Sophie took a full head of steam into the big unveiling: the Founders' Cup. As a concept the logic was byzantine: paying homage to the Founders of Pro Surfing by trotting them out pool-side in a muddy pond a hundred miles from the ocean. Everything went about as perfect as it could get, right down to a manufactured high stakes, high drama finish from Kelly, whose busted hoof magically came good for the event. The people? The ones that Paul Speaker in 2016 predicted “will be super energized by the advent of Championship Tour-level competition with man-made waves.” They gave it a slow clap.

Longtom: “The great wavepool experiment has failed!”

Kelly boldly claimed wavepools would democratize surfing. After four years that call looks staler than the August air at Lemoore.

Did you read about Greg Webber’s latest ideas, the V-walls and V-reefs with all their beguiling artist’s impressions, and think, like I did, “Wow, he just put the stake through the heart of wavepools?”

Which would be a bizarre act of hari-kari seeing as Greg has been hard on the spruik as a wavepool designer and IP holder since, forever. It must’ve been twenty years since he first filmed trawler wakes running down the side of Dart Island in the Clarence River in Yamba and the idea for a plough running through water to create surfable waves was born. He will demur, but it looks stillborn.

Four years ago, people were losing their nuts on the brave new world of artificial waves when Kelly dropped the first Lemoore edit the day after Adriano won the World Title.

Pools, we were told breathlessly, would be popping up like mushrooms.

Less than six months later, Paul Speaker and the WSL gobbled up a majority share and became owners of the Kelly Slater Wavepool Company. Sophie G said WSL, owners of Kelly’s wavepool company, would build six or seven to hold comps in. They were so confident they even invited gaggles of surf journalists to show up and make man soup in the spa post rides in late 2017.

I count the day before the big reveal, when the NDA’s lapsed, as Day Zero for the death of the current dream of wavepools. They had the whole world on their side on one day and on the next a trickle of high profile dissidents ready to piss on the dream.

Nick Carroll was subdued, damned it with faint praise and our very own Chas Smith reckoned the only just ending for Lemoore was nuclear annihilation. It was a strategic blunder, a PR cock-up of epic proportions.

Still, the drip feed marketing continued unabated.

Mainstream interest was high.

Sophie took a full head of steam into the big unveiling: the Founders’ Cup.

As a concept the logic was byzantine: paying homage to the Founders of Pro Surfing by trotting them out pool-side in a muddy pond a hundred miles from the ocean. Everything went about as perfect as it could get, right down to a manufactured high stakes, high drama finish from Kelly, whose busted hoof magically came good for the event.

The people? The ones that Paul Speaker in 2016 predicted “will be super energized by the advent of Championship Tour-level competition with man-made waves.” They gave it a slow clap.

Which made the full scale CT event held there in September an even harder sell. Ticket sales were weak. Blink 182 cancelled. Fans blew raspberries at competition surfing in the – I struggle to remember the official term – basin. Pulitzer prize winning writer for The New Yorker and author of the best book on surfing ever written, Barbarian Days, Bill Finnegan rode a long-form piece on the event and pronounced it “unexciting…..the pool made surfing feel tame, domesticated.” Final judgement had been cast.

Waco looked nuggets then the amoeba showed up.

High hopes were put on Yeppoon’s steam punk piston to deliver. It did not. Baby food slabs and a breakdown. The more we found out about the physics the harder it was to maintain the froth.

Florida was going to be the jewel in the crown for the WSL/KSWC with a big shiny joint at Palm Beach, right in Dirk Ziff’s backyard. It turned into a shit-show. Stick a shovel in the ground and water comes up. You’d think a perfect problem to have for a wavepool, but no, too much water is worse than too little. I think business students might call the more than seven million spent a sunk cost.

What now?

The historical wind has shifted. It’s blowing back in the face of the wavepool dream, hard onshore.

Surfing, big surfing, suddenly found itself on the wrong side of history. Even by its own hand.

The WSL has gone all in for the ocean. Going carbon neutral, eliminating plastics, international paddle-outs, restoring the Ocean.

But in doing so it looks like they have killed their mechanical baby.

Maybe they had no choice.

E-Lo is a smart guy. He knows the kids are more into Extinction Rebellion than Blink 182 playing by ditches that need huge amounts of water and electricity to power ’em up. It’s a bad look and an unsellable story if you’re pitching pro surfing as being a force for the environment.

Kelly boldly claimed wavepools would democratize surfing.

After four years that call looks staler than the August air at Lemoore. The wavepool looks deader than the Dodo. The way out for the WSL?

