Mainstream media lambasts “myopic, lazy,
self-obsessed” surfers as giant grey whale swims through Doheny
lineup unnoticed!
By Chas Smith
Much image rehabilitation instantly undone.
And you have, by now, certainly seen the
stunning drone footage shot by eighteen-year-old Doheny
local Payton Landass. There he was, lounging at his parents
beachside home when he spotted the incredible; a giant grey whale,
or blue whale according to Russia
Today, casually swimming through the lineup. Landass,
alertly, grabbed his drone and flew it overhead capturing what he
correctly dubbed “an insane and surreal” tableau.
The particularly high tide allowed the stately beast to move so
close to shore and casually flick her or his tail.
The clip is wonderfully moving and should have been a moment for
our fractured world to come together in a celebration of nature’s
majesty but has proven otherwise. The story and video went viral
with mainstream media coverage mostly focusing on how the surfers
in the lineup were “unaware” of the whale’s presence with a very
thick insinuation that “unaware” should be read myopic, lazy and
self-obsessed.
Surfers have, for years, tried to shake these stereotypes by
participating in beach clean-ups and a rehabilitation of the
“surfer image” has been the near-sole focus of our World Surf
League. We are, in President Storyteller Erik Logan’s soft hands,
“athletes, world-citizens, ecologically-minded wave tank
builders.”
And yet one grey, or blue, whale swimming through a lineup
unnoticed kicks us straight back to being a pack of naval-gazing
Jeff Spicolis.
Too dumb to notice a behemoth.
Too addled to care.
Is the stereotype true? Should President Storyteller Erik Logan
throw in the towel and greenlight “Box of Rocks” alongside his
heart-stirring hit “Transformed” (three-thousand views and
counting) wherein a gaggle surfers sit in a parking lot and argue
about surfboard volume for three uninterrupted hours?
Maybe.
Probably even.
But would you watch?
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Seeking: A hero who will kiss away our
pain, stand by us forever, take our breath away!
By Chas Smith
Who is our "Ultimate Surfer?"
So yesterday I was driving through town of my
way to pick up some Vietnamese-Laotian fusion when I heard, on the
radio, the story of hockey goon John Scott and how fans, furious
with the National Hockey League, made him an all-star.
It was an epic of the sport journalism genre and you must read in
full, but I will give the very short version and how
it relates to us, Professional surf fans and professional hockey
fans are the basically the same. We both love a game where men and
women dance upon the water. We both mistrust our governing body. I
had no idea, but true hockey fans consider the National Hockey
League an inept interloper exactly like we consider our World Surf
League.
And so one day, the host of a famous hockey podcast became
furious with the NHL and its perpetual tinkering with the all-star
game format. He mustered his fans to vote for an older, large, not
extremely skilled player named John Scott. A classic hockey goon
but also the near last of a dying breed.
Fans rallied, John not only won the vote but smashed all-comers,
the NHL got all inept and mad and tried to convince John it would
be embarrassing for his children if he attended the all-star game,
he decided to anyhow and so they had his team trade him and the
team that acquire him kick him down to the minor leagues. But there
was no rule that a minor league player couldn’t be an all-star and
so John went and… I won’t spoil it for you. Must must read but how
does it relate to us?
Well, the World Surf League just announced its new reality show
Ultimate Surfer and while we can’t just vote anyone in, like our
lucky hockey fan brethren, I feel if we muster our forces we can
figure out our standard bearer and get her or him onto the
show.
You must be at least 21 years of age and a legal resident of
the United States. You must be in good physical condition to be able to compete in
a series of skills-based challenges that may be considered
physically demanding (e.g., running, climbing, lifting, swimming,
balancing). You must not be a candidate for public office and must agree
not to become one from the date of your application until one (1)
year after the initial broadcast of the final episode of the
Program in which you appear. You may not ever have been convicted of a felony.
