna surf?

“Wade is surfing’ greatest indie rock and roll band. This is insane,” says What Youth’s Travis Ferré, the only man in the world to turn down a personal invite, with excellent catering included, to Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch. 

As for Wade, does he do such things to stay relevant?

“I don’t give a shit about staying relevant. I surf because I love it,” Wade once told me. “If your main concern is staying relevant then you’re on the cow’s tit and milking it hard. I don’t want to do that. Even though more milk would be good for my bone strength. (Wade has suffered multiple broken legs.)”

As for ageing, “I’m more comfortable in myself and am learning to back myself in new things. Having a go instead of not trying because I’m shit at it due to my non experience. I don’t feel like I am in some mature club now though. I’m definitely not getting one of those OK over 25 stickers for my car like those youth-hating lemons. I will try to stay young at heart forever.”

Now, wanna give this mini-jib a name?

The bored housewife?

Teflon floater?


Lost: Outtakes from Paradise!

Hidden gems from an American classic!

(Many years ago I wrote a book titled Welcome to Paradise, Now Go to Hell. Today, I stumbled upon clippings that fell by the wayside. Here is one.) 

At sundown I was on the deck, wondering how to capture in words the exact way the Pacific below looks in winter light; the way the gradations of milky blue and green abruptly father darkest sapphire (no, no mention of jewels- that is cheating); give birth to a deep black-blue like… like the deep black-blue of the Pacific at the end of a sunny winter day.

I have never been able to describe what I see every evening from the Turtle Bay Resort and Spa (does it have a spa?) Must make do with plain statements like the vog that signifies a prehistoric burp that eliminates the line between sea snd sky so that they look to be the same element and one has the sense of being at the center of a cold fire.

I attempt this description for the hundredth time in order to give my pen something to do as I try to sort out what has happened to me since Kimo, the bell braddah, appeared at my door with the alarmed look he always has when a haole comes to call and a barbarous name must be announced.

“Ho ba. Some uhhhh guy name Hudson is downstairs an wants talk story.”

Since it is my job to be at home to haoles – particularly in the surf industry – I told Kimo to bring Hudson to my room and straightened my short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt that I was trying out, ironically of course.

After a few moments, and through the beige door, a large slow figure stumbled into view. “Yo, Chas, how sick is this place? So sick. You go downstairs and see all the boys yet? So sick…”

I looked toward the Pacific with tired eyes and thankfully did not hear another word Hudson said as the Filipino grounds crew had begun its traditional midday pruning.

Laird Hamilton and the actor Vincent Gallo surf a 100 foot wave together.
Laird Hamilton and the actor Vincent Gallo surf a 100 foot wave together. | Photo: @lairdhamiltonsurf

Laird on surfing 100 ft wave: “It’s not cool!”

The world's most famous surfer describes a singular experience!

It’s Valentine’s Day and love is in the air. Chirping birds, blooming flowers, boxes of chocolates and Laird Hamilton’s epic new film Take Every Wave in virtual reality. You, of course, remember when the regular version of the Kennedy directed bio-pic came out five months ago. It was a hit, I assume, and exposed many secrets of the world’s most famous surfer including the fact that he was raised as a minority in a racially tense world.

Now, on Valentine’s Day, you can journey with Laird though this world where insensitive pejoratives meet the thrills of a lifetime and let’s let People magazine pick up the story.

You are not Laird Hamilton. You don’t ride 100 foot waves on a whim. You don’t travel around the world to do so, and you don’t look like a more athletic version of Barbie’s Ken. But you could be.

“Take Every Wave: Laird in VR,” a 360-degree virtual reality experience created in collaboration with the surf legend transports you to Chicama, Peru, where you can ride what many claim is the world’s longest wave on a hydrofoil surfboard that makes it seem like you are not only walking on water, but also flying above it.

