Loyson, pictured, on the last wave he will ever catch.
Loyson, pictured, on the last wave he will ever catch.

Belgian pervert arrested in Australia funding lavish surf vacation by selling child pornography: “A vile and disgusting crime perpetrated by the very worst sort of human being.”

A truly bad man.

Dante Alighieri, the 13th century Italian poet, is best known to us moderns for his sweeping Divine Comedy. Penned over a twelve-year span and finished a year before his death, the masterwork imagines the afterlife and includes stops in hell, purgatory and heaven.

Hell, or inferno, has nine circles with limbo being the most chill, lusty men and women getting blown by an unpleasant wind, gluttons getting rotted away by an icy wind, the greedy having to perpetually carry heavy weights and so on and so forth until we arrive at the ninth circle where those who have treacherously betrayed others are stuck in a frozen lake of ice near Satan.

It can be certain, when he dies, the Belgian pervert Bryan Loyson, 26, will end in the ninth but until then he will be forced to endure Australian prison for a too-short portion of his wretched life.

Loyson had traveled to the Lucky Country to surf, skydive and sit in claw foot bathtubs while drinking red wine in luxury hotels. He paid for his lifestyle by selling child pornography online.

The Australian Federal Police was tipped off by the United States Center for Missing and Exploited Children that a man in Australia was using the social media platform Snapchat to advertise his ugly wares and, after a three-month investigation, Loyson was arrested in Sydney.

Police officers confiscated everything he had and had him dead to rights.

AFP Assistant Commissioner Justine Gough said. “Every image being shared and bought on this website was of a child being abused. Bringing these offenders from online anonymity to jail is what drives the AFP to keep children safe.”

Early last week, Loyson pleaded guilty to supplying child pornography through a carriage service, using a carriage service to access, transmit, make available, publish, distribute, advertising or promote child abuse material and received a four-year prison sentence with possibility of parole after two-and-a-half years.

Much too short a portion of his wretched life but, as surfers, we can see to it that he never catches another wave. If you see this face bobbing in your lineup drop in, punch out his fins then punch out whichever teeth he has remaining in his head.


Listen: Surfing hall-of-famer Barton Lynch talks anarchy, his brutal rivalry and friendship with Martin Potter and the hostility of the pro tour: “It wasn’t a loving organism at all. I was drowning, I was dying in there!”

One in a million… 

Today’s guest is the former world champion surfer Barton Lynch famous, now, for his oratorical gymkhanas on WSL broadcasts and for his annual, week-long junior events, less so for his former careers as a butterfly collector and anarchist.

Although warmed slightly by age, for he is fifty-seven years old, Barton will occasionally open up a front if he feels his electrons shuddering.

In this hour or so of chatter, Barton at his house at Sunset Beach, Hawaii, me performing badly by wandering away from the microphone, talk hits life, death, animism and the joy of existence.

A man who is truly one in a million.


Al Hunt, left, and Kelly Slater. | Photo: Steve Sherman/@tsherms/

World tour’s legendary number cruncher Al Hunt is selling every single surfing magazine ever made for $US150,000…

Free shipping!

Al Hunt, the legendary former administrator and head judge for the former pro surfing body called ASP, is selling his collection of every single surfing magazine ever made* for the not entirely unreasonable price of $US150,000, including shipping to anywhere in the world and an accompanying website.

Hunt, who is seventy and whose titanic girth rewarded him with the nickname Fatty Al, asks the prospective buyer to, “think about it that’s only just $8 per mag and with shipping these days it costs that much for one Ebay mag. Some obviously worth hundreds of dollars some over a thousand.

“Complete sets of nearly every major magazine worldwide plus all the highly collectible 60’s and 70’s ones. More than half of the mags have never been read or even flicked through so are in perfect new condition. In the high time of surf mags I was receiving over 70 per month so no time to look at them. These days not so many in production and only two titles are now monthly.

“Reason for selling is I am retiring the end of this year and right now my garage is full of mags and other surf items and I will be downsizing the family home so no where to keep them.

“Along with the mags there are thousands of surf event posters, mostly multiples of each, including Triple Crown and Eddie Aikau ones, stickers (Eddies) and magazine double ups around 3000-5000 (not sure). Everything ready to be put on Ebay and make some money.”

Want it?

Email Al at [email protected]

*Except, maybe, first issue of Stab. I burnt most of ’em in a (failed) bid to make ’em collectable.


Despite the misanthropic undertone post-attack the focus of shark public relations is on rehabilitation of the image of White shark as violent offender. Jaws author Peter Benchley, as reaction to the fear unleashed by his creation, led the PR effort, declaring after the 2001 fatal White shark attack on Ken Crews: "I can say absolutely that the shark was not acting with malice towards the man; not with intent to do bodily harm..." | Photo: 47 metres down

Longtom on Australia’s Great White Shark Crisis: “The White shark is a cypher, a means of taking revenge on a human created world gone mad. Judge, jury and righteous executioner!”

This avenging angel function of the White shark has raised its status as an environmental icon, above that of the whale, the dolphin, even the intriguing old man of the forest, the Orangutan.

Misanthropy is as old as the hills, from the moment we crawled out of the sludge hatred of our brothers and sisters has been a constant companion.