And besides the “legal resident of the United States” bit which
seems both entirely anti-surf and xenophobic who could we push
forward?
Who should we?
Bobby Martinez?
Shawn Briley?
Jamie O’Brien?
Keala Kennelly?
Who?
We must decide together and then petition that person to fly our
flag.
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Revealed: Advanced shark tracking
technology proven “extremely fallible” as tricky Great Whites learn
to outsmart complicated systems!
By Chas Smith
They're evolving...
Two days ago, surfers, bodysurfers and mostly boogie
boarders who call North Carolina’s Outer Banks home
freaked out very much as the shark tracking organization OCEARCH
informed them that a 500 lbs Great White named Cabot swam into
their once-pristine Albemarle Sound, just inside of Kitty Hawk,
Kill Devil Hills and Nags Head. The only places anyone has ever
heard of on North Carolina’s Outer Banks and also the most
popular.
Pandemonium struck and struck hard. OBX locals went fear crazy,
locking themselves into storm shelters, refusing to take baths, not
even washing dishes for fear that Cabot might squeeze through the
plumbing and chew limbs.
Yesterday, OCEARCH revealed the rotund shark was never in
Albemarle Sound but very likely stalking surfers, bodysurfers and
mostly boogie boarders elsewhere. A very scary twist and let’s go
to The Outer Banks
Voice for the very latest.
It turns out that Cabot, a 500-lb. great white shark tracked
by Ocearch, did not pay a visit to the Albemarle Sound on Wednesday
night, according to the ocean research organization’s founder,
Chris Fischer.
Fischer told the Voice that a low-quality ping from the
satellite-linked tracker on Cabot’s dorsal fin made it appear that
the shark had found its way into the estuarine waters not far from
Point Harbor, resulting in reports of his apparent and curious
location. A higher quality ping on Thursday morning, however,
showed that the shark – named after explorer John Cabot – was in
the Atlantic Ocean not far off Kitty Hawk.
Fischer noted that the Wednesday night ping showed up on
Ocearch’s online shark tracker and was reported by several news
agencies.
“We are watching sharks all the time, and get different ping
qualities,” he said. “We got a ping [in the Albemarle Sound] that
was lower quality…When we saw the high-quality ping out [in the
Atlantic], we knew we were right.”
He added that, “While Cabot wasn’t in the sound, I don’t
think that is something new…They do go into the sounds and have
since the beginning of time…we just know it now.”
The longer the shark’s fin is out of the water, the better
the quality of the ping, Fischer explained. He added that shark
enthusiasts can check Ocearch’s social media sites to confirm a
shark’s location. “You’ll know it’s a real ping if you find it on”
Ocearch’s media posts, he noted.
Bullshit.
Sharks now know to keep their fins in the water while stalking
prey, while stalking you and you should likely not surf this week
or probably until OCEARCH fixes its bugs. All the lessons we
learned from watching and re-watching Jaws have
essentially been erased. The bastards now have every advantage.
Every advantage.
More as the story develops.
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Watch: “Life is truly known only to those
who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to
defeat!”
By Chas Smith
Hello, Kurds. It's me, Chas Smith.
The boogie boarder is right. I’m a fraud, a
phony, fake
insurgent daydreaming a swelling movement in the
hearts of Grumpy Locals everywhere, a passion as ephemeral as
successfully performing “the floss” in front of a six-year-old
birthday party today when children stopped flossing months ago and
only yell “Epstein didn’t kill himself” back and forth.
A way of life that is over. Done. Spent.
Cool Kids’ Club shuttered and the keys handed over to a SUP
aficionado from Manhattan Beach, California by way of Oklahoma,
roll Sooners roll, and a billionaire from Manhattan Island or
somewhere very similar.
Maybe Boston.
I wanted to blow a hole in their Wall of Positive Noise and
thought I had the will, the conviction, to fortitude to pull it
through but maybe I don’t. Maybe we don’t.
