Claim: World Surf League CEO Erik Logan shows off incredible barrel riding skill, ties ability to Covid-19 protocols and USA election in inspirational social media message!

Reliably incredible. 

There are those that bemoan the year 2020, calling it the worst ever, waiting for it to end, being sad at racial unrest, war between Armenia and Azerbaijan, Trump Trains, Biden Buses, death of James Bond, rampant wildfires, massively destructive hurricanes, etc.

Pandemic disease.

And then there is our World Surf League CEO Erik Logan.

Pre-Covid-19-lockdown he rode a SUP, almost exclusively, and rode it… well? It’s hard for me to understand that lifestyle.

Now, eight, or whatever, months into our disease-borne imprisonment he is riding a T. Patterson shaped high-performance shortboard with the progressive Italo F.’s design input in barreling rights/lefts and claiming hard (see above photo too).

Per Instagram:

COVID protocols state that you need to have face coverings in public. I agree, but I’m going for FULL coverings for the next week. Early voting means more waves!!! Thank you to the team at @kswaveco for a few waves and a world class experience as always. And a special thanks to @tpattersonsurfboards_usa & @italoferreira for the board and shape. Epic design, epic board. #vote

Reliably incredible.

And do you think that those who doubt the effectiveness of mask wearing are won over by CEO Logan’s water prowess?

What about those still on the fence over voting?

Erik Logan may not be the spokesman we want but he’s certainly the spokesman we don’t deserve.


Hutto (middle) flanked by Florida police.
Hutto (middle) flanked by Florida police.

Breaking: Founder of surf-adjacent Florida brand Salt Life arrested, charged with manslaughter, after 18-year-old found shot dead at Palm Beach resort.

No more fishing etc.

If you have been to Florida, or live there, you will certainly recognize Salt Life. Each and every truck, sedan (both Chevrolet and Ford), SUV on aftermarket tires in the northern part of the state is adorned with the company’s signature scrawl which looks like this.

Very cool.

Founded by Michael Troy Hutto and three friends in 2003 as a symbol of their “hardcore fishermen” attitudes who were “living the salt life,” the brand had an extremely loyal following.

Hutto and his pals sold the business in 2013 for 40 million dollars and lived the very luxury Himalayan pink sea salt life until this past Friday when he was arrested in scrubs and non-slip socks outside a Jacksonville, Florida hospital.

Police charged him with manslaughter and gun possession in the death of an 18-year-old woman found shot at a South Florida hotel.

Investigators had been looking for Lora Grace Duncan since Oct. 26 when her parents asked the Columbia County Sheriff’s Office to conduct for a welfare check. On Thursday, she was found dead from a gunshot wound at the Hilton Oceanfront resort on Singer Island near Palm Beach.

It is unknown what, if any, relationship Hutto had with the victim.

Salt Life released a statement reading, “Sadly we have learned one of Salt Life’s co-founders has been charged with a felony. Salt Life sends their utmost sympathies to the family and friends of the deceased.”

Hutto’s family could not be reached for comment, according to the Palm Beach Post, and remained held without bail Monday at the Duval County Jail, online records show.

More as the story develops.

Most well-mannered Irish big wave surfer catches country’s biggest ever wave: “My main concern was not to offend anyone or put pressure on the hospital system or anything like that.”

The hero 2020 needs.

And by now you have read of Hurricane Epsilon and the “wave” of carnage that it created all across the north-ish Atlantic. Rude fights breaking out in the water at Nazare as gimme-gimme surfers tried to hog all the glory. Poor decisions being made on British shores where heedless tourists were swept out to sea, forcing dramatic rescues from the Royal National Lifeboat Institution.

But who would have guess that just across St. George’s Channel on that Emerald Isle the politest, most well-mannered big wave surfer in the world would ride that country’s biggest ever wave?

Oh gather your children around so they can grow up in the vein of Conor Maguire.

Conor, like all others, saw the swell approaching and knew it would be singular but did he prepare himself immediately for fame and fortune?


His first concern, according to the local paper, was “…whether it was socially acceptable to go out in the midst of a national lockdown because of the coronavirus pandemic.”

