Innovative: Florida man attempts to surf
six-foot shark; gets bit!
By Chas Smith
"I felt like a train hit me..."
What is the weirdest board you have ever
surfed? A smooshy little fish? A long n lean gun? A Tomo, asym,
swallow? Well, a chiropractor from Florida has you beat, surfing a
shark for a few exciting moments, and let us
learn, together, about Donald Walsh and his New Smyrna
adventure.
Donald Walsh, a chiropractor, was surfing when he went
airborne and crash-landed on the shark, as The Daytona Beach
News-Journal reported.
“It felt like a freight train hit me and the first thing I
could think of was to literally push him away from me and as soon
as it happened, I grabbed my board and started to paddle as fast as
I could,” Walsh told Click Orlando.
Walsh was making his way back to shore after he had been
surfing for several hours and attempted to “go airborne,” something
he doesn’t typically do, when he landed on the shark. Walsh tried
to flee, and the shark bit him once, resulting in lacerations on
his arm and his calf.
“I never did see the shark as I was coming down,” Walsh told
the News-Journal. “I did see it after the bite happened.”
The story goes on and includes a happy ending, Mr. Walsh will
return to the lineup as soon as his wounds “close up” but I think
serious concerns are raised here.
First, what is Aaron Cormican doing today? He put New Smyrna on
the map, for me, and when I visited there as part of my Florida
Surf Film Festival vacation, I felt star-struck just being in his
same town.
Second, does attempting an air and potentially landing on a
shark give you pause? The last time I attempted an air my board
flipped upside down and I almost landed on my fins, which would
have hurt. I assume, from the beach, it looked like I was trying to
do a kickflip, which would have made me Zoltan Torkos, which would
have also hurt.
Third, why are sharks such buttholes? If Mr. Walsh did an air
and landed on a person and that person bit his arm and calf then he
or she would certainly be facing assault charges. Should we hold
sharks to a higher standard?
Fourth, seriously, what is the weirdest board you have ever
surfed?
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Conspiracy: Is the World Surf League
purposefully trying to bury the Mavericks contest?
By Chas Smith
The event window opens in 2 short months and yet
the permits, which take six long months, have not been applied
for.
Now that Teahupoo is over it is time for us to
turn our eyes from those gorgeous green folds, that turquoise
water, those reefs all the colors of the rainbow that we learned
from Joe Turpel is not a sign of health but rather a cry for help
and gaze upon the cold grey fog of California’s Bay Area. Upon
Mavericks herself.
And when was the last time you thought about Mavericks? To be
honest with you, it is fading from my memory just like Marty McFly
and his brother and sister were fading from his wallet picture when
he pushed his future father, George, away from an oncoming car,
altering the course of history and having Lorraine fall in love
with him instead of his future father.
The space-time continuum is very confusing but back to
Mavericks. The window for it to run opens in two short months and,
as you recall, under the World Surf League banner who rescued the
event from bankruptcy.
Yet the contest has not been held in three years and let’s turn
to a San Francisco news source where a possible conspiracy is
unfolding. Read with
me?
More drama continues to surround the world-famous Mavericks
surfing contest.
The window to hold the contest opens on November 1. But
there is also a window to get things done so the so-called Super
Bowl of surfing can even take place, including obtaining crucial
permits — and that window is just about shut.
Now officials realize while the WSL holds the contest
permit, it has not applied for all the other permits needed — a
process that usually takes six months.
“To start the permit process now is definitely late in the
game,” said Sabrina Brennan, San Mateo County Harbor Commission
president. “It’s going to be challenging to pull it off.”
Mavericks surfer Bianca Valenti on Wednesday told NBC Bay
Area she is worried.
“Each time we think we’re going to be getting the
opportunity, something seems to happen,” Valenti said. “So fingers
crossed that everything lines up and we have the best event
ever.”
Local officials said they have not hear(d) back from the WSL
about their concerns.
A few things. First, when has anyone called Mavericks “The Super
Bowl of Surfing?” I believe I’ve heard Pipeline described as such
and also The Eddie but never ever Mavericks. Have you?
Second, and more importantly, why hasn’t the World Surf League
applied for the permits? Was the “rescuing” of Mavericks simply a
move to disappear it from the earth forever? Is Jeff Clark behind
this, wanting to kick the wave back into obscurity so he can surf
it alone again? Last year, you recall, the WSL refused to run the
event, citing too many
big waves. It was, as noted at the time, the day of
the year.
What is the World Surf League trying to hide?
More as the story develops.
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Evaporated: What happened to the Andy Irons
Most Committed Performance Award at Teahupoo?
By Derek Rielly
"He was the people's champ! He's been fucked! Andy
Irons was one of the few real things left in surfing!" says legend
surfer-shaper.
A few hours ago, on the dreariest winter’s day
imaginable, my mood only barely elevated by a Foxtel connection to
Tahiti, I received a phone call from the swinging
surfer-shaper Maurice Cole.