Remove Surf Ranch from the 2020 schedule, and reinvest in Trestles and Cloudbreak.

The experiment has failed. Wavepools are a novelty.* time to move on.

*High point: Joe G with the super models and Dion Agius in the desert. What’s your high point?


Likewise, for yellin’ at other peoples’ kids, no matter how well-deserved. I know, I know, schooling groms is tradition! But this ain’t the old days anymore. Sorry! You have to be at least sorta nice to the kids.

Ask Doctor Jen: “At which age can I hit a child who drops in?” (And more!)

Bad news for kid-hitters, advises Jen. "It ain't the old days anymore!"

Welcome to the first episode of Ask Doctor Jen. I am not an actual doctor.

Well, I am, but not that kind of doctor.

I do not know anything about human anatomy, but I could, if necessary, solve your history problems. This is not an especially relevant skill.

But who said writers were practical people? If you’ve ever spent time with a writer, you will know that practical things are not at all our strong suits. Try if you can to get us to remember to pay the bills or buy groceries or show up somewhere on time. It’s impossible! We are hopeless.

All of which makes me totally, 100-percent qualified to offer advice on the internet. You have problems, and someone has to help you solve them. So here I am. Let’s solve some problems!

Dear Dr Jen,
My brother in law is a VAL. How can I avoid surfing with him at Christmas?
Signed,
Rick Deadman

Dear Rick Deadman,

We get to choose a lot of things in life, but family just isn’t one of them. Too bad your sibling married a VAL and you are stuck with the consequences forever. Good job, sibling! Honestly, you deserve something extra good from Santa this year. But you can’t avoid surfing with your VAL brother-in-law unless the surf is flat. Maybe start hoping the surf will be flat. Or a good, solid onshore wind. These are your only escapes from what is sure to be surfing purgatory.

Take him to the easiest spot in your town and put him on a big ass board and try not to hate it too much. You could surf with a paper bag over your head, but it might get soggy and people would have so many questions. So just own it. You are taking your VAL relative surfing, because it’s Christmas and that’s the kind of thing we do at Christmas. Make him buy you lunch, maybe. This only seems fair!

Sorry I can’t get you out of this one! Don’t hate me too much!

xoxo
dj

Dear Dr Jen,
my girlfriend is moving away for a year, what board should I buy to numb my bummer?
Signed,
WeirdAlMerrick

Dear WeirdAl Merrick,
Choosing a board for another person is like, Idk, deciding what underwear you should wear. I do not know what underwear you should wear. I mean, hopefully, you are wearing something!

There’s two ways to go with this choice. You can buy a board you already know and love — it’s a sure-fire trip to fun and won’t let you down. Or, you can try something new. I am super into trying new boards, though sometimes, it can lead to frustration! Like, fuck this piece of shit, why did I buy this, I can’t even surf this. This is a thing I have said once or twice! Usually, I figure it out just fine and it was just a passing thing.

Here are some boards I would like to buy right now: If I had good waves coming my way (Ha ha, not in the summer, fuck!), I would buy a Ghost. I am so, so intrigued by that board, after fondling one at a local shop. What is even up with all that double concave? I don’t know how that would even work, but I would love to find out. I would also be tempted to buy a CI Happy, because of the name. I’m so, easily swayed by marketing, it’s almost embarrassing! At least, I’m willing to admit my failings. Also, channels. I have never had a board with channels. What does that even feel like?

For mediocre to good waves, I’d like to have a MR-style twinfin — an actual twinfin, though, no fucking trailer fins. A twinfin has two fins, this is a rule. Fun, fast, whippy: Those boards look fun. I would so ride one, if I had one!

If you have bad waves, I don’t even know what to tell you. Buying a board to surf in bad waves is super depressing and should be avoided — especially if your girlfriend is heading off to do girlfriend things for a year. That’s a long fucking time, dude. I hope you find good waves and a fabulous board to ride. A guy should have some compensations in life.

xoxo
dj

Dear Dr Jen,
Is it ever a good idea to teach either a current or potential significant other how to surf?
Yours truly,
the foot of slater

Dear the foot of slater,

During the summer, I frequently visit a beginner-friendly break. The reasons for this choice are long and stupid and not worth dwelling on. Anyway. Last summer, a man would often paddle out with his girlfriend and try to teach her how to surf. This process involved the man yelling at his girl from across the lineup in an effort to tell her what to do. This was not at all effective!

Do not teach your girl how to surf by yelling at her in the lineup. It is a bummer for everyone involved, actually.

