Photo via Bob Hurley's Instagram
Photo via Bob Hurley's Instagram

Massive surf slams Cloudbreak in time for WSL President-elect of Content, Media and WSL Studios’ trip!

The flip side of good fortune!

Of course you know that Erik Logan, the World Surf League’s President-elect of Content, Media and WSL Studios, is in Fiji right now with surfing great Tom Carroll at, I believe, something called #kalamakamp. He was very excited for the trip, as anyone would be, and spent the last month preparing and training at Manhattan Beach, California while taking us along for the ride on his now famous Instagram account.

But you know how difficult surf trips can be. You book weeks out, maybe even months, during windows that typically have swell, cross your fingers and hope beyond hope that your guess is correct. Many times it is not and you must suffer the vainglories of surfing very small waves or very bad waves.

Well, this is Erik Logan’s year and just look at that wave up there. Just look at surfing great Tom Carroll putting it all on the line.

The image alone gives my heart palpitations and I cannot even imagine being in the water with such oceanic fury. Cannot even imagine sitting in the channel but, then again, I haven’t been preparing and training either.

Do you think that Erik was thrilled by the extreme size? Would you be?

Well, I am certain we will find out soon. Stay tuned!

From the post-tour-retirement department: Matt Wilkinson buys $3.2 million resort!

Gorgeous old school turned guest house and restaurant for one-time title contender!

If Matt Wilkinson, the decidedly homely yet attractive one-time title contender, falls early at Pipe his WCT career is over.

Matt is thirty years old and rated 24th in the world, two places below the number 22 cut-off.  A round of qualifying events seems unlikely to appeal. And, therefore, after the obligatory good cry, he will disappear from our lives.

Where to next?

In May, Matt and his girlfriend, Anna Jordan, spent $3.2 million on the gorgeous Possum Creek school house, which had subsequently been rebuilt and turned into a $1500 a night guest house, out the back of Byron Bay.

matt wilkinson-anna-jordan
Here, patriarch Matt Wilkinson and his lover Anna Jordan, up Possum Creek, with paddle and friendly dog.
The ol Possum Creek school house turned Wilko-Jordan guesthouse.
Much potential for good sexing.

Let’s poke a little into its Air BnB listing. 

Just 10 minutes from the beaches of Byron Bay, Friday Hut Road Estate is a stunning hinterland property consisting of a luxurious 5 bedroom, 3 bathroom home with a private cinema, and a charming riverfront Boat House with 1 bedroom, plus living area, kitchenette, bathroom and 2 large balconies.

Like a plantation home (minus the yoke of slavery) from days yore.

The Estate is spread over 2 acres of cascading green lawns that lead down to our own private section of Possum Creek. This babbling river has pristine waters and is even home to a resident platypus.

The lawns of the Estate offer incredible views of the valley, and there are various large open spaces for guests to set up picnics or outdoor dining. Our outdoor bungalow and bar area also has a wood fired pizza oven available for guest usage.

If you’re lucky – you might even meet our resident koala and her new baby who spend their time lazing about the Eucalyptus trees at the front of the property.

Reviews are uniformly positive.

“Welcome to paradise! This home exceeded all expectations! So private yet so close to town! Equipped with everything we needed for the perfect gathering on the grass. Pizza oven was such a nice touch. The home has a beautiful coastal, homely feel and it’s own private river bank, serious heaven!”

“I’ve stayed in quite a few properties around the Byron Hinterland and this was one of the best! The layout of the place is incredible, especially the beautiful boathouse situation just above the creek.”

Perhaps the loveliest part of the operation is the option to buy surf lessons with Matt himself (click here).

As far as post-tour life goes, I think Matt has made several very good decisions.

Land, wife, ongoing income.

A sunset golden.

From the The-Inertia-is-resting Department: Dog with terminal cancer ticks surfing off bucket list!

It's tough to get a scoop out there these days but boom!

I read the most The Inertia story ever this morning. More The Inertia than overcoming childhood sexual traumas through learning to ride a mountain bike in Wyoming. More The Inertia than overcoming bullying and a speech impediment while learning to SUP foil in the Mentawis.

It is so The Inertia that when I read the headline Dog with terminal cancer crosses ‘surfing’ off his bucket list I thought that The Inertia would have paused all coverage of childhood sexual traumas, bullying and speech impediments in order to cover it wall to wall and raced over to see the different takes.

Somehow, though, Zach Weisberg and co. missed it. Missed the story of their year.

I feel sad for them but snoozers are losers so get ready to be uplifted to the max.

Jack Miller, a dog with terminal cancer whose owners created a bucket list of things for him to do before he passes, got to check one more item off his list Sunday, WECT reported.

When Kevin Murphy, founder of Ocean Cure in Carolina Beach, heard Jack’s story, he reached out to one of Jack’s owners, Jeremy, to offer a surfing lesson for Jack.

The surfing lesson for Jack was held Sunday morning at Carolina Beach.

Before the lesson, Jack posted on his Facebook page about how excited he was, saying, “On my way to Carolina Beach to try my paw at surfing!”

Dry those tears, Zach… you’ll catch the next one and that sweet dog is living the dream. Don’t be selfish here. Don’t be all self-absorbed.

It’s not a good look.

