Loophole of the century: South African surfers circumvent beach ban by vaulting shark nets, “Today we made a public stand against the silly law making it illegal to walk across the sand to practice our sport!”

Surfers stomp a righteous flamenco on South Africa's level 3 lockdown laws… 

Ain’t no secret that it’s wild times for South African surfers who want to ride or even examine waves. 

One month ago at Jeffreys Bay, a man was arrested under South Africa’s level 3 lockdown laws for checking the surf with his fourteen-year-old son and, on the beach, two surfers were busted, had their boards confiscated and were threatened with jail time. 

Cop tries to stop man’s son from filming dad’s arrest at Jeffreys Bay.

Six month ago, beachgoers were forced to flee a Durban beach when cops arrived en masse.

Now, wave-starved surfers in Durban have joined together to circumvent the ban by paddling into the lineup after being deposited beyond the shark nets by boat.

From The Surf HQ, “Today we made a public stand against the silly law allowing surfing as a sport , but making it illegal to walk across the sand to practice our sport. so this is a huge shout out to the 7 brothers who took the BIG risk of coming along for the ride with me knowing full well tonights bed could have been in a jail cell, for chartering a Boat and being dropped out deep sea beyond the shark nets to paddle over them to surf “without touching the sand” for an hour and a half,
paddling all the way back over the nets to get back onto the boat then be Police escorted to Dock to face the Law enforcement officers.”



Oddly electric, yes?

Breaking: World Surf League strips iconic Tom Curren of one of his three titles following explosive popularity of new film “Free Scrubber!”

More questions than answers.

Tom Curren re-introduced himself to a surf-entertainment starved world, days ago, in the form of a fifteen-minute work of art from the minds of Vaughn Blakey and Nick Pollet.

Free Scrubber may well be the finest surf film of the decade and if you have not yet watched you must pause, right now, and so do.

Marvelous and impossible not to love…
…for everyone outside the World Surf League’s Santa Monica headquarters.

Inside the virtually empty offices hurt and rage, vengeful thoughts and angry anger, must be percolating for the WSL posted the film, like all other surf media, but also stripped Curren of a title.

“Enjoy a little of that old Tom Curren magic in Rip Curl’s new film “free scrubber” the headline reads, followed by, “From twin-fins to skimboards, the two-time World Champ’s quest to find the perfect…”

Everyone, legitimately seriously everyone, knows that Tom Curren won three titles (1985, 1986, 1990) and free scrubbing one of them was clearly done purposefully but why?

Because World Surf League announcing is gently mocked in the film?

Because Tom Curren is not wearing a competition singlet?

Because the work is vastly superior to Unboxing with Koa Smith?

Currently, more questions than answers and also unclear which of the three titles was disappeared but, as always, more as the story develops.

Suck it, Jaws.
Suck it, Jaws.

New electric boat promises to “match the size and feel of Maui’s finest rollers” while “revolutionizing wake surfing into a sport that even Kelly Slater would love!”

Suck it, Jaws.

“Did we get into the wave tank game too quickly?” will be the question asked around mahogany boardroom tables from Santa Monica, California to San Sebastián, Spain, today, as the new wake boat Gigawave hits the market.

The brainchild of boat builder Matthew Blew, the electric marvel (which you first learned about here some months ago) features a pair of high-torque, zero-emission 300-hp electric motors that will be powered by a bank of lithium-ion batteries.

Blew says, “We’ve upped the battery capacity since our original concept. Now we’re looking at a full megawatt of power—the equivalent of a million watts. The goal is a run-time of six to eight hours between charges, and a quick two-hour charge time with industrial chargers.”

What does a full megawatt of power get you?

“Head-height barrel that will match the size and feel of Maui’s finest rollers.” And “…revolutionize wake surfing into a sport that even Kelly Slater would love.”

And all for $600,000 which will certainly make Kelly Slater recoil with heavy regret.

Imagine how much his technology costs. First one must buy a lake, then one must drop a big blue train in its middle, then one must constantly repair it and greenwash much diesel.

Minimum 8 million dollars?

10 million?

One could buy 16 Gigawaves, drive them to a public lake and rent them out while not spewing exhaust into the air and making Maui jealous for that price.


Heavy, heavy regret.

Sack Lunch 2.0 singer (right) and fan.

Listen: While professional surfing gasps its dying breaths, Gabriel Medina, Kanoa Igarashi, Leonardo Fioravanti and Kelly Slater are well advised to start their boy band!

And they shall call themselves "Sack Lunch 2.0."

Oh we’ve all been saying “it’s over” for months now, as it relates to our World Surf League, but it is now, right? Blunders followed by silence followed by longest-serving-employee Dave Prodan being disappeared followed by the same Dave Prodan being awkwardly sandwiched in between Ross-Clarke Williams and Mick Fanning followed by unfortunate “opinions” followed by more silence followed by Dirk Ziff stomping out of the room, screaming “GRUMPY SURFERS BOUGHT GAMESTOP STOCK JUST TO SCREW ME AND I’M DONE!”

