Listen: Chas Smith and Steve “Longtom”
Shearer on why the slow death of the WSL doesn’t mean the end of
the great game, “Pro surfing is both an unflushable turd and a
dream too beautiful to die!”
By Derek Rielly
"It will always float to the top of the bowl."
In this episode of Dirty Water, number forty, we find
Steve “Longtom” Shearer in terrific form.
Shearer, who wears out his brain thinking, takes the listener
back onto the WSL tour, remembers an “epic” Pipe contest and the
absurdity of a world title contender, suddenly fat, who didn’t want
to be there.
As Shearer wrote at the time,
“It was hard to watch Filipe Toledo in the first heat of the
round of 32, for example, without feeling a real sense of
pity.
“Seven waves ridden in 40 minutes, nothing close to clean
make. Pip got boofed in the head by the lip, Pip out ran the toob-
once, twice, three times, Pip went straight to the beach. There was
talk in the booth all day about spiritual connections and the
mental health benefits of the ocean and here was a guy, clearly
unprepared on every level, melting down in front of our eyes. It
was actually a relief when it was done.
“Where too for Pip? Isn’t there some sort of God who can
help him?”
Today, Shearer describes Pip’s surfing as “performative
non-makes… he isn’t even making progress. He’s going
backwards.”
Chas Smith, who shares with Shearer his guts and flexibility of
thought, calls in briefly from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and casts a
wicked eye over Mikey Wright’s front-page heroics during a recent
Hawaiian rescue.
The episode concludes with a vivid account of goat castration
and Shearer’s subsequent epiphany regarding testosterone.
Listen, or not.
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Mel and one of surfing's great rides.
Powerline Productions
Interview: WSL commentator and Santa Cruz
legend Peter Mel on catching wave of the decade at Mavericks, “It’s
the greatest feeling in the world to have your mind erased!”
By Derek Rielly
"I’ve been visualising a line like that for thirty
years but I’ve never really truly had the balls to do it."
By now, you would’ve seen Mel’s chip-shot into a
thirty-footer monster tube at Mavericks, just north of
Half Moon Bay there in Northern California.
Wave of the decade it’s being called.
“Everyone on earth should see this ride,” Kelly Slater said.
Mel, who is fifty-one, is the sort of man who loves his children
with a passion, his parents with respect, his wife with generosity
and his friends with loyalty.
He wears slightly too big flannel shirts and pants with stone
washing applied at the factory.
A conservative, in the true sense of the word.
Yesterday’s ride was anything but safe.
When I call Mel at home in Santa Cruz, the sun has set on the
day after his beautiful and brave ride.
He talks about the terrific comedown from such a powerful
injection of adrenaline.
“I wish I could sleep for a month,” he says.
Is it really that draining?
“Emotionally, yeah. That was thirty years in the making. I’ve
been visualising a line like that but I’ve never really truly had
the balls to do it. Somehow, yesterday, it all came
together.”
Mel, who was riding a 70-litre nine-foot-ten CI with tiny tow
fins in a quad setup, says the thrill of seeing his kid Jon out
there on the channel, alongside old pals filmer Curt Myers from
Powerline productions and fellow big-waver Jamie Mitchell, gave the
ten-second ride an added gloss.
“They were all fearing for my life one second and then, the
next, it was the elation of me hugging my kid.”
It’s around midday. Mel and his kid Jon, who is twenty-one, have
been out since around eight-thirts.
Jon gets the biggest left he’s ever had out there.
Then a quick work meet and the pair are back out there. The buoy
system is so good in this part of the world they know the swell is
about to pulse.
“A twelve-footer, then there’s a fifteen-footer, there’s a
fucking eighteen-footer…”
And,
Mel says there’s a shallow part of the reef out and over towards
the left. If you want to get inside the biggest waves it’s the only
avenue in. You can’t take off in the bowl, it’s too vertical and
too thick, and shoulder-hopping ain’t an option.
“It was always something you dream of but never get to execute,”
says Mel. “We’ve towed a few and had that idea of coming in from
behind but you usually outrun the tube or you’re not brave enough
to kick-stall. With a nine-ten, you’re committed.”
The takeoff, says Mel, ain’t the hard part.
