Come to California's Central Valley!
I seriously had no idea this was being broadcast. I would like to put the heats up but don’t really know how because there are no heats yet, I don’t think. I would like to fill this place above the important bit, the “comment live” section with something worthwhile but I can’t.
Let me leave you with some inspiration instead.
For the only stop on tour take comfort in knowing each and every pro would trade places with you right now, wherever you are!
Cut it all down!
When I was a young boy, those brave souls who challenged the authority of East Germany’s State Security Service, or Stasi, fascinated me. There they were, walled into a metastasized communist garden, spies on their left, listening devices on their right, boldly defying the odds. Penalties for getting caught with forbidden literature or stating a contrary opinion were wildly stiff. Penalties for helping people escape over that wall included the very real possibility of death. Oh how scary, but thrilling, it must have been to be a rebel.
Today, I feel much the same about those who defy the authoritarian World Surf League and dare sail over the “Wall of Positive Noise” with anything resembling criticism. As you know, the WSL refuses any opposition, stuffing ears with Joe Turpel’s syrupy nothings and cotton candy. There was a press conference at Surf Ranch, yesterday, ahead of the Freshwater Pro and questions were not allowed.
No questions at all.
Surf journalists who speak out are forbidden to appear in any of the World Surf League’s new productions including, but not limited to, Surf Ranch Sessions and Transformed. I can’t even imagine the penalty for professional surfer dissent. These brave souls are even more rare than those 1980s East Germans and, therefore, more inspiring.
And let us turn our gaze on seven-time World Champion Steph Gilmore who recently let fly an amazing refutation of Santa Monica’s business model. She was being interviewed by Pablo Zanocchi of the wonderful Spanish-language dukesurf.com and, to the question, “Speaking of surfing equity, have you asked the authorities to have 32 women as there are 32 men?” answered:
I think we can get there one day, I don’t know if now that … To be honest, I think there should be fewer men. I think we spent so many days at the events waiting for swells that if we had fewer men, maybe 18 and 18 we could finish the events much faster, in a good swell, instead of waiting for two.
Whoa.
And I hope beyond hope that Ms. Gilmore is too high profile for the League to disappear. I hope beyond hope that she is not relegated to the WSL’s own gulag but I fear it might already be too late for that.
I saw her in line for the Tachi Palace’s Coyote Grille restaurant, two days ago, with Jake Patterson. She turned around, before being shown her table in the windowless space where the fluorescent lighting is turned down low to create “mood” and offered a very gracious hello. I looked deep into her eyes and saw life vanishing.
Creator of The Search, friction-free surfing and the fish craze loses everything. Want to help him out?
A couple of nights ago, iconic surf writer, former pro surfer, creator of Rip Curl’s The Search campaign and fins-free pioneer, Derek Hynd, lost his house, and most of his, his son’s and a pal’s stuff, in a fire.
Now, when you’re Derek Hynd, a former world twelve, whose writing and ideas influenced everyone from Tom Curren to Andrew Kidman to Ellis Ericson, it ain’t just junk that goes up in flames.
Hynd, who is sixty-two and whose “friction-free” surfing and reflections on his throat cancer form the nucleus of Beyond Litmus, this year’s sequel to the seminal 1996 film Litmus, saw a forty-year collection of writing, memorabilia and his surfboards, including the little five-eight Skip Frye fish from Litmus, disappear in the flames.
(Note: Andrew Kidman photographed the iconic board before it combusted.)
And, so, a Facebook page has been set up to raise twenty-gees for DH who, despite his influence never really saw much cash, to get back on his feet.
He lives simply and is reflecting on how little he really needs despite this devastating loss to family and the general archives of international surfing. He is completely off grid and does not like asking for anything but right now needs basic help from friends and community.
Urgently required is a water tank, an old cleaned computer and the gaming equipment that many sons are locked into. He also needs a decent lightweight wheelchair for a mate who also lost the lot on Monday night. Thereafter, simple resources to demolish, remove, restructure, rebuild. It was a recent dwelling thus no asbestos.
That’s about it. Bit of a bummer. Help pretty well welcome.
Derek’s email is [email protected]
So far, a little under $A1500 has been raised.
Help a brother out, yeah?
A new, serious turn.
I was thinking a lot about “man-eating” Great White sharks while baking under a California central valley sun yesterday, wishing one would jump out the stagnant industrial farm run-off and eat me whole. I can’t stand Lemoore nor its Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch nor its surrounding environs and suicide by shark seemed preferable to even one more minute there.
Today I am home in my once-tranquil seaside paradise that has since been turned into a Great White-infested dystopia and thinking more clearly. I would not want a “man-eating” shark to eat me whole and I certainly wouldn’t want one to “chew off my face.”
