Joel Tudor, the "grumpy local" hero that surfing
needs, weighs in on high-performance longboarding!
I called Joel Tudor today and he laughed when
he answered the phone. Laughed a genuine laugh that increasingly
rare in these horribly fractured times. Laughed when I said, “This
is Chas Smith from BeachGrit.” Laughed when I repeated it
because my connection was bad.
It made me so happy. So marvelously, wonderfully happy that he
appears to practice what he preaches. Slinging outrageous barbs but
them accepting them in equal measure because it’s all a funky
dance, right? No one can ever take this surfing ultimately serious,
right? We’re all walking disasters, right?
Right?
Or to quote Joel Tudor himself, “I make fun of shit ‘cuz I
can.’
Amen Brother Joel.
Today I called him because high-performance longboarding is
happening at Lowers. High-performance longboarding at Lowers as
part of the Relik Longboarding Tour and I was already curious as to
his take even before he posted the above photo to his Instagram
account.
After he finished laughing I asked, “Is there a future in
high-performance longboarding or is on the verge of going away
forever?”
He responded, “Well, it’s geared to the region and there is one
place in the world it works. Hawaii. It works in Hawaii because the
waves are so fast so it becomes functional. The kids in Hawaii….
the kids in Hawaii are radical and they’re caught up in it but it
doesn’t work or look good anywhere else.”
It made much sense, the “ride the appropriate board for the
conditions” mantra and Joel continued to riff on the value of
modern logging without training wheels (I was unsure if “training
wheels” refers to side fins or a leash though assumed the former),
how it’s not some leftover relic, as it were, but a living
breathing expression that today’s youth are stretching, molding,
changing. How much fun it is etc.
But back to high-performance longboarding, I suppose I’m happy
that it can stick around in Hawaii and also happy that it doesn’t
belong anywhere else.
Jordy Smith: Surf Ranch Pro “predictable”
and “not that exciting!”
By Chas Smith
"My dad can get a barrel in the pool!"
We are doing the Lord’s work here and you are
too. It’s our shared burden, our sacred duty, to examine every last
angle on the Surf Ranch and eponymous Surf Ranch Pro before we move
on. Oh it would have been easy, yesterday, to put Lemoore behind us
and thrill over the next shiny thing but then we’d be no better
than black crows. And we are better than black crows. Better than
any and all solo projects associated with black crows too from
Magpie Salute to Chris Robinson’s Brotherhood.
And so, brothers + sisters, let us peer into Jordy Smith’s
Instagram where the current world number 6 asked for his friends
and followers to weigh in on the Surf Ranch.
What was your thoughts on the @wsl #surfranch event? 👍🏼👎🏼
also thanks @slaterdesigns for the board. Had fun riding something
different 🤙🏼 now back to the #ocean 🌊
A quick scroll through the feed reveals more thumbs downs than
thumbs ups but it is certainly a mixed bag. Many people loved. Many
more hated. And many many more fell somewhere in between
extremes.
Jordy entered the fray himself midway though the feed in
response to the great Shane Beschen.
jordysmith88@shanebeschen absolutely. I think size equals
depth in the barrel and honest my dad can get a barrel in the pool.
A barrel in the ocean is highly rewarded because it’s hard to
predict and hard to come by. But the ranch is predictable and
really not that exciting to the viewers after watching the 10th
surfer go back into the barrel for another 10 seconds .. 😂😂😂
anyways my 2cents
A valuable 2 cents, don’t you think? And an accurate assessment.
Funny enough, when Derek and I finished our day at Surf Ranch and
were driving home, Derek newly invigorated from chasing a hangover
away, me with busted wing, there was much discussion of the barrel
and what a waste of the wave it is.
Oh it is fine and fine enough but in myopically focusing on it
the rest of the ride is sacrificed. Sacrificed for a crouchy little
thing that Jordy’s dad can also enjoy. Of course there is much
difference between the top 32 and Jordy’s dad and Derek and me but
I think the sentiment might be the same. That consequence-free
barrels, when there is a glut, are not as fun to watch, or do, as
airs or turns.
If ever invited back, I’m going to race ahead and right when
that barrel starts to bend pull my Birdwells down and moon it from
out on the shoulder.
8.5 for me!
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Ever so pretty!
Travis Ferre reports from Surf Ranch: “I
have never had a more transcendental and spiritually cleansing surf
in my life!”
