Melbourne wave tank to reopen June 19; new slab that stays open in onshores and improved version of “the beast” that don’t pinch or chandelier to be revealed!

Guaranteed tubes at seven dollars apiece ain't a bad sell.

It’s been a wild debut year for Australia’s first, and still only, public wave tank, located a mile-and-a-half walk, run or thirty-dollar cab ride from Melbourne airport.

In January, Urbnsurf was closed after freak “mud rain” left the facility with a brown tank. It was an act of God that must’ve taken the joint’s PR team by surprise given “mud-rain” is unlikely to’ve made it onto the list of potential closures. Death, turds, paralysis, board through an eyeball, lightning, hail, these you can prepare for and mount compelling responses to.

But to be shat on from outer space?

Mud rain shuttered the pool three months before COVID’s poisoned droplets parachuted down from outer space.

Also shitting on the pool was a Chinese-made influenza that shuttered the pool, and everything else, for two months.

Urbnsurf used the time closed to jump into a little early maintenance: peeling paint was patched, the generator got an early service etc.

In  two weeks, the place reopens.

With a few changes, most of ’em good.

Right now it’s eighty bucks to jump in a pool with eighteen other surfers hollering for each set’s twelve waves. (There’s eighteen sets an hour.)

Upon reopening, a new sesh for what can loosely be called “experts” will cost $129, twelve surfers in the water and every set a slab or  “beast mode” and its three variants. If it’s onshore, you’ll just get B4, a new version of the Beast that will stay open even if a mean ol’ southerly is tearing hell out of the place.

The other Beast modes have also been tweaked, reducing the weird chandeliering you get sometimes,

Eighteen tubs for $A129 or $US90 works out a pretty reasonable seven bucks apiece.

You wanna know if there’s an air wave yet?

Yeah, me too.

They got two.

One’s called The Ramp; the other don’t have a name but it’s supposedly “Waco-esque”.

No plans to loose it to the public sessions yet ’cause it’s so intimidating, effectively the Beast mode as a closeout.

(Book a private hour for $1500 and you can call in whatever you want.)

And the water temp?

In the guts of summer it hovered around twenty (sixty-five F); now it’s down to twelve (fifty-three F).

As a rule, it’s a buck-and-a-half under Victoria’s ocean water temps.

Brrrrrr, yeah, although you can now hire four-three and five-four Rip Curl suits.

Booties, hoods, too.

Jacuzzis remain closed until further notice.

Listen: “We live in a minefield and the best way across is to just run, willy-nilly, blowing off our legs and arms but at least giving ‘er hell!”

Cancel surfers.

OOOOOOOOOOOeeeeeee! How in the world is the surf community supposed to speak to this moment in modernity? This fraught day and age where a thoroughly degraded culture is being served its just desserts?

My goodness.

We, 80% (generous) white, are caught in a absurdist paradigm of shutting up and speaking out. Rumor has it that the World Surf League just cancelled a podcast with a guest simply because he was a white man.

Well, hell.


So what?

I don’t know.

I do know that surfing has a proud history (pre-WSL/Stab/Inertia) of being outlaw. Of being derelict, distrusted, bad and, thus, we non-Venice-adjacents should all support the oppressed in every way possible.




Fuck the.

Efficient modern authority structures?

Fuck them.

Besides that, I don’t know. I don’t know who to give to, where to go, who to support but am listening and also running across the minefield.


Also, fuck Filipe Toledo. You li’l pussy.

The first step in our helping is public ridicule.
The first step in our helping is public ridicule.

Revealed: Professional surfer Jack Freestone denies troubling addiction to Keeping up with the Kardashians, Vanderpump Rules!

He needs our help.

Professional surfers… they’re just like us. Tan, fit, model gorgeous with homes in Australia and Kauai, extremely silky barrel skills, above average air games, tan, fit, model gorgeous spouses and children who will someday make them even richer.

But, underneath the perfect facade and also just like us, trouble often lurks.