“So typical. My main concern was not to offend anyone or put pressure on the hospital system or anything like that. We contacted Sligo county council and got permission to surf, spoke to the coastguard. We had four skis and a paramedic on hand; two spotters on the cliff. We couldn’t have been any more safe, and [it was] the perfect time to take a good crack at it. The original idea was just to have respect for the locals and not to offend anyone. My friends are based in the area and we spoke to a lot of the locals before and they were buzzing people were out there. And the headland was like an amphitheatre; there were cars all the way around. Everyone was in their cars, adhering to Covid protocols, as were we. In the harbour, with the safety briefing, we had masks on and all that stuff. It was pretty professional.”

So thoughtful. Thoughtful in an unheard of way in 2020 and the fates rewarded our hero with the ride of his life.

“You could see it the whole way coming in. In the middle of the bay [Maguire’s jetski tow-in driver] was like: ‘Uhhh, okaaaaay,’ and I thought: ‘Oh fuck.’ Then he just picked me up, did a loop and slung me in like a big pendulum … When I was dropping down, it kind of felt like I was dropping 30 or 40 seconds, I was going and going. The wave itself, it was smooth, man. I felt like butter or something. It was pretty easy … I just kind of stood there [laughs]. But it ended up catching up with me in the end.”

And all those gimme-gimmme surfers at Nazare should be forced to do a politeness course with Conor Maguire so he can learn them the way of peace and prosperity.

Surfing's Robert Plant, Mr Terry Fitz. | Photo: EOS

Blood Feud: World’s Greatest Surf Journalist and Seattle Scrabble aficionado joust over Terry Fitzgerald story: “There’s a lot of cheap shots…  not cool”

"A stallion, a revelation, god-like!"

One week or so ago, on the occasion of surf icon Terry Fitzgerald’s birthday, Seattle scrabble aficionado and surf archivist Matt Warshaw published a moving tribute on his Encylopedia of Surfing website called, Ode to a Sultan and which you should read, and published without Warshaw’s permission, below.

Fitz was a rock star. Not in our newly popularized middle-management use of the phrase (“thanks for getting these numbers to me so fast, you’re a rock star!”), but more like he belongs to a species of performer that includes Robert Plant and Roger Daltrey, more so than Gerry Lopez and Jeff Hakman. Had Fitzgerland picked up a guitar instead of a surfboard, his biography would be spiked with trashed hotel rooms, dozens of groupie-spawned bastard children, and a messed-up hush-hush story involving a mudshark.

Anyway, as it was, Fitz played stadiums (Sunset and J-Bay), and performed all the way to the back seats. Striking poses. Moving and grinding that 28-inch-waist. At the end of a well-executed ride, it would have been fully appropriate, rather than throwing a two-fisted claim, for Fitz to bang a huge flaming gong.

Two or three weeks ago, Lewis Samuels got up in my business after one of my periodic Barry Kanaiaupuni swoons. BK’s surfing, Lewis said via Twitter, “hasn’t aged well,” and I’m 97% sure that Samuels’ feels the same about Fitzgerald. I’m so sure, in fact, that it makes me wonder if I am maybe a bit too enamored of my little gang of Zeppelin-age favorites. Fitz, especially, is open to critique. If the surf didn’t have the requisite push and thrust, he’d try and make up the difference by amping up the hip wiggles and arm gyrations. Oversell. I cringe a little when I see those clips. (And edit my own clips accordingly, using just the flower-top stuff.)

On the other hand, Fitz was operating in shortboard surfing’s Great Age of Style. In terms of basic performance—cutbacks, bottom turns, off the tops—those gunned-out, wide-point-forward single-fins everybody was using were being ridden to their outermost limit. Twins and tri-fins would reset everything, but those were still a few years off. What to do in the meantime? When 15 other top surfers have a fiberglass-buckling bottom turn and a G-force line off the top, how do set yourself apart? Form. Interpretation. Presence. “Skill and style,” said Wayne Bartholomew, who came of age in this period, “has never been more closely related than in the early ’70s.” Nobody understood this better than the Terry Fitzgerald.