Blood Feud: “Fuck, I have seen Alex Knost do bigger airs!”

Come eat some crow!

It is commonly said that revenge is a dish best served cold and this morning, while Southern California is consumed with hot fire, I wonder if the same might be true for the Blood Feud?

You’ve followed along with so many right here. Kalani Robb vs. surf blogs, The Inertia vs. The Sisterhood, Stab vs. North Shore locals, Kelly Slater vs. Flat Earthers, Kelly Slater vs. Joel Tudor, Joel Tudor vs. the entire world, etc.

Usually, of course, the feud is caught in the moment of passion, tempers flaring, messages getting posted then erased then re-posted thanks to the magic of screen grab.

Today’s is different though. Today pits near-legend Australian surfer Mitch Coleborn against younger Australian surfer Reef Heazlewood and begins over 5 long weeks ago for it was then that Stab magazine posted a video of Reef popping out of a barrel and doing a cute little air. The caption read, “It doesn’t get much dreamier than an offshore, warm water, head-high, flouro tube with an accompanying end section.”

All fine and good until Mitch Coleborn came swinging into the comments, writing, “Fuck I have seen Alex Knost do bigger airs.”

Did Reef come screaming back filled with hurt and rage?


Yesterday he merely paddled out at Rocky Point there on Oahu’s North Shore and blasted the biggest air I have seen this year. Higher than two Alex Knost surfboards stacked tip to tail.

A deafening riposte. And how should dear Mitch respond? Let us turn to Stab magazine’s editor Ashton Goggans since Stab is where this particular Blood Feud began.

Mmmm. The answer to every problem.

(Editor’s note: Mitch Coleborn replied via IG DM. “Psyched him up! Fucking went huge after a little [here Mitch inserted a fire emoji].)

Confession: “I still dream of being boozy Norman Mailer, getting in fights, getting beat up by rivals!”

Ashton Goggans? Are you still there li'l pussy?

Did you know that November is prostate health awareness month? Of course you did. But do you participate? Do you grow your moustache in order to celebrate Movember? I hope you do. Prostate health is very important etc. I’ve been sporting a moustache for the past two years but shave it off every November just so passerbys don’t confuse me for someone with a moral conscious. I don’t have one and it would be a rude sleight of hand to pretend I do.

November is also National Novel Writing Month and you didn’t know that but should. Novels are more interesting than prostates, or I’m guessing. I’ve only written one and started four and none will ever see the light of day. Even so, my literary agent (the absolute best in the world) allowed me to write a piece on “Why I Write” to celebrate NaNoWriMo and I decided to share with you too since you are the ones who put up with me every single day of the week, multiple times.

Sorry but without further ado…

I like to write more than almost anything. I like to write more than I like to surf, more than I like to shop in label-hooker shops. More than I like feeling the warm sun on my face. Writing came to me not because I have any talent, at all, but because I fell in love with writers. I wanted to be Albert Camus with his flipped collar and jaunty cigarette. I wanted to be Tom Wolfe in his impeccable white suit. I wanted to be Norman Mailer, boozy Norman Mailer, getting in fights, getting beat up by rivals, getting laughed off the stage after delivering an awful boozy performance.

Writers eclipse all the stars of the universe, who could possibly disagree, and the only way to become a writer was to write.

Just after 9/11 my two best friends in the world and I went to Yemen to be the first ever surfers up its mainland coast. I had heard on the news that Osama bin Laden’s family had come from the hills surrounding the city Al Mukallah, found it on a map and stared at the coastline. There had to be surf there. Just had to be.

We financed the trip, partially, by pitching stories to surf magazines even though none of us had ever written more than a school paper. My friend Josh would write for Surfer and I’d write for Australia’s Surfing Life. Months later we were there, wild explorers living literary dreams. We were like Livingston, Burton and T.E. Lawrence with his steely blue eyes pointing out across the desert.

We found surf, yes, got in trouble, very much so, and lived by the seat of our threadbare boardshorts for three months. Al-Qaeda chases, shootouts, pirate encounters, etc. The story should have written itself.

Except I wrote it.

I remember feeling like a future Pulitzer Prize winner as I punched my computer keys. I was doing the exact same that Evelyn Waugh, Joan Didion and Hunter S. Thompson had done. I was one of them. Maybe not exactly one but in the room or maybe in the yard. I emailed the story to the editor, pleased as pie, then went out to the mailbox to wait for the issue to arrive in the mail.

Three further months later it was there. I ripped off the plastic sheath, threw the surf DVD aside, furiously pawed through the pages and found my story.

It was the worst thing anyone had ever written on earth. Pompous, ill-informed, narcissistic, horribly paced, littered with first person-pronouns. I buried my head in my hands, all dreams crushed, all hopes dashed.

I would never be a writer.

A few months later found my two best friends and me in Lebanon, working on a story for Vice. Josh, writing well and smartly, kept sending stories in which came back with notes before I decided to give it a crack, writing a pompous, ill-informed, narcissistic, horribly paced piece littered with first-person pronouns.

Vice accepted it instantly and look at me now. Look at me, damn it. In all truth, though, I have fallen deeply, hopelessly in love with writing and will never stop again even if I’m my only audience.

Narcissistic Nirvana!