World Surf League CEO Erik Logan completes transition to heartthrob, becomes November centerfold for hometown “Southbay Magazine” with smoldering yet wistful stare, delicately dripping Caesar haircut!

Hot, hot heat.

Oh but to be Erik Logan. The World Surf League’s CEO has had a year so utterly fabulous, so completely successful as to beg for suspension of disbelief. From hosting the universally applauded Final’s Day there on Lower Trestles’ cobbled stone to emerging from a cocoon of Sally Jessy Raphael as a fully-formed “sexy cocaine cowboy” to, now, gracing the cover of his hometown Southbay Magazine which will certainly be torn off and tacked up to walls of lonely housewives from Redondo to Del Aire.

A heartthrob.

An undeniable heartthrob.

Southbay, which aspires to “capture the essence of the South Bay defined by its people, ideas, arts and issues of the day” announced the cover boy and centerfold thusly: “For Erik Logan, Becoming the CEO of the World Surf League Was a Serendipitous Journey. Read more about him in the cover story of our November issue!”

Logan, responded that he was “humbled beyond words.”

The feature tracks the brave face of professional surfing growing up “in a landlocked state” and being “terrified of the ocean. I wouldn’t go in. In fact, I wouldn’t go in lakes if I couldn’t see the bottom.”

The terror was due the movie Jaws.

But as we know, his wife bought him a wetsuit that soon became a “suit of armor” and here we are today.

You can, and must, read the story in its entirety but like all centerfolds, the pictures are the juice.

Do yourself a favor and don’t click in front of wife, significant other.

Certainly too much heat.

Well-known pro surfer-shaper avoids jail after being busted with “hundreds of sick images of children being raped and abused in other unthinkable ways.”

“By downloading and amassing a collection of indecent images, (he) has played a part in fuelling a horrific industry.”

The twelve-time British champion surfer and shaper Lee Bartlett has pleaded guilty to three charges of making indecent images of children. 

Bartlett, who is fifty, was charged with having 183 Category A images, 244 Category B images and 177 Category C images, collected over a two-year period from 2018 to 2020. 

The “sick haul” included “images of children being raped and abused in other unthinkable ways.”

Bartlett got eight months behind bars, which was suspended for two years. As well, he has to go through a 40-day rehabilitation, do 100 hours of unpaid work and be on the sex offenders’ register for ten years. 

“By downloading and amassing a collection of indecent images, Bartlett has played a part in fuelling a horrific industry,” a spokesperson for the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children said. “The children in content like this are the victims of child sexual abuse, which can ruin the lives of the youngest members of our society. More needs to be done by technology companies and social network sites to prevent the publication and distribution of materials like this.”

Reaction online when the story came out on Cornwall Live was, predictably I guess, pretty rough.

“Slit the f ers throat.”

“Stop animal testing… test on the likes of him.”

“This vile human is no longer welcome surfing any beach in Cornwall.”

“Bring back the death penalty for sick individuals like this. Just a drain on society. To think of all those poor abused children makes my stomach churn and heart ache. I’d happily flip the switch, or pull the rope. It’s about time victims, And potential victims are protected from the likes of these monsters.”

Pretty wild to read the list of recent courses at the local court, rape, pedophilia, stranglings and so on.

“Illegal puppy breeder unmasked as sex fiend who abused girl in horse box” is just one spectacularly vivid headline from the house of horrors.

Not the greatest advertisement for Cornwall and surrounds.

Sense and sensibility.
Sense and sensibility.

Jane Fonda headlines anti-offshore drilling protest in oil-slicked Laguna Beach, urges fiery supporters not to blame oil and gas workers: “They work in an industry that helped build this country!”

Famous movie star and social activist Jane Fonda turned out a crowd hundreds strong in Laguna Beach, yesterday, in order to protest off-shore oil drilling. Rage percolated amongst those who gathered on the recently oil-slicked shoreline that had just re-opened after a burst pipeline spewed over 144,000 gallons of Texas tea in into the Pacific off Huntington Beach to the north.