By Travis Ferre
What Youth founder spends two days at Surf Ranch
Pro. Misses duckdiving. Drives to San Francisco.
We were sitting at a picnic bench next to a Shell gas
station in the dusty center of California drinking Coors
Light. It was morning still and Chas was with me. We
carpooled from The Old Spaghetti Factory in Fullerton where no surf
trip has ever started and maybe never will.
We had no surfboards in the car and it was not surf trip. We
were lacking the usual buzz that accompanies a surf trip or any
trip and instead maybe felt like we were going to youth group. Or
summer Bible camp. Not Coachella or Desert Daze or Burning Man or
on The Search. But desert surf youth group bible camp. Our usual
enthusiasm was just not in the car. We were in survival mode. And
hydrating with black coffee and Coors Light. We were on our way to
Surf Ranch even though we might be non-believers.
The drive was lonely and alien and the landscape outside the car
was peppered with slaughterhouses, fast food logos and gas stations
with neglected bathrooms. I gathered that Chas is I think almost
tired of it. All of it. Pools. And WSL. And Surf Ranch. Surf
journalism. Defending the core.
He is tired of it, we are tired of it. But we desperately want
to help and so we are cursed to continue and resisted the urge to
turn left and head west for fog and saltwater and the nature’s
infinity pool. We stay committed to protecting our beloved and once
esoteric little surf culture from the wave pool machine disciples.
And we continued on to attend Surf Ranch.
We pulled into the parking lot of the Tachi Hotel and Casino and
thought we saw four surf fans in the parking lot. We thought maybe
they were surf fans because they were wearing shorts. Chas and I
were in pants, and wanted to be surf fans too, but we were in
pants. The only other person we saw in long pants all day was
Chippa Wilson.
We entered the ranch together and began flapping our wings and
conversating like industry buzzards. Matt Biolos. Pat O’Connell.
Podcasters and Timmy Patterson. The Hurley’s. I saw that Polo by
Ralph Lauren had a booth. And so did Jeep. We continued on and
sweat and got hot and talked about the heat and regretted the fact
that we couldn’t go do a duck dive and then we drank more so that
we could continue conversating like industry buzzards. I still
hadn’t really seen the wave despite walking two full laps the
length of the pool — which is hundreds of yards long. I met Jen
See. I had another beer. Jen See showed me where to watch from so
that maybe I could get a good look at the fake wave. The story goes
on. I saw some waves from afar and they are fun-looking things for
sure, but I’m still more entertained by friends and colleagues and
fighting off dehydration with beer. While here, mabe people said I
would regret not taking my opportunity to surf it, but I never
freaked out about turning down my invite despite the fact that many
people think I should pull my head out of my ass and surf it and
just shut up and be happy.
I saw Yago Dora and then watched his bubble burst just a little
as he drifted below the transfer spot for finals day. The leader
board with a cut-off made for something very nearing excitement if
you took the time to figure it out. Later Yago would make me stoked
because during the un-webcasted freesurf with Chippa Wilson, Archy,
Mikey Wright and Albee Layer, Yago rode my favorite fake wave of
the day by doing an off the lip shuv-it, to switch barrel ride, to
layback backside tube. It was the closest I got to being a psyched
surf fan all day. Oh, also when Kolohe Andino told the truth about
the judges on camera.
Overall, my day at Surf Ranch was not a bad day. It was totally
fine. Dave Prodan of WSL slid a complimentary VIP bracelet on my
arm when I got there which allowed me to hydrate with bottomless
Stellas and the option to stand underneath the very necessary
misters. I watched Bethany Hamilton ride a cool wave with a cool
beer in my hand and I felt good about it. I wasn’t angry or cynical
or grumpy.
At one point, I did need a breakthough. The heat is real and no
matter how much hydrating you do with Stella and Coors Light, heat
stroke feels near when you get to the early afternoon. I left surf
ranch around 3 to wash off the dirt and sweat. I checked into a
motel about twenty minutes away. The local bar next to the motel is
called Spirits and had a sign out front welcoming surf fans. Bars
like this don’t always welcome you, so this was a cultural
opportunity to check it out. Inside I met Tony who sat next to me
and noticed that maybe I’m a surf fan because I have 3 different
bracelets on and I’m also under the age of 65 which he tells me is
the median age of the locals at Spirits. He points out two men in
the corner who are above the median age.