Drinking problems, uncontrolled gambling, watching modern reality television like Keeping up with the Kardashians or Vanderpump Rules but denying it.

Alas, the heartbreaking troubles of Jack Freestone, coupled with Alana Blanchard, are worrisome but let us hasten to the pages of E! Entertainment for more, so we can help Jack confront his demons.

What’s also special is Alana and Jack’s bond in and out of the water. While many days are spent catching waves, the pair also enjoys daytime dates and picnics outside.

And yes, Jack is guilty of tuning into his leading lady’s favorite reality TV shows.

“I’ll be watching either Vanderpump Rules or Keeping Up With the Kardashians and he’ll pretend to not want to watch it but then he’s fully tuning in,” she joked to us. “I keep up with Kim Kardashian and Kanye West. He always gives me so much s–t about my reality TV but I just love them and every time I watch, he’s glued.”

Classic addiction behavior what with the “giving s–t” but secretly indulging.

Jack? If you are reading, the second step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. The first is public ridicule (see above).

Also, when I first skimmed the E! story I confused Vanderpump Rules with the film Van Wilder and thought, “What’s wrong with watching Van Wilder?”

A fine work that doesn’t get nearly enough attention.

Gimme: Surf icon-turned-architect’s $US13-million Malibu spread in safe-from-looters-and-anti-capitalist-rioters gated community! “None will ever be able to come close to his genius of style!”

Nobody gonna touch you in the Bu!

Long before Venice surf rat Strider Wasilewski shucked off his Dog Town beginnings and became the king of Point Dume, one of surfing’s great pioneers, Matt Kivlin, designed and built a surfer’s palace on a three-quarter-acre spread above Paradise Cove in the gated enclave Sea Lane.

Kivlin, who died in 2014, is the sorta guy whose legend would’ve been lost to history if it wasn’t for the relentless archiving of Seattle-based former-surfer Matt Warshaw.

A little detour into Kivlin’s EOS post,

Elegant regularfoot surfer and boardmaker from Santa Monica, California; often cited as California’s best wave-rider in the late 1940s and early ’50s; creator of the slouched, knees-together, neatly synchronized “Malibu” surfing style. “Many have been heavily influenced by the Kivlin technique, myself included,” Miki Dora said in 1969. “However,  none will ever be able to come close to this genius of style.”

As a boardmaker, Kivlin is best remembered as a co-creator, in the late ’40s, of the “girl boards”—pared-down all-balsa equipment made for a handful of high school girls who were taking to the water at Malibu. These easy-turning boards were then appropriated by the guys. The girl boards were the forerunner of the “Malibu chip” design. Kivlin and Quigg also developed the first narrow-based raked-back surfboard fin, a design idea that inexplicably went ignored until the mid-’60s.

Just as inexplicably, I suppose, Kivlin quit surfing just before his fortieth birthday and nine years later opened an architecture biz in Santa Monica, quickly becoming one of the country’s most sought-after architects, building over two hundred houses, almost half of ’em in Malibu.

And his old house in Sea Lane, which just came on the market for thirteen-mill, is a testament to his skills.

It’s a compelling sell.

Live the ultimate lifestyle with swimming, diving, surfing, paddleboarding, beachside board storage, and more all right there in your front yard. This amazing ocean view property features multiple structures including a four-bedroom main house designed by famed architect Matt Kivlin, a newly constructed contemporary guest house, and a separate creative media production space – all set on 3/4 of an acre of prime beachside real estate.

Real fine backyard.

The main residence is light-filled and open with a bohemian vibe and easy indoor-outdoor flow leading to sun-drenched decks, a saltwater pool and spa, an outdoor gym with a sauna and ice bath, a big grassy yard and complete outdoor kitchen.

Across the Sea Lane easement with a separate private entrance sit the newly constructed Guest House and Studio. In a lush garden setting with a pond, fountain and fire pit the modern guest house is smartly equipped with a gourmet kitchen, walk-in closet, polished concrete floors, standing seam metal roof and jacuzzi. Across a big wrap around deck is the separate open studio space with glass and steel construction, polished concrete floors, sleeping loft, and Murphy bed.