“Here in Laguna Beach, we have taken for granted our pristine coast, but sadly our bubble has burst by this horrific and inevitable oil spill,” Judie Mancuso, founder and president of Social Compassion in Legislation, a nonprofit organization that promotes animal rights bills, exclaimed as she began whipping up furor ahead of Fonda. “There is so much at stake already for our threatened marine wildlife.”

State Sen. Dave Min, Democrat from Irvine, came next, hotly raising the temperature to near fever by calling offshore oil derricks “menaces” and vowing to introduce a bill that would end offshore drilling forevermore.

“Even if you’re not an environmentalist, the case for ending offshore drilling is an easy one,” he said. “Oil drilling off the coast of California accounts for less than 0.3% of all U.S. oil production. It’s not even a drop in the bucket. Meanwhile, our coastal economy — based on these beautiful beaches behind me up and down the coastline — accounts for $44 billion a year, employing over a half-million Californians.”

The crowd, bearing fangs, reaching for pitchforks, was ready to take matters into its own hands when Fonda took the stage and cooled everyone right back to sensibility, urging love and respect toward gas and oil workers.

“They work in an industry that helped build this country,” the Barbarella star said. “We must not blame them. The oil and gas and coal that exists that is not being used is called stranded assets. The workers must never be stranded assets.”

While the environmentalists became lightly pacified, dropping tiki torches to the ground, a small gathering across the street began shouting that Fonda was a traitor. Oh, not because of her kind words toward roughnecks but because of that one time she went to Vietnam and sat in a North Vietnamese anti-aircraft gun.

The Hanoi Jane years.

Long memories.

Surfline Man does not want to look like a full-on amateur kook at the gym. That would be so embarrassing like high school all over again. Surfline Man shudders. 

Surfline Man builds fitness in readiness for big winter swells: “There’s a BJJ studio nearby, but it all sounds so sweaty. Also, he has trouble with the name. It just looks so much like blowjob.”

The winter swells are coming! Surfline Man has to do something! He can’t just sit here on the couch.

The winter swells are coming.

Every day, Surfline Man looks at the forecasts and every day, there’s a big swell on the models, just taunting him. It’s ten days out.

Now it’s fourteen days out.

Now it’s gone.

Now it’s back. 

Eventually, that giant swell will appear right here at his favorite beach. Just imagine! Swell lines stacked up to the horizon. Overhead sets. Dreamy green walls. Maybe he’ll even get barrelled. Surfline Man feels giddy just thinking about it. 

But there’s one problem. Surfline Man isn’t even ready for the big winter swells. 

For one thing, he needs a new board. He’s a good surfer now, and if there’s one thing Surfline Man knows, it’s that all good surfers have a step-up. Surfline Man does not have a step-up. 

At least not yet.

But Surfline Man is totally going to get one. Maybe something with more rocker. 

A guy in the parking lot was telling him all about his new board and how it had like, the perfect rocker. Surfline Man wasn’t about to confess that he has no idea what rocker is or how it works, but it sure did sound important. 

Maybe later he’ll cruise to the surf shop. Rocker. It even sounds fast. Surfline Man wants to go so fast on the big winter waves. He’s certain it’s going to be the best winter ever. 

But first, Surfline Man needs to get fit. Back in his San Clemente days, his ex-girlfriend used to drag him to the gym. He hated it, mostly. But it did keep him from turning into a total slacker and getting like, flabby and stuff.

Ever since he moved to Cardiff, Surfline Man has been slacking off on the whole work-out and healthy eating thing. He had big plans to go to yoga with the cute girl from the Swamis parking lot. Too bad he never got around to it. 

And sure, he gets on the ebike sometimes, but even Surfline Man knows that the ebike is not going to get him fit for the winter swells. 

Surfline Man needs a plan. He needs to get fit like, so fast right now. Hopefully, the internet can save Surfline Man from his bad decisions just like it has so many times before. 

Everywhere he goes on the internet, Surfline Man sees ads for Whoop. He loves how his favorite brands follow him around now. It’s so nice having friends wherever he goes. He doesn’t understand what a Whoop is, or what it does, but if surfers are using Whoop, it must be cool. 