“Listen to those two,” Tony says. “They cuss and yell at each
other all day until one of them decides to leave. And whoever
leaves first is the loser that day.” He is right, they are cussing
at each other. And before I go, one leaves out the back door.
Loser.
Behind me is a table covered with all the makings of a birthday
celebration. Tinsel and decorations and napkins and those annoying
little noise makers are everywhere and ready for a festive
party.
“Last night was karaoke, tonight there’s a birthday party,” Tony
said. According to the napkins it will be a 50-year-old’s birthday.
“She’s probably our youngest local.”
Tony’s ex brother-in-law is from Huntington Beach so we were
fast friends. I asked him if he’s ever been to Tachi Casino. “Oh
yeah, I go there to get fucked up and gamble. Went there last
Saturday.”
It took about 30 minutes to get an Uber to show up, but it
finally came. I said so long to Tony and headed back to surf
ranch.
Chas had long since fled the surf ranch and so I returned alone
this time. And I was about to have my finest moment at surf ranch.
I left the VIP area and headed for the center of the pool. I found
a little space to stand alone and watched as some of my favorite
surfers entered the pool together. This is the only time during the
day that the pool resembled a real lineup. Yago Dora, Chippa
Wilson, Mikey Wright, Albee Layer and the surprise guest, Matt
Archbold paddled out (in?)…well, they don’t paddle out, but they
are in the water together and kind of paddle around to different
areas in the pool.
By now the sun had dipped enough to make the temperature
bearable and the lighting was damn near beautiful. The guys in the
water were using each other to create sections for airs. This is
when Yago rode my favorite wave and Chippa did a few off-the-lip
shuv-it’s that I keep replaying on my phone. A really nice girl
offered me a Paloma. I accepted, turned back around and watched the
pool as golden hour light came in through the trees behind me. I
wrapped my hand around the ice-cold Paloma and felt good. I
was enjoying myself at Surf Ranch.
By now the sun had dipped enough to make the temperature
bearable and the lighting was damn near beautiful. The guys in the
water were using each other to create sections for airs. This is
when Yago rode my favorite wave and Chippa did a few off-the-lip
shuv-it’s that I keep replaying on my phone. Behind me I think
there was a Jose Cuervo VIP lounge maybe, and a really nice girl
offered me a Paloma. I accepted, turned back around and watched the
pool as golden hour light came in through the trees behind me. I
wrapped my hand around the ice-cold Paloma and felt good. In this
moment, I was not a cynical media dude. All of a sudden I was a
surf fan having a Paloma while watching my favorite surfers surf. I
was enjoying myself at Surf Ranch.
I would go on to enjoy Social Distortion later that night too. I
continued to hydrate. I continued to not have a bad time. I
ventured over to the casino to see if Tony was right. I found
blackjack tables full of surfers. Joel Parkinson sat at a table
wearing a cowboy hat. He sat next to Conner Coffin and Blair
Marlin. Lemoore locals looking to get fucked up and gamble like
Tony surrounded the surfers. After a bit though, I realized that a
casino is a sad place. Sober or drunk, it is a sad place to be and
I started to feel real casino sadness. It was weird and sad to be
so close, yet so far away from surfing. I ran into Chippa Wilson
and we continued to drink our way through the night. We poured beer
and spirits and tequila on our casino sadness. My phone died and I
bought a charger in the 24-hour gift shop around 2 a.m. so I could
get an Uber and as I got in the car I looked back in through the
glass doors. It should have been closing time but it was still as
busy as it was at 10 p.m. and I was leaving Tachi.
But the casino sadness raged on inside.
All throughout the day at Surf Ranch, what I missed seeing most
was paddling and duckdiving. And when I woke up with red eyes from
air conditioning and indoor smoking acceptance, I realized that
Surf Ranch’s finest feature is it’s proximity to the best place in
the world for duckdiving. It is three and a half hours to Ocean
Beach in San Francisco.
So I drove and drove and made it to SF and borrowed a surfboard
from friend and Away Co. dude Taylor Paul.
I put on my wetsuit and ran to the beach as fast as I could. I
paddled out into thrashed windswell riddled OB and I have never
paddled out and had a more transcendental and spiritually cleansing
surf in my life.
