Watch: Exclusive “bone-chilling” footage reveals massive shark lurking in the shallows, waiting to “maim or devour” unsuspecting family!

Death in the Afternoon.

We surfers, we brave daughters and sons of Poseidon, are well acquainted with the many risks hiding in that ocean blue. Waves, large angry waves, hoping to drown us. A novel Coronavirus making haste on its saline mist. Other surfers, hearts hardened by greed, hoping to watch us drown.

Sharks, untamed lust in their eyes and appetites craving the bones of our feet.


We play Russian Roulette with every paddle but have accepted our fates with steely resolve.

Come what may, come what may.

The same cannot be said for beach going families who think of that same ocean blue as a benevolent mother. A life-giving, life-affirming Pleasure Palace where fun is but a splash away.

Fun or a missing limb.

And here we witness, exclusively, a terror from the deep coming within striking distance of two fathers and three sons enjoying an autumn afternoon five hours north of Sydney very near Crescent Head, that soft but iconic point.

The make, model, of the shark is unknown and there is some debate surrounding. It could be a sand tiger, bronze whaler, bull, maybe even a nurse.

Two will rip a grown man in half and feast on his intestines to say nothing of a tasty child. Two can be petted like dolphins in a marine-themed amusement park.

Russian Roulette with a four chambered pistol and two bullets.

The shark stayed in the shallows for much of the day while the fathers taught their sons the joys of fishing, mothers looked on happily.

Watching them.

The mullet are currently running on this stretch of coast and teeming with sharks. There have been tons of sightings. A squad of bronze whalers were spotted up the beach the other day, a ten-foot hammerhead, Whites, packs of six-to-eight-foot shovel nose sharks, long-tailed tuna jumping out of the surf. A woman had her foot tasted at Crescent Head just yesterday.

Scary times.

Terrifying even.

But we surfers, we bold sons and daughters of Neptune, continue to live the shred life.

Unstoppable and rad.

"You've got to ask yourself one question do I feel lucky? Well do you bunker?"

Cuckolds in COVID-19 era: “What would it be like to be told to leave the ocean by another man and obey? Is there ever any coming back?”

"Fuck off with your shit board and crap wetty and go surf Broken Head with Rasta and the rest of those pussies."

In this time of apocalyptic-pandemic lockdowns and isolationism, surfers in northern NW are returning to heights of tribalism not seen in decades.

Biblical connotations present themselves at every turn. Amid public outrage as the Australian cardinal George Pell walks free threats of mid-session baptisms are on the rise.

I should know.

I narrowly avoided one last week at one of Australia’s premier point breaks.

Admittedly, I sinned.

Over excited, I paddled straight to an outside take off the spot and sat five metres deep of everyone.

“Do you always paddle straight to the inside at a new spot mate?”

He is sitting there half-sunken – tattooed and snarling – like a wild and bronzed deity.

“No,” I say, stunned and fearful.

There is a terribly awkward stillness in the ocean.

Silence in the chasm between us.

People are watching in wonder.

I can feel myself becoming part of this week’s carpark folklore. The latest blow-in to get called out by the enforcer. I’m thinking all this while I stare out at the serene ocean awaiting his next remark.

Then he lays it on me.

“Where you from?”


He doesn’t like that.

Doesn’t like that at all.

“Well fuck off back to Byron and don’t come back to this shire.”

It’s an improbable request.

Am I simply being subjected to a verbal territorial ritual that will run its course without incident?

Or am I quite literally about to be punched in the head?

Now he’s paddling right at me.

Parting the waters like a fuckin’ P&O cruiser with his white-blonde hair and his huge back.

Then he sits up and we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder.

Social distancing is all but out the window and I’m thinking this guy better not have COVID, but I don’t say anything.

I just look at the two stars I can see tattooed on his chest and the outline of Australia underneath his armpit and his head.

Now he’s looking straight at me

“Are you not fuckin listening cunt? FUCK OFF. GO IN.”

I hold my ground because like him my whole identity, my manhood, my honour, hinges on the way this situation is going to unfold.