Surfline Man is pretty sure he should get one. He punches Whoop into Google.

Oh, a Whoop will get him fit. This is so perfect right now. And there’s like a club he can join and coaching! His ex was crazy about Peloton and all the classes and instructors and stuff. She talked about them all the time, like they were her besties. 

Surfline Man knows himself. He’s not good at getting off the couch. Like, he will totally win the recovery part of training. But maybe if he has a coach he can do the sweaty stuff, too. Surfline Man can’t type his credit card number fast enough. 

While he waits for his new Whoop, which he’s pretty sure is going to change his life completely, Surfline Man figures he better get started with some training. It would be super bad for his morale if his numbers were all low. He wants to come flying into his Whoop training like a pro. 

What to do. There’s a BJJ studio nearby, but it all sounds so sweaty. Also, he has trouble with the name. It just looks so much like blowjob. He can’t even get past it. Surfline Man knows he should be better than this. But he’s totally not. 

Then Surfline Man has an idea. He should get fit the old-fashioned way. Go to the gym, and pump some iron. Surfline Man is going to get pumped up! Just like Arnold! He’s going to put on his lululemon and go to the gym, and get so jacked. He’s going to be so ready for the winter swells. 

Flipping through his phone, Surfline Man finds a gym. He squeezes into his lululemon and realizes that in fact, his fitness plan is just a little overdue. Even more determined than ever, Surfline Man fills his newest Hydroflask and grabs an organic food bar. 

Then Surfline Man realizes that he has no idea what to do at a gym. 

Back to the internet. Surfline Man plops down on the couch and pops open his laptop. Core work-outs. He’s pretty sure core strength is super important for surfing the big winter swells. Only Google can save him. 

Men’s Health. That sounds right. He is a man, and he is really into his health right now. Surfline Man feels like he is getting closer. The internet totally gets him.

25 Best Ab Work-Outs. Surfline Man is shocked. 25! That is so many ab work-outs. He had no idea that getting pumped up was so complicated. Arnold made it all sound so easy. Surfline Man feels like he has so much to learn. This whole fitness thing has more moving parts than the perfect cutback. 

Just then his phone buzzes. 

meeting up for beers later

wanna join?

nah i’m trying to cut back

gotta get fit for winter

getting on the whoop program and all

whoa badass

good luck with all that

Surfline Man is motivated. Look at him, skipping beers, making good choices! 

But he has to confess that he did not expect there to be 25 ab work-outs. He is going to have to study hard before he goes to the gym. Surfline Man does not want to look like a full-on amateur kook at the gym. That would be so embarrassing like high school all over again. Surfline Man shudders. 

The winter swells are coming! Surfline Man has to do something! He can’t just sit here on the couch. He needs to be fit and strong and prepared to surf his new surfboard, that he hasn’t bought yet, that will definitely have the most rocker. 

What in the world is he going to do now? Definitely, he is not prepared for the gym. 

Running. Surfline Man figures anyone can go running. With renewed motivation, Surfline Man bounds off the couch. Something in his hip or maybe his knee goes pop. Damn, he really does need to exercise. Well, he’s going to do that right now. He is so going to crush this run. 

Surfline Man rummages around in his closet for a pair of shoes. He really doesn’t have any shoes for running or going to the gym. Mentally, he adds shoes to his shopping list. He’s pretty sure his new besties at Men’s Health can help him solve this dilemma. 

Surfline Man unearths a pair of broken-in Vans. They don’t exactly scream athlete, but Surfline Man knows he has to start somewhere. He laces them up, and straps his phone to his arm. Playlist, baby! Surfline Man doesn’t know much about running, but he’s pretty sure he needs the right playlist to make it happen.

On the way out, Surfline Man grabs an old Vans hat and slaps it on his head. Surfline Man feels so good now. He likes his brands to match. He wonders if Vans makes work-out clothes. That would be so cool. Turning his Vans hat backwards, Surfline Man is so ready now. 