I paddled out as far out as I could into the choppy cool water
and drifted down the beach and was tossed around by the north wind
and duck dove hundreds of times and rode a few waves. I think I am
now the first person to leave for a surf trip from The Spaghetti
Factory in Fullerton.
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Rumor: $50,000 Surf Ranch days sold out for
the year!
By Chas Smith
The ultimate in corporate team building!
I know you don’t want to read another word
about Surf Ranch. About Lemoore or greater Lemoore or the
Grapevine. That you are thoroughly and completely exhausted so I’m
sorry for this here but we still have things to ponder in our
hearts. Therefore, pull your work pants up and let’s get to
pondering.
I saw many things while walking, people and Dirk Ziff in
cream-colored dress shorts w/leather topsiders and Barefoot wine
signage. I heard many things too. That Surf Ranch offered 88 days
for lease this year or rent or whatever it should be called. Loan?
Whatever. That Surf Ranch offered 88 days for loan this year,
$50,000 each day, and has completely sold out.
Big blue chip corporations are using the Lemoore facility to
host employee appreciation events or gold member perk nights,
tossing foamies into the pool and turning the wave down, letting
senior vice-presidents from Omaha feel the rush. Or turning the
wave up and letting Jim from accounting release the fins a la
Sebastopol Zeitz.
Just kidding. Jim from accounting can’t release the fins at all
but I was thinking anyhow, if you worked for a big blue chip
corporation and they gifted you a day at Surf Ranch wouldn’t you be
hyped? Oh sure you’re in Lemoore BUT also at Surf Ranch and Mary
from legal is in the hot tub watching the last little barrel bit of
the left.
All to say, when I heard the 88 $50,000 days had all been sold
out it made me think the WSL is really on to something in turning
surfing into the ultimate team-building exercise and suddenly
$50,000 didn’t seem like very much at all.
Right?
Also, did you see Kelly Slater doing his Wim Hof breathing
before his final run?
But back to team-building days at Surf Ranch. A steal at $50,000
no? I would imagine a speaker (not Paul), some nifty hula-hoops and
a catered meal from Buca di Beppo costs more than $50,000.
BeachGrit is going to book a corporate retreat next
year once we pay off the billboard. We all need better teamwork and
more trust etc.
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Gabriel Meinda, for the third time in a row (Future
Classic, Founders' Cup, Surf Ranch Pro) leaves other competitors
gasping like fish for air. | Photo: WSL/Cestari
Gabriel Medina wins Surf Ranch Pro: “A pure
corporate dusting of the intangible!”
By Longtom
For the third time in a pool event, Gabriel Medina
leaves other competitors (exception: Filipe Toledo) like caught
fish, gasping for air!
Soz, but your burnt-out hack got the lay-out and
implications of Finals Day, Surf Ranch Pro, horrendously
wrong. I can only blame the cognitive deficit of four days
of compounding sleep deprivation but I thought Finals Day was
remaining top eight men and to four women having one run each.
One left, one right to decide the matter.
Which would have placed a premium on conservative,
finish-the-wave type surfing.
As it happened there was a glut of surfing. The basin was
playing up and “defect” waves plagued some competitors. When
replacement left waves were added to both men and women the empty
rights got pounced on by Strider, who was the closest and loudest
seagull to the chip.
Strider live-narrating a funnelling right hander was almost the
highlight of the Finals Day, for me. It was a welcome break from
the monotony of mandatory high performance – as compelling as one
of those live car chases shot from a chopper that American TV does
so well. Apart from Kolohe’s dummy spit yesterday about the only
true non-scripted moment.
There were a lot of fails in the opening rides from the men.
Stage fright? Some weird wind ribs and general funkiness in the
lefts that made accurate reads hard to come by.
The first excellent ride was an insanely well ridden right from
Filipe Toledo. The foot forwards tube technique was a cross
gendered homage to Steph Gilmore who had looked shaky in her
opening run. It was obvious from the 8.33 that judges had reset the
scale overnight, because by the scale set by Kelly’s opening day
wave it was a mid nine.
Kanoa’s opening right with a failed air on the end was awarded a
8.17. It caused consternation in the booth. Blakey must have been
getting a little BeachGrit into him overnight because he
came out firing.
“Would you stick that in a free surfing clip?” he mused,
“because that’s my definition of high-performance surfing.”
Lovely Kanoa Igarashi.