Surfing is a weirdly difficult thing to teach someone how to do when you stop to think about it. How well can you explain the strange alchemy that transforms you from lying on a surfboard to standing on one? And that’s not even thinking about the whole question of what to do once you’re standing on a board.

If you’re going to teach your SO to surf, you will need to cultivate your chill. Take them to a stretch of beach break without too many people around. Help them learn to paddle and catch waves without standing up. Try, if you can, to explain the process of standing up — but mostly, you’re going to have to be ready to cheer them on, as they trial and error their way through it — just like you did.

If your SO has ocean experience — boogeyboarding as a child, swimming — it will go so much more easily for them. Sames, if they’re athletic. Make sure they do know how to swim! Around here, I keep seeing people who want to surf, but they can’t fucking swim. I don’t understand this decision. Surfing takes place in water. You should know how to swim before attempting it!

Recognize that you are facing a tall order in teaching someone this weird, chaotic, joyous dance. Be ready to step back and let them fail — and reassure them, that fuck, this thing is hard to learn, but once learned, almost impossible to forget.

xoxo
dj

Dear Dr Jen,
I can’t land an air. Do I need to eat more avocados or less?
Signed,
odcc1v07

Dear odcc1v07,

Avocados are good food. Everyone should eat avocados. They will not, however, magically make your airs better. I’m afraid that landing an air requires practice and blowing a lot of fucking waves until you succeed. This ritual is all very tiresome, but necessary.

To summarize, eat avocados, yes. Then find a rampy beach break, maybe with some wind on it, and keep hopping. Try not to break any bones during this process. Broken bones are a bummer, if we wanted broken bones we would all be skateboarders and not have to wait for the tides and surf and dumb shit like that. We would just go skateboarding and you’d probs already know how to do airs. Okay, hope this helps. Good luck!

xoxo
dj

Dearest Jen,
At what age should a grom be responsible/accountable for their own actions in the water? As in, at what age can I yell at a kid and it’s not frowned upon?

A short story for context: Surfing a fairly fat right-hand reef break on my new mal about a month ago (I’m normally one of your tiny twin fin types, but horses for courses etc) and a friendly head high set approaches. I’m deepest and spot the thing early, paddle in, stand and start to descend down the glassy face. Nice. A grom (male, age ~14, seemingly local because no parents with him) who had spent my entire paddle-in um-ing and ah-ing about whether to go left or right around me has, in the end, ended up sitting directly under the pretty well-defined takeoff spot. He bobs in the water, next to his upside-down board. What the hell, kid. This 9ft mal don’t do crowd navigation like my smaller craft. Sure enough, big fin gash in the bottom of my formerly really pretty mal. $110 repair job courtesy of the bank of Kook Kahanamoku. All I could do at the time was shake my head at the kid and say he needs to do better than that. Went in and grabbed my twinny, kid was gone when I got back out.

Should I have been harder on the kid to really make the point? Did I deserve this for seeing Torren Martyn videos and buying a mal?
Cheers,
Kooky K

Dear Kook K,
My dude, you have violated the first rule of surfing in crowds of mixed abilities: Never ride a pretty board! It will always end in tears. Save the fancy resin tints for the experienced crew or a (hopefully) less-crowded weekday sesh. I am generally a fan of smaller, more maneuverable craft in situations where groms or really, anyone, might make bad decisions in my proximity. Softops are also good for this situation! Running over groms is, on the whole, not a good life choice.

Likewise, for yellin’ at other peoples’ kids, no matter how well-deserved. I know, I know, schooling groms is tradition! But this ain’t the old days anymore. Sorry! You have to be at least sorta nice to the kids.

It is totally good — and even encouraged! — to explain to wayward groms and beginners how to avoid future mistakes. Do not sit under the peak and flail! This is very good advice and you are not a bad person to offer it to the grom in this situation. But yelling at groms is not ideal! Channel your inner chill and explain how not to suck to the kooks. I can’t guarantee it will work, but at least you tried — and the rest of us will thank you for your efforts.

xoxo
dj


Mexico sail, day two: “Off to find the ghost of Evan Slater, Kelly Slater be damned!”

Overnight customs delay in Ensenada: Kids with no moms and no notarized authorizations. A boat held in corporate name. The quintessential human trafficking operation…

And what the in the world happened to Todos Santos? It used to be such a fine big wave.

Picturesque. Dangerous. Wonderfully intense painted upon most perfectly by the great Evan Slater.