What would it be like to live with the fact that you were sent in? Not in Hawaii after a fatal error but here in sunny Australia surfing a three-foot pointbreak.

What would it be like to be told to leave the ocean by another man and obey?

Is there ever any coming back from that?

I tell him

“I’m gonna get a wave here then after that I’ll sit down the point and we don’t need to know about each other.”

By my judgement it’s sensible compromise. I

don’t really want to get decked by this guy but there’s also no way I’m paddling in.

That’s not happening.

What is he going to do?

What am I going to do?

When is a wave going to pop up and interrupt this masculine stalemate?

Then it happens. A wave does pop up and the enforcer is forced to choose.

Dopamine or testosterone?

Surf the wave or show me the strangle-hold.

He goes.

Last year some guy paddled past the enforcer on a pink fish wearing a front-zip vest and was instructed to fuck off with his “shit board and crap wetty and go surf Broken Head with Rasta and the rest of those pussies.”

I’m left out there in the stillness remembering a story.

A story I was told by a credible source. Last year some guy paddled past the enforcer on a pink fish wearing a front-zip vest and was instructed to fuck off with his “shit board and crap wetty and go surf Broken Head with Rasta and the rest of those pussies.”

Not a bad line, I’m thinking to myself.

By the time I emerge from this little reverie the enforcer is steaming back out through the lineup with his eyes locked on me.

This time, god is on my side.

A set pops up and I go, and I leave it all behind.

Two days later, I am sent (via social media) information about another enforcer-incident. He has sent out a public warning message to the people of QLD and the Byron Shire to stay away from his local until this virus-nightmare is over.

It appears his hostility was part of a righteous, if not virtuous, COVID-19 crowd thinning campaign.

After all this many questions remain unanswered.

Is the man a genius or a fool?

Is he the only one seeing this public health scare for the opportunity it is?

Should we all reclaim the territories we were born to defend?

Should we revert to old-school localism under the guise of sensible social distancing?

Or is COVID 19 being exploited in the name of unjust and unruly behaviour?

Are we witnessing a return to natural order or a descent into out-dated brutality?

In this volatile time when even democracy, the very fabric of our civility, seems to be in a state of uncertainty let all have an equal say.

The hardened enforcer. The friendly visitor. The bemused tourist. The kook. The pro.

Comment below.

Watch: Famous surf commentators and dads Pete Mel and Kaipo Guerrero just discovered “The YouTube!”

Any Kine is a must!

Oh my goodness and oh man. Would you permit me a moment of honesty? One brief minute where I can let my un-salon’d hair down and just talk real talk?

I worry about our World Surf League commentators and I worry about them regularly throughout the day.


We’re all just self isolating per the norm. Living in our spaces whilst not leaving. Relatively poor, unnecessarily opinionated, doin “our thang.” But the World Surf League commentators? Used to traveling to the world’s best waves with the world’s best surfers?

Oh my goodness and oh man.

Lives upended.

Lives erased.

Thankfully there is the wonderful Instagram account @thegreenroomtimes that provides levity in these troubling times.

Also, thankfully, World Surf League commentators Pete Mel and Kaipo Guerrero just discovered “the YouTube” of which @thegreenroomtimes lovingly informed me.

Did I watch?

Of course.

I love both Pete Mel and Kaipo Guerrero more than my adoptive father but won’t spoil the glories for you but will also say that one of my favorite parts is the perpetual underlying vaguely techno soundtrack.

Truly next level performance art.

If World Surf League CEO Erik Logan and his co-Waterperson of the Year Dirk Ziff aren’t taking a piece of this then shame, deep shame, on them.

Pete and Kaipo?

Exclusive on your other favorite surf-esque blog?

You think I’m joking but absolutely am not.

More as the story develops.

Thought Police: World’s greatest surfer Kelly Slater complains of being “shadow banned” on Instagram!

Censorship in the time of Coronavirus.

I have been reading many predictions, lately, on how the world will look once it comes out of this current “shelter-in-place” phase. Some experts suggest the economy will come roaring back as human beings are creatures of habit and will return to movie theaters, restaurants, shopping centers en masse. Other experts suggest that this time has forever changed our means and ways and we are hurtling toward massive economic collapse.