“In a way surfing is my art,” the 53-year-old tells PEOPLE at the 2018 Lumiere Awards hosted by Advanced Imaging Society, where he accepted the award for Best Sports VR Experience. But Hamilton’s extraordinary feats aren’t exactly easy to emulate — or watch — so he got creative about how to share them with the wider world.

“We’re normally out at sea somewhere,” he says, “so we are always looking for ways to try and capture it, and bring what we’re experiencing to people. Normally the formats don’t do that. Normally, I can ride a hundred foot wave, and someone takes a picture of it and [people] are like, ‘Oh yeah, that’s cool…’ Its’ not ‘cool.’ It should be an out-of-body experience that is very infrequent in our world.”

To be honest, I didn’t know the mythical 100 foot wave had been ridden yet and feel very bad for not bringing you this news when it happened. It also seems, from context, that it happens a lot, on whims and that all kinds of people take pictures but remain relatively unimpressed.

What assholes.


Catcall: “Bitch, you’ve got no ass!”

The price of surfing a Beater!

Bitch, you’ve got no ass. I heard the call from somewhere behind me. I was wiggling my way out of my wetsuit after a short evening surf. The scene included the usual California shit — swaying palm trees, glowing sunset, surfboards in the parking lot. I missed the green flash. Maybe I blinked.

I was at the kind of generic beach break that repeats predictably up and down the California coast. There’s a parking lot and a lifeguard tower and public bathrooms with an archeological dig’s worth of sand and who knows what else on the floor. There’s a lot of infrastructure, is what I’m saying. Concrete walls and boardwalks, these are somehow necessary to keep the beach where it belongs.

The disembodied voices of the lifeguards announce things with varying degrees of urgency. Tonight it was to ensure we all knew that they were going home for the day, and to be sure not to drown. I felt reasonably confident I could make that promise in the knee-high dribblers bitch-slapping the sand.

I once thought it would be pretty great to be a lifeguard when I grew up. Drive around in the red trucks. Zip along on jetskis. Squint at the sun and the tides. Know exactly where to place the flag that demarcates the swim zone from the wild, free waters for surfing. These all seemed like important jobs to eight-year-old me as I rode my boogie board in my favorite red bathing suit.

I didn’t grow up to be a lifeguard but there I was back at that same childhood beach. I slid along a tiny right on the edge of the swim zone, thumbing my nose at the authorities I’d once looked up to. I was on a softop, so I wasn’t breaking the rules. At least that was my argument. It’s just a little baby softop, what harm could it possibly do?

The Beater was supposed to be my boy of summer. When I got it, I wasn’t even sure I could ride it. Is this thing even surfable? Oh, but it is. It’s ridiculous and fun. I rode it in head-high, sloppy surf when the freeway was closed last month. It spins and slides and makes me laugh, which is a very good thing when the world isn’t as funny as it should be.

My goofball softop boyfriend was perfect for the evening’s dribblers and I giggled and slipped right on down the line. Before threading through the parking lot, I stood for a moment on the wall to watch the sunset. It’s a ritual I can never skip.

There were a variety of boards lounging around, including the usual allotment of Wavestorms. A pair of beautifully gloss-coated single fins looked like they’d just stepped out of a time machine from 1978. There was even a couple of shortboards. I applauded their optimism as I strolled by, softop swinging under my arm.

The car rolled up behind me as I shimmied out of my suit. Bass lines bumped and laughter spilled out the car windows. A solid crew crammed into a black compact, out for a cruise and looking for a party, as much a California ritual as sunsets and the rest of it. Bitch, you’ve got no ass. She hung out the window, all bright sass and spark, calling me out.

I laughed as I turned and caught her eye. She stared back at me. She looked a little embarrassed that I’d heard her, but also defiant. You know I’m right, she seemed to be saying.

And then she was gone. The laughter echoing on the evening breeze was the only trace that she’d been there at all. Oh girl, I hope you have fun out there tonight, I thought.

And it’s true, you know. I really do have no ass.