“You get a really nice entry over there. You can chase it, get
into it and it backs off a little bit. It let me in. I did know
that it’s risky, it’s forty yards deeper than the main bowl and if
you see an elbow towards the bowl you know it’s going to be tough
to make. This wave had that look to it but,
well… fuck… you’re not going to get that many
chances out there. I overcommitted to it and went for it.
Magically, all those elements came together. A little bit of a
spiritual thing happened for me. I feel like it was a gift from the
Mavericks gods to stay open. It’s really hard to fathom what’s
happening in that moment,. You’re racing and adjusting. It’s the
greatest feeling in the world to have your mind erased. It’s why
we’re so tied to surfing. I got to a point where I was thinking,
this is really heavy, then all of a sudden I realised I was making
it no matter what and raised my hands. That’s a great, great
feeling.”
And then the other side of the adrenaline shot.
“I was thinking, ah, okay, what now? What do I do now? I felt a
little let down. I felt, truly, I can’t do that again.”
That afternoon, Mel went to see his wife Tara in the fam’s
surfshop, Freeline, at Pleasure
Point. Mel could see how worried his wife was by how
clean the joint was, his and her desks cleaned, boxes neatly
stowed, the shop spotless.
“A distraction,” he says. “She tapped into my mood and was
solemn and quiet with me. Today was a lot more chatty and fun but
it wasn’t like we were throwing a party and a kegger yesterday,
dude. Just a silent cuddle, unsaid words, connection. I wanted to
crawl into a hole and shut everything out. I’ve come around now.”
Mel laughs, sighs, then laughs again.
The buoys are up to forty feet. The biggest it’s been all
season.
Tomoz, out there.
“What an escape surfing is,” he says. “We’re so
blessed.”
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Shhhhh: Facebook founder and chief Mark
Zuckerberg’s wife celebrates husband banning Donald J. Trump from
Facebook by surfing in Kauai!
By Chas Smith
All powerful.
How many life moments have you celebrated by
paddling out for a surf? Thanksgivings, Christmases, New Yearses,
etc. are a given, mostly because those usually bring time off but
how many personal life moments? Did you paddle out on your wedding
day? Birth of children? When hired for good job? Fired from good
job?
Well, according to The Daily
Mail, Facebook founder and chief Mark Zuckerberg’s
wife Pricilla Chan celebrated her husband muzzling the President of
the United States Donald J. Trump by ripping what were described by
the British news outlet as “small breakers” in Kauai.
The regular foot appears to have been pushed in on her soft-top
by a surf hatted helper.
Very chill.
Hours earlier, Zuckerberg wrote:
Over the last several years, we have allowed President Trump
to use our platform consistent with our own rules, at times
removing content or labeling his posts when they violate our
policies.
We did this because we believe that the public has a right
to the broadest possible access to political speech, even
controversial speech.
But the current context is now fundamentally different,
involving use of our platform to incite violent insurrection
against a democratically elected government.
We believe the risks of allowing the President to continue
to use our service during this period are simply too
great.
Therefore, we are extending the block we have placed on his
Facebook and Instagram accounts indefinitely and for at least the
next two weeks until the peaceful transition of power is
complete.
All powerful.
Are you going to paddle out to celebrate too or paddle out in
protest?
#TeamZuckerberg or #TeamTrump?
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Surfline Man orders a surfboard (part II):
“He needs to find Mike the shaper and order his new board. He can’t
really think straight. All his hopes rest on Mike!”
By Jen See
Surfline Man is so stoked right now. He is getting
a new custom fish and Mike is going to make it right there with the
tools Surfline Man saw hanging on the wall. It’s going to be the
most perfect board ever!
The sun is not even up yet, and Surfline Man springs out
of bed. Today’s the big day!
He is going to visit the surfboard shaper he found on Instagram
to buy his new surfboard that’s going to be a fish.
Surfline Man has never talked to an actual shaper before now.
This is so exciting! Surfline Man is going to learn all about where
surfboards come from. He can’t even wait!
Surfline Man heads to the kitchen and fires up his espresso
machine. He bought himself one of those killer all-in-one deals for
Christmas and he’s pretty sure it’s the best thing ever. He pours a
bowl of cereal before realizing that he’s almost totally out of
milk. He used it all up practicing his latte art.
Surfline Man splashes the last few drops of milk in the carton
over his cereal and eats it anyway. At least the espresso turns out
alright.