I remember examining photos in Surfing magazine when I was a young Oregonian and thinking “Oooooee Kelly Slater’s brother sure is brave. He surfs a wave that must be accessed by tugboat.”

And he was brave but then Todos Santos became erased and I don’t know why.

Is it because of Mavericks? Jaws? Because Evan Slater wasn’t really Kelly Slater’s brother and Kelly made sure both Evan and his wave were disappeared in order to hold the spotlight firm?

We may never know but the good ship Sunset and its hearty crew are passing straight by in order to search for clews*.

It took much time to leave Ensenada.

Kids with no moms and no notarized authorizations. A boat held in corporate name. The quintessential human trafficking operation but paperwork sorted and off to find the ghost of Evan Slater then on to Cabo. Windy.com promises strong winds.

Kelly Slater be damned.

*A little sailing humor there for you


Watch: Zany Q and A with Heavy Water director Mike Oblowitz and its star Nathan Fletcher

"And then he hammered a roofer's nail up his nostril!"

Live in the US? Want to see a surf film that’ll apparently make you suck the lipstick from the boundaries of your mouth, stretch the front panel of your red panties etc?

Across three hundred cinemas in the US, and for tonight only, Heavy Water is having an advance screening before its premiere in a couple of weeks. Click here for locations. 

There’s an advance screening tonight in Melbourne and in Coolangatta on Sunday, June 16.

Heavy Water is about Nathan Fletcher, the once too cute little bro of Christian, and son of Herb, who first rode the North Shore when he was eight and who, in 2011, was almost claimed by the devil during that year’s Code Red swell at Teahupoo. 

The director of The Hurt Locker and Point Break, Kathryn Bigelow, has described it, apparently ’cause I’m getting this second-hand from Heavy Water director Oblowitz, as “magnificently cinematic.”

(Update: Mr Oblowitz emailed a screenshot of the exchange with the following note, “Please publish some form of retraction for implying that I might be creating fake news  or lying or acting in a duplicitous manner concerning Ms Bigelow’s comment with respect to Heavy Water.)

 

The noted painter and director Julian Schnabel (Basquiat, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly) calls it “a profound insight into the heart and spirit of what it takes to be one of the greatest surfers of all time. If surfing is art, which I believe it is, we get to see the great artist Nathan Fletcher paint his masterpiece. The best surfing film I’ve ever seen.”

I’ve seen that text so I guess it’s true although Schnabel is a man prone to hyperbole and who don’t get out much, clearly.

In this five-minute short, director and subject behave in a manner that suggests the air has been laced with an agent that induces euphoria and relaxation, Nathan talking as if he’s a ventriloquist, teeth never separating, lips never moving, and Oblowitz is his hairy little doll.

(Long-form review coming shortly.)


Mentawai Location report: “The line-up’s full of American VALs, stern-faced Brazzos and distraught Aussies wondering what the hell happened to their sea of darkness!”

Still want to spend five-gees plus on that Mentawai vacay?

Mentawai trips, particularly on a boat, require forking out a lot of coin for a couple of weeks of bliss. It’s been a rite of passage for so many of us over the last two decades, but is it still worth it?

Read, The Mentawais Now Belong to the Kook, here. 

My trip to the Mentawais went like this.

Late May 2019. Arrive in Jakarta. Picked up from airport by air conditioned shuttle to four star hotel. There are riots downtown but we only see it on the tele at buffet breakfast. Same shuttle-flight-shuffle again from Jakarta to Padang.

A night on the tins at the hotel bar (Mercure). Cross paths with other western surfers in various states of transit. Coming, going, staying, waiting. All bobbing along our own Indo supply lines like marker lures down a river.

You get the feeling a switch could be flipped back in Jakarta at any minute and the warm bintangs and comfy hotel rooms would be replaced by rusty machetes and dank holding cells. Or worse. All I want to say to the locals is, yeah, I feel you, I get it, we suck. But I’m too fucken ignorant to learn Bahasa. Also it’s Ramadan so maybe they’s just hungry.

Contact with Indonesians, outside chauffers and service staff: zero. Antipathy seethes behind muted smiles.

I hear a few hectic stories from expat business owners of close calls with the law. Some of them too close. You get the feeling a switch could be flipped back in Jakarta at any minute and the warm bintangs and comfy hotel rooms would be replaced by rusty machetes and dank holding cells. Or worse. All I want to say to the locals is, yeah, I feel you, I get it, we suck. But I’m too fucken ignorant to learn Bahasa.

Also it’s Ramadan so maybe they’s just hungry.