We all love a little revenge fantasy, from Cain and Abel to De Niro’s Trav Bickle who famously wished for a cleansing rain to rid the streets of “human scum and filth” revenge fantasies have offered succour to our sense of fragile aggrievement.

We all pine somewhere in our heart of hearts for an avenging angel to restore justice, no matter how misplaced that sense of justice might be.

Read any below the line commentary on a White shark attack story, no matter the source and it becomes perfectly clear that the White shark has become the post-modern avenging angel du jour.

“Cull fucking humans”

“Humans are a cancer on the Earth that needs eradication” etc etc – is the gist of it.

The latest attack is usually less than a day old before those comments are delivered with a misanthropic glee. This avenging angel function of the white shark has raised its status as an environmental icon, above that of the whale, the dolphin, even the intriguing old man of the forest, the orangutan. In this world view the white shark is a way of being, a cypher, a means of understanding and taking revenge on a human created world gone mad.

Judge, jury and righteous executioner.

Despite the misanthropic undertone post-attack the focus of shark public relations is on rehabilitation of the image of White shark as violent offender. Jaws author Peter Benchley, as reaction to the fear unleashed by his creation, led the PR effort, declaring after the 2001 fatal White shark attack on Ken Crews: “I can say absolutely that the shark was not acting with malice towards the man; not with intent to do bodily harm…”

This omniscience into the mind of the shark is a curious feature of most shark writing, even those of a scientific bent.

The leading shark conservationist gals like Ocean Ramsey in Hawaii and Madison Stewart in Australia are expert in this linguistic trick, casually maintaining the White shark is cautious and curious and any bite is just an unfortunate mistake.

I don’t begrudge these gals their living as white shark experts, they are, as Beck sang on Mellow Gold, “goddesses milking the time for all that it’s worth”.

And if they can make a hundred fifty US dollars for a download on how to avoid shark attack, then that counts as an honest living in my books.

Intense contradictory feelings cloud my judgement on this issue. I’m down with the White shark as avenging angel, but I wish the target was soccer mums and not my pals.

Terrible thoughts, I know.

My bairn wanted a go out at the Point this week. There’s no-one down the inside section. The White shark has created space which I am happy to inhabit. Four wheeling, fizzing constellations of bait balls getting hit by meso-predators erupt in spray showers within a hundred metres.

The feeding frenzies slip in and out of the sand bank. In the near distance I can see half a dozen late migrating humpbacks, the sound of over-sized pectoral fins slapping the water arrives a half second after the vision. Situation normal for around here.

If you avoided surfing when bait or whale were visible you’d never paddle out.

My boyo gets the wave of his life.

Another one.

Looking back I am blinded by the glare. I hear screaming.

I can hear “Dad! Dad!”.

Blood turns to ice as I sprint paddle towards the screaming.

It’s a fin chop. He wants another one.

I see a pal who was in the water when Mani was fatally attacked. Another, also present, was absent. He suffers post-traumatic stress. They worked on Mani for an hour before the paramedics arrived. It came first for one leg, then hit him again on the other. Had to be prised away from the teenager.

My pal cannot come to terms with it. The bite and spit, the “cautious” animal who had made a mistake and bore no malice; that means nothing to him now. All he remembers are the eyes of the boy. They were open, but lifeless, like the eyes of a fish pulled out of an icebox.

I can’t deny the frisson of death, the senses working overtime is a panacea, a cleansing rain, to what Rimbaud called the “horror of home”.

I’ll take this flight of fancy; this danger serrated with an Abrahamic edge over the vortex of tech addiction any day.

We paddle out because that’s what we do.

Amor Fati. Love of fate propels us onwards.


Guinness Book: Inspired 9-year-old New Jersey boy surfs 150 days in a row. Only 14,492 days to go before shattering record!

Iron Man Jr.

As you know that a mark of our current surf dystopia, maybe even the mark, is more and more and more people in the water, socially distancing from the dreaded Coronavirus while keeping “in-shape.” This is, generally, a downer except this is BeachGrit where silver linings abound but to see this one, clearly, we must head to New Jersey where Bruce Springsteen tunes waft and pork rolls fill bellies.

For in New Jersey, we find 9-year-old Carter Doorley who, when the pandemic first reached U.S. shores in March, decided to surf 100 days in a row before school started.

With schools shuttered he has blown past his own goal and is currently sitting on 150 days and counting.

“Since quarantine, I really had nothing to do,” Carter told NJ News.com. “So I started surfing because it was a thing I loved to do.”

His mother laughed off the idea at first, as the boy enjoys a case of ADHD and she did not think he would stick with it “But this has really stuck with him,” she said. “Before we knew it, it was like day 50 and I’m like ‘he may actually do this’ and then he just hasn’t given up. Even on rainy days he’s like ‘let’s go, I’m ready to go.’”

Carter surfs rain or shine, good waves or bad, and his inspired the community including Ben Gravy, who lives nearby. “It’s just amazing how many people are now invested in what Carter’s doing — a 9-year-old,” his mom said. “They’ve been super amazing, like these tough surfer guys, pushing Carter. It’s just been awesome.”

The next goal is 400 consecutive days but, if I could push Carter to dream even bigger, I’d suggest he go for 14,642 and shatter the Guinness Book of World Record holder Dale Webster. Carter would be pushing 50 years of age and what better way to spend a life, I ask?

Very inspiring.