His phone buzzes.
dude are you surfing today nah brah ordering a new board! going to see the shaper what are you getting new fish! fuck sounds sick can’t wait to see it
In the best mood, Surfline Man hops into his Sprinter. Singing
along to Vampire Weekend, his new
favorite band, he merges smoothly onto the freeway. Love that video
they made, just cruising around Palm Springs. I should totally go
there, Surfline Man thinks. I should go to Palm Springs and cruise
around like Vampire Weekend.
But first, a new surfboard. Focus, dude.
Pulling into the driveway, Surfline Man gazes around the
industrial park, dazed. A series of roll-up doors run down one
wall. Otherwise, it’s beige cinderblock walls as far as he can see.
Surfline Man wonders if he’s come to the right place, but his
Garmin claims that he has. And in fact, once he looks more closely,
he can see the address numbers on the side of the building.
The tang of resin hangs in the air. And as Surfline Man
approaches, he sees a cluster of bearded dudes gathered around a
surfboard, positioning a fin in the box. The sun bounces off the
mirror shine of the board’s gloss coat.
Surfline Man is momentarily spellbound. The board is beautiful.
He has definitely come to the right place.
“Is Mike here?” Surfline Man asks. He feels suddenly shy.
The nearest bearded man looks up from the surfboard and gestures
toward the open roll-up.
“He’s in there.”
The interior of the shop is dark against the bright sun of the
outdoors. Once his eyes adjust, Surfline Man takes it all in.
Surfboards of every imaginable size and color lean against every
available wall. A series of floor to ceiling shelves hold still
more surfboards. He longs to riffle through the stacks.
Something confusing and vintage hangs high on the wall. Surfline
Man has no idea what it is, but it looks important.
In the the back corner, Surfline Man catches a glimpse of a
small room. Through the doorway, he can see a handsaw hanging on
the wall and some other interesting tools that he can’t identify.
The fluorescent tubes glare bright white against the dark blue
walls. This is where the magic happens!
Surfline Man wishes he could look inside, but he’s not sure
that’s allowed and he needs to find Mike the shaper and order his
new board. He can’t really think straight. All his hopes rest on
Mike.
Surfline Man finds his new surfboard’s shaper in a small,
hallwaylike room. Shaped blanks march down one wall, carefully
stacked, and a battered couch sits against the opposite wall. A
cardboard box of odd fins lounges in the corner, and a thin layer
of foam dust coats every exposed surface. Surfline Man feels super
stupid for wearing a black t-shirt today.
“Hi, I’m Trent, I emailed about getting a board?”
“Oh yah, here, let’s sit outside and you can tell me what you
have in mind.”
Surfline Man still feels nervous as fuck, but the shaper’s
low-key, mellow vibe is amazingly reassuring. Surfline Man trusts
this man with his surfboard already, and he hasn’t even started
talking about dims are anything.
“So I want a fish? And I kinda want it to be super short? And
like, fast.” Surfline Man stumbles through his explanation,
flapping his hands around vaguely.
“What are you riding now?”
“Well, like, I have a midlength, but I don’t really like it. And
I also dropped it, so I can’t ride it now.”
Surfline Man feels kinda stupid now, but there’s something about
Mike that makes it impossible to lie to him.
“What don’t you like it about it?”
“It feels really big and I can’t really turn it. And also, I got
caught inside and it sucked. It gives me nightmares, actually.”
Talking to a shaper is almost exactly like talking to his
therapist. It’s so awesome and Surfline Man feels better
already.
“Ever had a fish before?”
“Yah, bought like a 6’0” on sale. I don’t know, it was fine, I
guess? But not like, fast or anything. Maybe kinda wide. Or too
long. Maybe if it were like, 5’2” or something.”
“How tall are you?”
“Like, around six feet.”
“What if we went 5’6”? You’d get something a bit faster than the
6’0” you have, without things getting too crazy.”
“That’d be alright, I think? I just want it to be like, fast and
turn really good. Like, I was watching that Ryan Burch segment in
Psychic Migrations, and that fish, it’s so fast.”
Mike the shaper mentally rolls his eyes. You are not Ryan Burch.
An experienced professional, Mike does not say this out loud.
“Oh yah, Burch is great in that film. I think you’d feel a big
difference, stepping down to a 5’6”. Or we could go 5’5” if you
like.”