Hate to break it to you Ron Dog but by that standard less than a
dozen waves ridden in four days would make the High P cut. The
judging applied to Filipe was curious. He was measured against a
theoretical limit of what he might produce, versus what he actually
did.
Gabe’s first right was ridden with a mixture of brute power and
palpable relief; he slotted deeper into the end section than anyone
and emerged with pale hams quivering with lactate in the
Steinbeckian sun.
Again, we were treated to passionate discourse from Pete Mel
telling us rides would have to feature the progression of
above-the-lip surfing if they wanted to get in the excellent
range.
Unless you’re Kelly Slater.
Three thousand four hundred fans in Oceania tuned in on Facebook
to watch him score an 8.60 without loosing the fins and falling on
the end turn. It did not raise an eyebrow.
Wobbly, weird lefts caused confusion for gals and guys.
Carissa’s power game on the forehand was imperious but her lefts
looked a little forced. No matter, she held a winning lead from
start to finish, despite a fast finishing Lakey Peterson and an air
game from Caroline Marks who somehow, out of all the surfers this
weekend looked more stylish in the tub than the ocean.
Julian was going big, skate style big. But couldn’t stick a
single one of the varial/big spin attempts on the lefts and just
wasted too much real estate on the right boosting on the end
section.
Which bought Toledo into the mix on run two. Righthander. Three
clean, boosted and greased airs, the first one launched near the
outside pole 69, if my eyes did not deceive. Huge hacks,
tube-rides. The best wave of the event by so far it wasn’t funny.
The one wave that did deliver on the promise of the wave systems
vision of the future.
Ten, I wrote in the notes. Got to be.
Got to be.
Except it wasn’t. Judges short changed it in a miserly
display.
Kelly deserves his plaudits. His janky, jangly angular foam
climbs and twitchy backside re-entries were definitely not to my
eye or taste but they impressed the judges and made a hometown
crowd – as close to hometown now as he will get – wild with
joy.
“What do I have to do to get a ten?” he announced to fans who
had erupted in boos when the judging call was announced.
Fucked if I know. Maybe shave your head and stick an outerknown
sticker on your board?
Now, now, that is unfair. Kelly deserves his plaudits. His
janky, jangly angular foam climbs and twitchy backside re-entries
were definitely not to my eye or taste but they impressed the
judges and made a hometown crowd – as close to hometown now as he
will get – wild with joy.
Gabe was the only one to capitalise on the bonus left. The
drive, zap and drift through turns was stunning. The ability to
redirect with deep gouges and not lose forwards momentum, a notch
above. Just before a live TV audience on CBS was cut he stuck a
lofted Kerrupt flip that crop-dusted the entire end section with
rad from a frothy height. The winner of last year’s Future Classic,
the best surfer at the Founders’ Cup was again the best surfer in
the basin. Even if Filipe got a ten, he would not be bested. The
Medina family went nuts, tears of joy flowed freely etc etc yet the
silent evidence seemed to fill the room. Facebook audience stayed
static between two and three thousand. Pitiful. Everyone I spoke to
pronounced: boring.
Is this Betamax or the internet?
I know I’m a bum, the very essence of Teddy Roosevelt’s nameless
critic who does nothing compared to the great ones etc etc. I never
pretend otherwise. Kind to my kids, polite in the water, try to
write the best sentence I can. That’s the best of a very flawed
package. I take my lessons from what’s poor: as Bonnie Prince Billy
said. That’s what God has put me here for.
But bizarrely I have friends in high places. One of them texted
me as the show wrapped. I give the last word to her: A pure
corporate dusting of the intangible.
Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed the coverage.
If you’ll excuse, there’s something involving a man and a mat I
need to investigate.
Surf Ranch Pro Men’s Final Results:
1 – Gabriel Medina (BRA) 17.86
2 – Filipe Toledo (BRA) 17.03
3 – Kelly Slater (USA) 16.27
4 – Kanoa Igarashi (JPN) 15.77
5 – Owen Wright (AUS) 15.40
6 – Julian Wilson (AUS) 15.37
7 – Sebastian Zietz (HAW) 15.07
8 – Miguel Pupo (BRA) 12.96
Surf Ranch Pro Women’s Final Results:
1 – Carissa Moore (HAW) 17.80
2 – Stephanie Gilmore (AUS) 16.70
3 – Lakey Peterson (USA) 16.57
4 – Caroline Marks (USA) 14.77