In quick order, he told me of his recent health and emotional
travails, why Dirk Ziff has the will and the capacity to happily
lose, indefinitely, twenty mill a year on pro surfing (Maurice
explained that sports are a billionaires’ plaything and while some
are spending hundreds of mill each year to own a team, Ziff drops
pocket-change and owns a sport), that he was splitting
Torquay to live in a van near Bells and…
…what the fuck happened to the Andy Irons award at
Teahupoo?
The AI award has been given to the hardest charger at Teahupoo
every year since 2011.
Winners include Jeremy Flores, John John Florence, Ricardo
dos Santos, Owen Wright, CJ Hobgood and Kelly Slater, who won it in
2016, the last time he won a WCT event.
“Secretly I’ve really wanted this award for five years now,”
Kelly Slater said at the
time. “I was channeling Andy this week. I was thinking
about him a lot. He was a monster out here, he would just
man-handle barrels. The last heat I had with him out here was that
last year he won. I felt like I was part of that in some way. That
award is going to be front and center in my home. There is a lot of
emotions right now.”
Andy, of course, won the 2010 Teahupoo contest two months before
he was found dead in his hotel room at Dallas/Forth Worth
International airport.
In 2018?
No award.
Maurice is furious.
“Look at the comments,” he ordered, “They’re going fucking wild.
He was the people’s champ! He’s just been fucked! This is the
biggest fucking scandal I’ve seen today. Andy Irons was one of the
few real things left in surfing!”
What happened?
The WSL was contacted for a comment with no response although
Maurice assures me the great Nick Carroll, who has a sturdier
connection to the WSL than me, is on the case.
More tomoz.
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Medina defended a slender lead that never
looked like being enough. He sat while Owen drifted in and measured
up on an inside nugget, fluttering on the foam ball the whole ride.
That wave turned the heat, paddling back out he repeated the dose
while Gabe sat motionless on the outside and Charlie fumed and
fussed about like a wounded bird at the end of Owen's flight
path.
Tahiti Pro Finals Day: “Owen Wright wins by
fluttering on inside nuggets while Medina sits motionless on the
outside and Charlie fumes like a wounded bird at the end of Owen’s
flight path!”
By Longtom
"Poetic justice," says Kaipo Guerrero.
I do feel some sympathy for the minions at the coal face
of the WSL hype machine.
When you’ve OD’d on the most historic, the most epic, the most
crazy etc etc the comedown in the cold light of the next morning
will never be a pretty look.
Thus, groomed six-foot Teahupoo looked underwhelming for this
Finals Day.
For the first time in history I agreed wholeheartedly with
Turpel when, after Owen completed his five hundredth deep tube
ride, he intoned “Wright can do no wrong.”
I could not agree with the judges when they awarded Owen a
perfect ten for a leftover bomb wave from yesterday’s mack-fest.
That robbed fans of a genuine contest in the closing minutes of his
tube duel with OG Jaddy baby who was charging into them like a
maniac.
He deserved a shot, no matter how infinitesimally small the
odds, of taking the heat. The ten put him in combo land with a
minute to go. In the end though, it was nothing more than cosmic
justice: the Wright guy won and got to where he deserved to be.
Cosmic justice made a mockery of the next quarter between ADS
and Jordy. Deep charging goofyfooters were a cut above
naturalfooters all event and this heat seemed ghosted by the lack
of Italo Ferriera.
Both Jordy and ADS looked shakey and not quite up to the task.
The heat turned on a decision by Adriano to let Jordy go on the
only proper set wave and when judges lost control of their scoring
rigour and awarded a 9.23 the whole contest was in danger of
spilling to a very messy conclusion.
“How do you know what you don’t know?” asked Barton Lynch in the
booth, pertaining to the decision making process.
He claimed a vague interior process that lay beyond the bounds
of rational thought, which he called “feeling”, that was the
superior mechanism.
Whatever it was, or is, Gabe Medina had his Feels all lined up
in quarter-final three against Jeremy Flores. On paper, the best
quarter final of the contest. The waves did not show up.
No matter for Gabe. He walked Jeremy up the reef like a small
dog on a leash, and then walked him back. Jeremy cracked first and
took a small south insider, for a small score. That left Gabe with
an open lineup, which he luxuriated in for twenty minutes before
calmly opening up on very clean mid-rangers for an easy win.
The Seth Moniz-Caio Ibelli quarter was a mystery bag which,
despite the lack of any semblance of rivalry, Kaipo tried
desperately to spin as a grudge match.
Ibelli got the wave of the heat, a thick-set bouncer of a wave
that he snuck in under after slippery fins finally engaged to bear
hug to the safety of the channel. If it wasn’t for a display of
cockiness, paddling arrogantly up the inside of Seth and trying for
a too deep inside nugget he may have won the heat.