Out the front door, into the bright fall sunlight, Surfline Man bounds down the sidewalk toward the ocean. He’s going running and he’s going to run straight down to the beach. 

Surfline Man feels so free! He’s pretty sure he’s going to get this fitness thing dialed in no time at all. 

Then he remembers. Running hurts. It hurts so much. Surfline Man is pretty sure he’s been running for like, an hour already. The beach does not look any closer than it did when he left his driveway. His legs feel totally broken. And his lungs! His lungs, they burn! They burn so much. 

It’s really hard to breath right now and Surfline Man is pretty sure he is going to pass out right here on the sidewalk in Cardiff, not that far — but still way too far away — from the beach. 

Surfline Man catches sight of himself in a store window. He looks sweaty and disheveled and not even cool at all. 

His side! It’s so cramped right now! 

Surfline Man wants to lie down on the sidewalk. He’s pretty sure running was not his best idea ever. Clearly, he needs to prepare more carefully before attempting more fitness stuff. Surfline Man is certain the right shoes will totally help. 

Surfline Man turns around and heads home. It turns out that he has not traveled super far at all. He refuses to be depressed by his lack of progress. Surfline Man caught a wave at Malibu! He is pretty sure he can totally figure out how to get fit in time for the winter swells. 

Back home, Surfline Man bops into the kitchen. He doesn’t know much about fitness, at least not yet. But he does know that it’s very important to eat protein after a hard work-out. He nearly passed out on the sidewalk, so he’s pretty sure his run counts.

Digging around in his pantry, Surfline Man finds a half-forgotten canister of whey protein. He throws a healthy dose of protein in the blender. Then he adds kale, almond milk, peanut butter, blueberries, and a banana. All his favorite things! Surfline Man is eating so healthy now. 

Surfline Man kicks off his shoes, and heads back to the couch. He puts up his legs, which he’s pretty sure is important for recovery. He can’t even wait to figure out how to do fitness right. 

Surfline Man opens his laptop. The 21 Best Running Shoes for 2021. Yes! This is exactly what he needs. Surfline Man is going totally going to crush at running now!

His phone buzzes. 


Surfline Man flips over to Surfline and quickly scans the text. Solid NW headed straight for the California coast. 

A winter swell! Surfline Man suddenly feels light-headed. He takes a deep breath. He’s like so close to passing out on his couch and drowning in his protein smoothie. 

Seven days! Surfline Man only has seven days to get fit for the first swell of the winter. He doesn’t even know how he’s going to do it. And, he needs to find a new step-up surfboard with so much rocker. 

Surfline Man has way too much to do. Surfing is so important to him. It’s completely vital that he is totally ready the day the big swell arrives. He opens Google Calendar and marks the date. 

On a mission, Surfline Man heads out to the Sprinter.

He must get to the surf shop right away. He needs a step-up and he needs it right now. He only has seven days until the first big swell of the winter!

Surfline Man has no time to lose!

(Apologies for reconstituted photo. Better ones coming from Monster of Surf Photography Pat Stacy.

Surf Journalist takes brief detour on the road to fight greatness, re-visits Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch to face other erstwhile nemesis, fix kinks in surf game!

All Gogganses beware.

As you know, this weekend found me awash in ill-deserved wave at Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch there in Lemoore, California’s cow stink. I was supposed to be training for the greatest trilogy fight of the decade, running, squatting, pushing up, rolling around in pajamas on a squishy mat suffocated, but opportunity knocked and I simply had to re-face the machine that once brought me low, ripping my left arm from its socket as easy as a glance from Ritchie Vas.

That Plow.

Two days of surf were on hand, two heats per day, and while surfing has not registered as an “activity” on my WHOOP strap (buy here, use BeachGrit code for much savings), I wondered if technological advancements might create fitness, revenge, improved surf style and all knitted together.

A triptych of triumph.

Now, for clarity’s sake, Surf Ranch runs the day by slotting guests into one hour heats, with each guest typically surfing two heats a day, pre and post lunch. During Surf Journalist Day, some three years ago, the heats featured four or five surfers and waves were as precious as Jonah Hill.