Happy living space for rich bohemian wishing to escape looters and rioters just down the way.

The yard is alive with fruit trees, a veggie garden, ceramics shed, outdoor bathtub and ample parking for guests who are not going to want to leave. This unique property offers the best of California living, privacy, security, exclusive beach access, spacious yards, and gardens. This exceptional opportunity is ideal for creative souls, families or anyone looking for this coveted lifestyle.amenities by the ocean.

Waves are down a private track, accessible only to you and fellow inhabitants of Sea Lane.

Buy, inspect further, here.

Mea Culpa: Stab magazine, Carissa Moore and the embarrassingly shortsighted swap of legitimacy for access!

"We appreciate your time and candor, Riss, and apologize for the time you had to spend putting out spotfires."

Wild times of change, wild days of upheaval but at least we can count on three certainties: The sun will rise each morning, grown men who take their coffee with cream carry some heavy secret burden and Stab magazine will apologize profusely, publicly to professional surfers whom have had their feelings hurt by the editorial staff.

But shall we hasten to the latest in what has become its own literary genre?

The scene is set somewhere between Australia’s Gold Coast and Hawaii’s Gathering Place where Mick Fanning interviewed Carissa Moore for one of the Venice-adjacent publication’s hundreds of podcasts.

Now, I was unable to make it through the actual chat, as Mick Fanning was interviewing Carissa Moore, but apparently a quote from the conversation was posted to Stab‘s Instagram that caused much hand-wringing, falling on knees, tearing of garments and hollering “Mea culpa! Mea culpa!” to the heavens and/or Hawaii’s Gathering Place.

Per @stab: “We’ve pulled down the IG main feed and stories from our Stab Unplugged with @mfanno and @rissmoore10. The pull quotes said in jest (Kelly doesn’t write me back etc) were shared in a loose, throwaway sense and take a different light immortalized as text. We appreciate your time and candor, Riss, and apologize for the time you had to spend putting out spotfires. The YouTube and podcast are still live in their original form. Sam McIntosh, Stab.

To clarify, Carissa Moore said something that was quoted then vanished with tear-stained amends.

While none of this is surprising, it continues a thoroughly vexing trend. Journalistic integrity being traded for access is nothing new, but the way in which propaganda is now being delivered as fact is.

Take, for example, the recent, much-lauded ESPN documentary series on Michael Jordan.

The Last Dance was praised high and low… except by teammates, Jordan family members, honest critics and those who knew the actual truth. Jordan, you see, produced the special and, while enjoyable on the surface, propagated a whitewashed lie. Certainly not “the untold story of Michael Jordan’s Bulls.”

Access granted. Legitimacy jettisoned.

Now, Stab still positions itself as a “slightly edgy, independent voice” but is so starving for acceptance from the pros and pro-adjacents that it regularly makes an absolute mockery of backbone.

The “slightly edgy” and “please-please-please-accept-us” tripping all over each other with every apology, each chubby ringed finger’d backslap.

Subject rage is part of the game, though.

Filipe Toledo was recently very aggrieved by the short CANDID, barking and hollering and claiming he will no longer be available to BeachGrit.

“You don’t five a f what the surfer thinks! No respect at all”

The piece was honest-ish though didn’t slot in with his self-narrative, apparently, but his self-narrative, Michael Jordan’s self-narrative, Carissa Moore’s self-narrative, Mick Fanning’s self-narrative…… UGH!

They are all only slightly tethered to reality which is always a more compelling, more interesting, more beautiful story. What we writers, journalists, tabloid muckrakers should be perpetually hunting.

The damned truth-ish.

Filipe is right, at the end. Nobody in “surf media” should give a f what the surfer thinks, only what is fair, authentic, entertaining.

The “f” should only ever be about The People™.