Moniz, like he was all event, backed his skill set and took the
next set on offer to take it out.
How many tubes did Owen complete against Jordy in their semi?
How much total tube time did he log for the event? Must be
minutes It seems a little obscene. A very one-sided affair. I
lost track of the final third of the heat after a kerfuffle out the
back door distracted me.
It was a duck beating up on a rooster. Have you ever seen a
drake beat up on a rooster? He was really kicking his ass. I didn’t
know whether to punish the perpetrator or comfort the victim.
In the melee, I could not help noticing the duck, tall and
handsome with slender but powerful neck, bore an uncanny
resemblance to Owen Wright and the rooster with his powerful
physique, plumage and proudly erect comb reminded me of Gabriel
Medina.
Pardon me Barton Lynch, but that was how I based my decision
making on who was going to win the final. My “feels” if you
like.
Seth simply made too many mistakes to trouble Gabe. And judges
could not pay the faked exits. Valuable learning for him. He’ll be
on the podium here before too long.
Which put us to the final, with the two best guys of the event.
Judges got the feels right. There were vapour trails from Owen and
Gabe paddling each other up and down the reef. A ritual that did
feel a bit played out by that point.
Priority was confusing and in the end all that tactical
showboating made no difference. It was past halfway when the wave
riding began. Gabe had the best of it, but the medium, large sets
now looked fluffy and inconsequential compared to the inside
nuggets which ran square across the very shallowest part of the
inside reef.
They shared an exchange.
Gabe came out low with a fade out of the tube, Owen came out
high with a speed pump. Scores could have gone either way. Owen was
favoured by a half point.
Five minutes to go.
Medina defended a slender lead that never looked like being
enough. He sat while Owen drifted in and measured up on an inside
nugget, fluttering on the foam ball the whole ride. That wave
turned the heat, paddling back out he repeated the dose while Gabe
sat motionless on the outside and Charlie fumed and fussed about
like a wounded bird at the end of Owen’s flight path.
Game over. Poetic retribution, Kaipo called it.
The Gods must be laughing to have Filipe Toledo, after all that
transpired at Teahupoo, leading the race into the Wavepool.
Meanwhile, in a stunning counter-factual, John John Florence,
who watches somewhere, surrounded by tasteful walnut and mahogany
fittings, in my imagination at least, remains in the top five.
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South African surf mag publisher to Jamie
Brisick: “Bugger off New York shit talker!”
By Chas Smith
"A place where hope for humanity goes to die."
I’ve been lulled to complete sleep by the
Tahiti Pro Teahupoo presented by Hurley. When the waves go dumb
there’s not enough on the broadcast to keep a boy entertained. My
mind wanders here and there and then I feel bad for letting you
down too. For only posting “comment live” and “event wrap” back to
back to back to back.
No.
You deserve more than Strider Wasilewski duck-diving a wave with
microphone in hand while Joe Turpel says, “Epic conditions on a
historic day here at the end of the road.”
So here.
You certainly read Jamie Brisick’s New Yorker masterpiece from
a few days
ago wherein he discussed our new era where cameras are
ever-present and how they have created self-aware styles like the
one possessed by Mikey February.
A passage:
His hand jive, soul arches, and toreador-like flourishes
play to the camera in a way that breaks the spell of the itinerant
surfer in far-flung solitude. His style is as self-conscious as the
duck-face selfie.
Well, South Africa’s Zig Zag
magazine took offense to the slight. (Disclaimer: I
love Zig Zag magazine more than any American or Australian surf
pub.) Publisher Andy Davis headed straight to computer and wrote In
Defense of Aesthetics and MFEB’s Style and shall we sample?
Surf media hyenas and outrage specialist Beachgrit
immediately jumped on this passage and shared it under the
headline: THE NEW YORKER: “MIKEY FEBRUARY’S STYLE IS AS
SELF-CONSCIOUS AS THE DUCK-FACE SELFIE!” A brief scuffle ensued in
the comments section. A place where hope for humanity goes to
die.
(Disclaimer: being described as surf media hyenas and outrage
specialists gives me a unique thrill.)
And then…
Ultimately, Brisick has fallen into the trap, of judging
February by a feckless and imperial first world Californian surfing
standard, where being caught trying too hard is the ultimate sin.
It’s a curmudgeonly and spiteful comment, that fails to grasp a
broader global context and ends up saying more about his own
privilege than whether Mikey February’s style is
pretentious.
And all this to justify a perspective that itself rests in
the eye of the beholder and is as ephemeral as the mist on a
morning up the Wesksus. Here at the Zag, we say viva MFeb style,
voetsek New Yorker kakpraat!
Which, I was gracefully told, translates as “Bugger off New York
shit talker!”
So, is dear Jamie Brisick a feckless imperialist? Is Mikey
February’s style misunderstood? Are you where hope for humanity
goes to die?
Much to discuss and much better than current Teahupoo.