I surfed four before my shoulder was undone. Derek Rielly surfed maybe six. Maximum, seven. Chris Cote, could not have surfed more than eight as the absolute winner.

This weekend, my Saturday heats consisted of three people. One, wife. The other, friend who had not surfed in quite some time. Surf Ranch kicks out one right, followed by one left, every 4 to 5 minutes. That meant, roughly, 15 waves during the heat, five “priority” per person plus all the poaches* that could be stomached.

It was the first of the day, air in the low 60s, water in the low 60s, and people panicked for 4/3s even 5/4s booted and hooded. I had a secret weapon, a once-brined Billabong Furnace Comp 3/2 all black, and knew it would be plenty warm plus give me a flexibility advantage.

I was correct, surfed around nine, poorly as evidenced by thoughtful video review afterward, but surfed nine whole-ish waves nonetheless one more than Chris Cote.

Afterwards, in the wood paneled locker room, personalized wood paneled locker, below my gorgeously printed “Charles Smith” nametag, I checked the ever-clicked WHOOP app on my cellular smart device and it measured 13 on the strain meter for the activity.

Thirteen and wow.

Running three miles, pushing up intermittently, planking, pouring sweat, almost dying well over an hour registered me an 11.4.


Surfing in the regular ocean didn’t register as an “activity” at all but maybe kicked to six.

What sort of magic was this?

Surfing an artificial wave the key to a solid right hook followed by a quick jiujitsu somethingratherelse plus decent-adjacent wave twerk?

Ashton Goggans doubly smashed?

Hope sprang eternal, in my treacherous heart while I snacked on healthy nut-based snacks, drank healthy coconut pulps, waited for my second heat.

One o’clock pm, air mid-80s, water upper-60s. Poorly surfed, again, though top turn to down carve nodding at coming together. Ten plus waves. Strain 12-esque adjacent.

Kelly Slater had unlocked the secret to eternal viability (environmental not included).

After a fine dinner organic dinner, a delicious gluten-free breaded chicken business, I was beat. Fight beat. Truly and properly exhausted. Shoulders aching, neck unable to twist, torso never able to twist but now mostover.

Chased the exhaustion with late night In n Out, not gluten-free but mustard fried with chopped chilis plus cheese, across the street from hotel, the very same In n Out across the very same street that the very Alejandro Moreda lusted over and still beat.

Didn’t sleep much due physical pain and thank you, in advance, for your sympathy.

Except surfing the basin a fitness revelation.

Next morning, first heat, early morning, muscles aching, neck not moving. Water colder, air colder. Same three surfers, wife, Nova Scotian, me. Billabong Furnace Comp not faltering.

Twelve waves poorly surfed.

Strain 11.

Last heat, a super one with twenty extra minutes tacked on to traditional sixty, only wife and I, Nova Scotian being relegated to another heat, nearly unheard of in the annals of Surf Ranching.

She a goofy, I regular.

She took all the lefts save the ones I poached. I took all the rights save the ones she poached.

The wind was blowing south, a rare occurrence, opening up the barrel for her and she becoming barreled while I got blown out the back on poached lefts, attempting Andy Irons off the lip.

I worked on turns, poorly, but countless waves surfed, poorly, but surfed nonetheless, a number of waves I can’t even remember to this moment not even caring. Only thinking about form, head, arms, unmovable neck, rotten torso.


Not hundreds, a mathematical impossibility, but hundreds-adjacent.

At the end of that super heat, back in front of my “Charles Smith” locker, I re-checked WHOOP.

9.4 strain and after hundreds of waves.

Dropping precipitously from its initial glorious heights.

And it was then that I realized, familiarity breeds conceit. The heart paranoid and striving, the heart that beats fear of failure, is the heart that pushes strain, and thereby fitness gains, and a person to the next level.

Once any odd thing is encapsulated as a known it dips, dips, then dips some more.

Keeping paranoid is what keeps us progressing.

I’m actually ready to fight, to enter the paranoid fresh wasted.

Rolling etc.

All Gogganses beware.