Another shuttle bus arrives and it’s our turn to go. Glimpses of local life through blue tinted windows; an upturned nose on sight of the filthy Padang harbour water. Sanitary handwash at the ready. A quick stock up on Beng Bengs, Sampos and more tins before hitting the road. Or ocean. Whatever.

Dawn at Lance’s Lefts on the first morning. Metallic blue sea. Two-to-three feet of rolling swell. Endless blue skies.

And boats, boats, boats.

Every season there’s more boats. Sleek cats, regal cutters, dilapidated jalopies. There are old boats reincarnated, not seen for four or five years, stuck together with Quikrete and listing in the water like craned necks. There’s twin boats, booked out by big groups or teams of pros (one for the girls, one for the boys). Boats with sous chefs and helicopter pads. Boats that show up like apparitions on the horizon while you’re putting on your zinc then are already dropping anchor by the time you’re ready to paddle out.

Every season there’s more boats. Sleek cats, regal cutters, dilapidated jalopies. There are old boats reincarnated, not seen for four or five years, stuck together with Quikrete and listing in the water like craned necks. There’s twin boats, booked out by big groups or teams of pros (one for the girls, one for the boys). Boats with sous chefs and helicopter pads. Boats that show up like apparitions on the horizon while you’re putting on your zinc then are already dropping anchor by the time you’re ready to paddle out.

All up there’s eleven boats there that first day at Lance’s, counting ours. Plus, you have the land camps with their own tenders and speedboats. The line-up’s full frothing American VALs, stern-faced Brazzos, distraught Aussies wondering what the hell happened to their sea of darkness.

Even if they can’t paddle properly they’re all there to fuck. They’ve spent $5k+ for their slice of paradise and are ready to fight for it. One day at small Burger World I see an older Kiwi accidentally drop in on a Brazzo intermediate on a nothing wave. The Brazilian yells, old dude realises, pulls off. Instead of surfing down the point Brazzo also pulls off so he can continue yelling. A collective shrug in the line up, followed by an awkward stare to the horizon.

Each person’s supply line is different. KL or Jakarta. Land camp or boat. Six star or one. Doesn’t matter, we’re all ending up in the same spot. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a crowded line up at home that’s just been transported to a tropical location. Welcome to Paradise, now go to Hell.

You can get waves but it means having to up your hassle or your patience.

“You gotta be hated or frustrated,” was a maxim I heard/made up myself.

There’s still surprises to be had.

One day of twelve-foot plus HTs. Crowded, yes. But any set wave was yours if you really wanted it (I did not want it). The following day the swell eased and we snuck back around the island and scored half a day of pumping eight-foot Lance’s lefts to ourselves and a couple of land camp ring ins. More waves than you can poke a tender at.

The dream is still obtainable but you’ll need to fight harder for it.

Observations

Other than the surprise two-day swell we were pretty skunked for waves. That can happen anywhere and at anytime and I shouldn’t let it colour this piece too heavily. When the swell arrives the options increase exponentially, and the crowds thin right out.

It was genuinely heartwarming to see how quickly barriers dissolve during an emergency. One of my mates had a pretty serious injury on the reef that required immediate professional treatment. A quick whiz around the boats on our lineup found two Brazillian doctors, one who worked in an emergency ward in a Rio hospital, that were able to quickly treat and stitch the nasty wound. Unqualified support and good vibes all around. The minutiae of cultural differences we perpetuate in surfing are for the most part bullshit. And if it was back in the day my mate would have been fucked.

We paid for a photographer to come along and it was pretty cool but also quite confronting to get a big stick of photos and video of yourself back at the end of it. A couple of freeze frames for your insta but also a stark depiction of your various technical inadequacies.

On inadequacies: seeing XL HTs and similar waves on film and always thinking you could handle it. Seeing it in the flesh and realising you’re nowhere near ready. (Getting leggy wrapped around coral head in front of the Table didn’t help)

Recommendations

Go with your mates. I went with a group of nine legends from home and it was great. Take out the surfing and it’s still the trip of a lifetime. I couldn’t imagine how awkward it would be flying solo or in a small group and having to mix/make decisions about where to surf with a bunch of randoms.

Get a captain that’s prepared to travel. Thankfully our captain was. Realise fuel is the biggest overhead but also that if your guy is only going to visit a handful of locations the crowds will be there too.

Think about other options. Plenty of land camps north and south in the archipelago that can be done on the cheap with less crowds and more cultural embedding. Just ask yourself: what sort of trip are you after?

What else?

Who’s been recently?