I only know one thing, for certain, and that is professional surfing will cease to exist in any meaningful way the second Kelly Slater slides into true retirement. The fabulous new surf blog will carry on for a little longer, drafting off the world’s number one podcast, fighting for a few hundred thousand monthly clicks with flatmate The Inertia then darken.

Well, Kelly Slater has not slid into true retirement yet. He is there, running barriers in Australia, getting his surf on, philosophizing and getting brutally censored by the newly empowered Thought Police.

But let us return, once again, to Instagram, where we lay our scene.

Kelly posted on his stories, the other day, that his missives are getting “shadow banned” at 1000 views only on his 2.6 million follower account.


Facebook, the social media giant owner of Instagram, YouTube and others have already moved to limit speech where 5G and Coronavirus collide. Twitter has kicked reputable news organizations off the platform for questioning the origin story of the pandemic. The New York Times, Washington Post, etc. quickly label any opinion not directly in line with jackbootism as “crackpot.”

Brutal censorship by any measure which leads to the question, what dangerous idea is the world’s greatest surfer propagating?

More as the story develops.

Help: Cancellation of WSL’s G-Land contest and closure of national park destroys livelihoods of surf camp workers!

So throw the poor bastards a shekel or two…

The crew at Joyos Surf Camp at G-land were getting ready for a good year, nay a great year.

First, they had the Surfing Doctors Conference lined up.

Every year the Surfing Doctors – a group of medical professionals who surf – head out to G-Land for their conference. They have some classes and lectures, they do benevolent health checks on the staff at Joyos, they discuss various CPR methods, and remote medical emergencies etc.

Tthey surf and charge out at G-land; they drink some beer and they unwind.

They also leave behind a well-stocked infirmary for the next round of doctors who do shifts at the camp.

They sometimes leave behind a few presents and a few tips for the staff.

Second, they had a WSL contest for the first time in a quarter of a century. There were roads built from Banyuwangi, and there were giant cables laid alongside these new roads for massive data transmissions.

New buildings went up, the helipad cleared of weeds, and things were beefing up for the massive onslaught.

Then COVID marched into town.

Indonesia was one of the last countries to start posting numbers, and it was way behind the curve on this dashboard, but COVID-19 was in Singapore, so it was just a matter of time.

It suddenly jumped, and now Indo is sitting at 7135 infections, while Australia is sitting on 6547.

As it hit, everyone started bailing from Indonesia and the Alas Purwo National Park, in which G-land sits, was closed down.

The Surfing Doctors had to cancel their conference.

They had members from all over the world working on the frontline across the world.

They had some of the inside scoops and knew that their conference, planned for May, was not going to happen.

At pretty much the same time, the WSL decided that the first half of the year was down the tube.

They pulled out of all events up to and including G-Land.

It was a shock, and a bummer, and is only going to get worse when they pull out of the rest of the year’s events, which is definitely going to happen. The WSL is pretty much as risk-averse as they come.

So, the crew at Joyos Camp at G-land have lost all their income.

They have lost the associated benefits that come with the Surfing Doctors conference and the benefits that were coming their way from the WSL.

For those of you that know the crew at Joyos or have spent time there, please donate to the fund started by Nick Gibbs.

As little as ten Australian dollars would be a bonus, and you get some free Surfyogis zinc in the process.

The Surfing Doctors have thrown some coin at it, as a group and as individuals, which is good to see.

The WSL, meanwhile, is throwing their money at the very exciting and cutting-edge Homebreak Challenge.

It is another one of their entities that people around the world are apparently consuming in large quantities, along no doubt with booze and meth in equally copious amounts as they deal with the boredom of lockdowns.

If you want to contribute to the Joyos Surf Camp fund – here.

If you are a doctor or a medical professional (paramedic, nurse etc.) and you want to join the crew of classic surfing doctors, here or here

If you want to get involved with the WSL Home Break Challenge and possibly make $2,500 or more –here.