As much as any other single surfer, Fitzgerald made the early ’70s. But the early ’70s also made Fitzgerald. I can’t imagine him in the pre-shortboard-era. And in the multi-fin era, Fitz’ vogue-heavy style of riding was left in the dust. Other surfers of the period, you can trace their stylistic progeny: Lopez to Machado to Craig Anderson. MP to Kong to Bourez. The Fitzgerald method, though, began and ended with Fitzgerald. (Derek Hynd was and remains a great Fitz disciple, but Derek, true to the master’s example, crafted his own unique way of riding waves.)

When I was a kid, older guys raved about Joey Cabell and “speed surfing,” but nobody in years to come picked up on his style, and looking back at video of Cabell from the late ’60s I don’t really get what the big deal was.

Will the same thing happen to Fitz? I wonder. I’ll put this question to anybody reading this under the age of 35: in the clip posted at the top of the page, the last shot, of Fitz going Mach 3 at Jeffreys Bay—does that ride sing to you at all? Or am I a sentimental old fool?

(Editor’s note: You gotta subscribe, here, to see the vid and the photo.)

All pretty above board, yeah?

The great Nick Carroll, howevs, was having none of it.

“Matt, there’s a lot of cheap shots in this mate. Not cool,” Nick wrote on Facebook, prompting surfing’s first men’s world champion Peter Townend to chime in, “Agreed! As one of my peer group, slightly older, Fitz had his unique approach to his surfing as many of us did as well as the equipment we shaped and road, that was the beauty of that Seventies era!”

Warshaw, of course, ain’t afraid even of mighty Nick and superstar PT, although he was diplomatic.

“What about the part where it goes: “you might say—I would, for sure—that Terry Fitzgerald is one of the greatest surfers of all time, just as surely as Robert Plant is one of the greatest rock singers of all time… My take on Fitz is just that he’s maybe the ultimate “horses for courses” surfer. But on the courses that counted most—Sunset and J-Bay—he was a stallion, a revelation, god-like. Less so in waves that didn’t suit his style, or that bored him. Same could be said for half or more of those in the all-time-greatest pantheon, to which Terry is a platinum-card member. Apologies if my comments came off disrespectful, that was not my intention.”

Now, where are the cheap shots? Can you find?

Wanna be the king of the world? | Photo: JJ

Extraordinary: Family of surf journalist to sell Sydney’s last great swathe of undeveloped coastal land: “I imagine the buyer being some cashed-up dot com person or Hugh Jackman or Nicole Kidman wanting solitude among the trees”

The greatest piece of surf real estate in the world?

Johnny Jenkins, a former editor of Surfing Life and semi-pro surfer sponsored by various brands, lived the sorta childhood that, even in the third or fourth retelling, I still find hard to believe.

His daddy John, an international flight attendant for Qantas back when the job had money and prestige, made the very sensible decision in 1976 to begin accumulating parcels of land which would become three-acres of cliff-top dirt on the ridge behind Whale Beach, also home to the then counter-culture surfing magazine Tracks.

On it, a small wooden house, which would grow, organically, with mismatched doors and windows, and a shed, which little Johnny commandeered, that had a mattress on the floor, an old wardrobe and a cable running electricity from the main house, and with gun-barrel views straight into the Whale Beach Wedge.

Daddy John, with birds, in old tree house at Whale Beach.

With daddy away, sometimes for two weeks on an international haul and with the Wedge beckoning, Johnny, now forty-six, achieved the Barrenjoey High record of most late attendances in one year, a never-to-be-broken fifty seven late notes.

He was also privy to the belle epoch of the nineties when the Wedge was populated by Barton Lynch, Tom Carroll, Martin Potter, Stuart Bedford-Brown, Kelly Slater, Lisa Andersen, Michael Rommelse, Ces Wilson and co.

Now, with daddy almost eighty and unable to keep the land free of brush and whatever to stop fires, and the spectre of COVID putting the wind up the fam, they figure, time to sell.

(Last year, they carved two pieces off the original 11,000 m2 for three mill, leaving 8000 m2.)


Seven-ish mill for 8000 m2 or roughly two acres. Convert to US dollars and y’gonna own the best joint in Sydney, a city relatively free of lethal bugs, for a little under five mill.

“Two mins from the balcony to putting your legrope on at the sand at South Whaley,” says Johnny.

The real estate sell is a little underwhelming, but if you know the joint, and know the wave, ooowee, it don’t get any better.

Apply here.