I only bring this terrifying imagery up because it was reported, just today, that, “A British diver came within inches of death after a great white shark nearly chewed off the tourist’s face in a horror incident in Australia.”
As surfers, we well know our legs, arms, surfboards and torsos are fair game but our faces? And we must learn about this new eventuality.
Sarah Fretwell was just moments away from the snapping jaws of the beast while in a cage underwater. Surrounded by the apex predators in the Neptune Islands, off the coast of South Australia, Ms Fretwell filmed the experience in earnest.
The diver managed to capture the moment the creature sped towards floating bait above her head – but missed.
The miscalculation led to the mega-fish lunging toward her cage in a moment of pure adrenaline.
It quickly returns to its normal route, but not before giving Ms Fretwell a run for her money.
Ms Fretwell, a British powerlifter, said the close encounter was the “best experience”.
In an Instagram post that featured the video, she wrote: “Monday…thought I’d pop down to SA to say hello to Bruce and 2 of his mates.
“Yes 3 sharks! The BEST experience ever!!! Here’s some of the best bits I captured from the GoPro.”
Let’s watch together and then discuss, briefly.
Exhilarating, no doubt, but a few questions.
Is teasing Great Whites with bait balls etc. funny? Like playing with string and kittens?
Also, we have learned that Great Whites are, quite literally, “man-eaters” as they prefer the taste of men to women 90:1. Did the fact that Ms. Fretwell was a British powerlifter, likely indistinguishable from a man in murky water, play into their decisions to “chew her face off?”
More as the story develops.
The horror. The horror.
I swore on my ex-mother-in-law’s Avenal double-wide that I would never ever ever return to the California’s central valley but yesterday found me there underneath a relentless sun, standing in Lemoore’s dry dirt thinking, “What on earth has Kelly Slater wrought?” It would be impossible for even the most poetically apocalyptic mind to dream up a more torturous scene. A tableau filled with more… hopelessness.
John of Patmos, Dante Alighieri, Stephan King all prostrate themselves at the eleven-time World Champion’s surgically repaired foot.
And I wish I could tell you that I was there for some great joke, a follow-up to last year’s billboard but alas. We kicked around a few ideas. A giant image of smiling John John with the words “Do you miss me yet?” underneath. This one of the World Surf League’s President of Content, Media, Studios and 1/2 lbs. Big Mouth Burgers Erik “ELo’ Logan and me with some glib line but nothing stuck and our window closed.
No, I was in Lemoore for something far more prosaic though beautiful, a project you will enjoy soon, but did have the occasion to speak with many professional surfers. To peer into their eyes and sense the deep ache in their souls.
Did you know each professional surfer gets two waves a day leading up to the event? Not two hours but two waves? One left. One right. Their two waves are slotted throughout the day. They get their practice schedule, head for the pool, surf down, surf back and are finished until the next day.
Roughly one minute of surfing coupled with one four minute wait.
Imagine that.
Imagine you a professional surfer and your two wave slot is 8:30 in the morning. You wake up, eat breakfast, spend your five minutes in the tank then stare down the barrel of twenty-three hours and fifty-five minutes in Lemoore.
I spoke with Ryan Callinan from Australia’s Newcastle. He fell on his first turn, busting his fin out but he didn’t know until the next wave when he slid around strangely and that was it. No more. See you again in twenty-three hours and fifty-five minutes. Then again in twenty-three hours and fifty-five minutes. Then again in twenty-three hours and fifty-five minutes.
I asked how he planned on spending his time. He said he was thinking about driving to Yosemite. I told him it was a 3.5 hour drive. San Francisco? A 3.5 hour drive. Los Angeles? A 3.5 hour drive. The nearest beach? A lousy one and a 3.5 hour drive.
Kelly Slater conjured a place that traps fit, tan, healthy, physically gifted specimens 3.5 hours from anything resembling life breathing cow stink and second-hand Marlborough Red and jet exhaust from Lemoore’s naval air base. He feeds them their choice of hot dog, hamburger, hard-shell taco, encourages them to play rigged Indian casino slot machines, the only form of entertainment within the 3.5 hour bubble, and teases their minds with two waves. One right. One left.
Imagine that.
David Lynch’s most experimental bio horror is a romantic comedy in comparison. Dutch filmmaker Tom Six’s work is no more disturbing than an episode of Friends when juxtaposed with Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch.
I spoke with current world number 6 Italo Ferreira and asked how he was spending his time. He smiled and said, “I go to my room, put on music and dance.”
Italo for the win, I suppose.