Congratulations, Grumpy Surfers, but what then should ex-professional surfers do?

The smart ones will hitch carts to fabulous “friends” and/or start a boy band together.

Boy bands trend in every single economic climate or are you not a student of history?

The Beatles, Menudo, New Kids on the Block, NSync, One Direction, Blackpink.

A forever up market, like GameStop, and who better to form up a brand new super group than Gabriel Medina, Kanoa Igarashi, Leonardo Fioravanti and Kelly Slater?

They shall call themselves Sack Lunch 2.0 and they shall make millions.

David Lee Scales and I also discussed suicide on today’s 101st podcast.

101 podcasts.


Listen here.

Random dust-up.

Surf-lit: “The son, still in his wetsuit and with hatred in his eyes, threw himself on top of dear papa, hands around his neck, screaming “F**k you Kelly Slater! F**k you John John!” over and over as papa gasped for air!”

A creeping madness enters surfing.

It started soon after Sunset was cancelled.

First: at an amateur event on a suburban beach on the east coast of Australia, an otherwise unremarkable twelve-year-old surf prodigy (just like the rest of them) curled up a tanned fist and punched his smart phone-clutching surf dad directly in the chin.


A jumping right hook connected with stubbly skin, startling the overweight, overbearing father/coach combo and knocked him to the ground, mid-livestream.

The son, still in his wetsuit, and with hatred in his eyes, grey like the sky above him, threw himself on top of dear papa, his hands around papa’s neck, screaming “Fuck you Kelly Slater! Fuck you John John!” over and over as papa gasped for air.

It took two comp officials to drag the screaming tween away.

Onlookers put it down to an isolated instance of surf rage. Years of pent up aggression and burgeoning testosterone erupting like lava, or a wet dream.

But then: two days later, two beaches south.

A travelling Japanese surfer took out his Modern mid-length from the boot of his red hatchback, unwound the plate and screw of his eight-foot Captain Fin Co single fin, and bludgeoned a nearby surfer to death with it. There appeared to be no link between the two surfers, other than that the victim happened to be parked near the accused and getting ready to surf at the same time.

Have you seen the damage a single fin can do to a man?

Witnesses said after the surprise attack had finished, the Japanese surfer placed his mid-length in a nearby bin before driving off. Exact details are still unconfirmed.

More acts of violence and insurrection quickly followed.

At famous Bondi beach, a local surf instructor pushed three adult learners out into backpacker’s rip, and watched as they disappeared over the horizon, the now tiny blue specks drowning, not waving, before stripping naked and driving to Waverley clinic.

“Lock me up,” she told the registrar on duty. “For I am guilty of spiritual treason.”

Before the media had time to put a name to the terror it had already spread.

At Lennox a disgruntled local snapped in half his AB six channel (the most sacred of his quiver), doused it in kerosene and set it on fire, running down the town’s commercial strip screaming ‘“Consciousness is nature’s nightmare” over and over.

And up the road at Byron, pastel-toned murfers turned on each other, pulling out hair and scratching out eyes while others piled their foam surfboards and linen clothes onto roaring fires at the site of the old whale station.

Across the sea, at Malibu, a long-docile surfing dog attacked its owner, sinking mottled fangs into wetsuit and flesh, while a gaggle of dreadlocked, semi-sentient skimboarders popped shuv-its in furious approval of the massacre.

Nearby, a Rincon local rode a wave from the Indicator all the way to the Cove, the line-up and the surfers flashing past him like memories, or a dream. (Witnesses say it was the best wave of his life). He beached his ride, took off his leg rope, left the board on the sand, and walked straight into the incoming traffic of the Screaming Eagles highway.


In Oregon, a foiler rode his craft into a pod of dolphins, killing three.

Hawaii, small Makaha: a gang of rabid SUPs beat a windsurfer to death with their paddles, as the now-riderless sailboard steered itself towards a rising sun on the offshore breeze.

It wasn’t all violence and decay.

In Queensland, two previously warring locals, Kirra and Snapper respectively, met on the yellow sands of Coolongatta and kissed, passionately, endlessly, oozing salt and sweat and wax.

A West Australian surfer married his jetski.

Also: A crazed surf journalist announced that in the South Pacific entire weather systems were disassembling. Waves had stopped breaking, and dead fish were floating to the surface

The entire Indian Ocean had dried up, too, he said. And the tides had stopped turning.

All of it was a lie.

More signs of the creeping madness.

Nobody could place the cause of it. Of the destruction of people. Of symbols.

The crazed reporter said he was exercising his individual agency in the face of global upheaval. A solipsistic response to prove that he really did exist.

Others called it the democratisation of surfing, and doubled down on their efforts.

But nobody was listening. Nobody cared. And the desecration continues.

When oh when will the tour be back?