“Okay, 5’5” sounds so good. Can you make it blue?”
“Yah, sure.”
Mike tosses some paint swatches on the table.
“Pick a color you like. What kind of fins are we doing?”
“Glass-on keels look so cool but I don’t know, maybe I should
get boxes? Like, if I traveled or something. Or like, wanted to
change my fins, I don’t know.”
“I recommend Futures.”
“Okay, that’s sounds super good! I’m sure I’ll like it.”
Surfline Man really wanted some sweet-looking wood keels. They
look so handmade and craftsmenlike and stuff. But Mike inspires so
much trust. He knows so much!
If Mike the shaper says Futures, Surfline Man is going to ride
Futures.
Surfline Man hands over a pile of cash as a deposit.
“If I pay extra will it be done sooner?”
Mike laughs.
“Nah, bro, sorry. But I’ll get to you as soon as I can,
promise!”
“Okay man, thanks so much! So stoked! Can’t wait!”
As he looks back, he sees the bearded dudes are clustered around
a different board now. They’re clearly checking out the bottom
contours or something important like that.
Surfline Man is so stoked right now. He is getting a new custom
fish and Mike is going to make it right there with the tools
Surfline Man saw hanging on the wall. It’s going to be the most
perfect board ever!
Driving down the freeway, Surfline Man has second thoughts.
He pulls over and as the semi-trucks rush by, rocking his
Sprinter, he pulls out his phone and sends a text to his new
bestie, Mike, his surfboard shaper.
hey man good to meet you i changed my mind can you make it red instead? thanks so stoked!!!
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Thin Blue Line: Police throw stun grenades
at two surfers enjoying a small, windswept day at famed Cape St.
Francis!
By Chas Smith
Strange days.
But could it be possible that the World Surf
League bungling of its Pipe Masters, wherein the CEO and four
staffers brought the dreaded Coronavirus to the show shuttering
competition for days and making Hawaii look foolish, has
reverberated across continents and hemispheres to South Africa?
It is one of many theories, for a report has just emerged from
the famed Cape St. Francis, a wave Robert August and Mike Hynson
punched into surfer hearts around the world as they traveled on
their endless summer.
Yesterday, the great South African surf journalist Craig Jarvis
reported that police threw stun grenades at an older and a younger
surfer to get them out of the water. Per the Daily
Maverick:
Yesterday, (5 January) at around noon, a local surfer Misha
G went to the beach to look. It was pretty quiet and seemed
relatively empty, so our friend Misha decided to go and mind-surf a
few waves from the safety of his bakkie.
“It was small and onshore, and it looked quite good, so I
thought I’d just go and have a look at what I was missing,” said
Misha of his mission.
When the wind goes onshore, the waves get ruffled and
affected by the wind. It’s not ideal for surfing, but one can still
surf.
When he got there, he found the main surfer’s car park
cordoned off by a police van. “It was a bigger van, like a 10-12
seater, and there were a few cars blocked off in the car park,”
recalls Misha.
“About five or six cops were sitting on the beach by the
surfer showers,” said Misha, and there were two standing in the car
park. I saw one of the guys throw something that looked like a rock
at the surfers, and I thought, ‘what are they doing? Why would a
cop throw rocks at the surfers? That’s not going to work.’
”
The “rock” landed about five metres shy of the water’s edge,
with plenty of exposed rock due to the low tide. “It landed on the
rocks, in line with the police sitting on the bench,” recalls
Misha.
The first stun-grenade explosion shook his car. The second
one which followed immediately afterwards he could feel in his
chest.
“It was this loud, booming explosion,” said Misha, “and it
was pretty intimidating. It gave me a shock because I wasn’t
expecting it; it was just such a surprise. I could feel the shock
wave.”
With smoke in the air and with cops waving, the two surfers,
an older guy and a younger guy started moving.
Incredible and such an odd use of force against two surfers. So
asymmetrical but it must be assumed, due the mainstream media
picking up the World Surf League shenanigans on the North Shore,
that the South African police believe all surfers to be Trojan
horses for Covid-19 exactly like CEO Erik Logan for everyone knows
the best way to get surfers out of the water is to shame them on
social media.
But can you still surf on your beaches? Do police look at you
more suspiciously now?