Is starting our own professional surfing league the answer? The
way we show Santa Monica that we mean business?
What about making movies, funny movies with surfers?
Will that work?
Should we go and try to free other, more appreciative,
downtrodden peoples?
Like maybe the Kurds?
I don’t know if I know anymore. Dark days even in this oasis of
anti-depressivism.
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Dez Hynd, sixty-two, one eyeball, hit by
cancer, still shredding. Steve Sherman/@tsherms
Longtom: “I renounce quit-lit! Why should
we cede the space to the VAL hordes?”
By Longtom
Surfing, still, remains the best addiction to grow
old with…
We’ve all seen Trainspotting, the 1996 Danny Doyle
masterpiece which details the poetry, romance and degradation of a
bunch of Scottish smack addicts.
Begby, Renton, Sick Boy, Choose Life, I chose something else and
all that.
Trainspotting and T2 posit smack addiction as
an alternate path to dreary consumer lifestyles, something which
the mainstreaming of the opioid crisis has made impossible.
surfing, which walked hand-in-hand with the drug lifestyle for
long periods of its history, is now dished up as meat and potatoes
to the mainstream. It ain’t rebellion from anything, least of all
the trappings of the post-modern capitalist surveillance
state. Still, it remains a far better addiction to grow old
with. The best ever.
Smack can’t be a rebellion anymore when they dish it out at
every pharmacy. The melancholic consequences of that gig are still
profound. Doyle said he wanted the film to smack people in the face
with their life choices, or words to that effect.
Likewise surfing, which walked hand-in-hand with the drug
lifestyle for long periods of its history, is now dished up as meat
and potatoes to the mainstream. It ain’t rebellion from anything,
least of all the trappings of the post-modern capitalist
surveillance state.
Still, it remains a far better addiction to grow old with. The
best ever. The consequences of the choice to give it a proper go, a
minority of Californian media barons excepted, are mostly
positive.
Let me get to the Point.
After consideration, I renounce quit lit. Quit-lit, quite
properly belongs to the real drug takers. The smackies, the
tweakers, the drunks and chronics. Our opportunity costs are much
smaller, negligible even in the modern world.
Crowds are the great bugbear, at least in this part of the
world, but my thinking has changed. I remember the day it did.
I’d been contracted by
Surfer to write a profile on Derek Hynd.
They weren’t keen on me because I called them kooks in solidarity
with Christian Fletcher over some insignificant matter.
Hynd advocated for me and I got the gig.
Which took me to Noosa Heads on a Saturday morning with head
high surf at Tea Tree. Top five crowded wave in the world. I’d
avoided crowds like that for twenty years.
First surf minus fins, a hundred people out. Sitting wide and
down the line and the set of the day comes in. Took the drop, put
the board into a flat spin and put a full body hit on a plumber
from Coolum out enjoying a Saturday morning paddle.
If that was you, sorry pal.
A few fun peelers followed. Why should I avoid this, I thought,
in favour of headbutting beachbreak closeouts? I went back to the
crowds. The better waves. Began to rack them up again. My thinking
now: why should we cede the space to the VAL hordes?
I know not everyone thinks that way. But you ain’t going to find
solitude in the tub either, if that’s the escape plan.
I look around at the old guys, especially those who quit the
gear and kept surfing. Jeff Hakman, Owl, Tommy Carroll; many
others.
Those who never got on the gear. Hynd, Greenough, Rusty Miller.
Even Old
Baldy, despite the farcical displays of hubris. All
still shredding.
In the face of that a defiant pessimism seems more
anti-depressive, a more triumphant melancholy. And if you get on
the end of one, like a little bump now and then, want to expand the
horizon with some psychedelics, no judgement either. Thats what we
do.
Am I saying quit-lit is dead? It is too me.
Am I saying being a lifelong surfer is a better choice than
being a drug addict, even if the life of a drug addict, ipso facto
makes for a more “interesting story”.