Hollywood heartthrob Chris Hemsworth proves
old chestnut “handsome surfers have more fun” in scintillating surf
clip!
By Chas Smith
Hammer of the gods.
The drums, man. I can’t get the drum out of my
head. Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. Drums and chanting
and swaying, sweat dripping into my eyes, hands clapping and more
swaying. Water spirits and fruit and blood. White, everything is
white. Getting closer to some truth, irmão, boom, boom, boom but is
it the truth I came to Brazil to find?
Former World Surf League CEO Erik Logan.
Where, why?
You know that he was viciously and brutally disappeared by his
masters when the tour rolled into Rio de Janeiro some two months
ago.
“Today, the World Surf League (WSL) announced that CEO Erik
Logan has departed the company, effective immediately.”
No “thanks for service,” no “we wish him the best in his future
endeavors.”
Nothing.
Logan, who had elevated himself higher than any previous World
Surf League CEO by making himself the face of the brand, had
vanished. No more of his daily social media to-camera messages
“taking us behind the scenes.” Zero posts wearing the skin of
Brazilian surfers.
Boom, boom, boom.
Where did he go and why did he go?
Before flying to Atlanta to São Paulo to Salvador, before coming
to the “scene,” I had exhausted every lead. The World Surf League,
usually a leak factory, had tightened the screws. Chief Strategist
Dave Prodan had traded the last bit of his soul to billionaire Dirk
Ziff for a podcast. Nobody knew nothing and yet I continued to beat
the streets, asking anyone and everyone.
I asked surfing’s great historian Matt Warshaw if he had any
thoughts.
“Stupid,” he responded in the recent aftermath, “but at least
twice I was struck my how handsome he is.”
Boom.
There’s something there, companheiro. Some deeper truth that
didn’t settle in until I came to Brazil and was drawn to its voodoo
state, drums growing louder. Logan came to us a chubby nerd. He
left us a sexy cocaine
cowboy.
Handsome surfers have more fun. We all know this and have known
it and if you have pretended not to notice, well, that’s on
you.
Shaun Tomson, Kelly Slater, Gabriel Medina, Andy Irons, CJ
Hobgood, Tom Curren, Martin Potter… find me any ugly star and I’ll
tell you right here, right now, everything I know.*
Handsome surfers have more fun and as if to hammer the point
home, examine Hollywood heartthrob Chris Hemsworth beating the hell
out of a Swiss tank with wicked cutbacks and a devil-may-care
flare.
There’s a tie to Logan’s peacock turn, his wild good times, his
sudden erasure.
Fun.
What kind of fun?
Boom, boom, boom.
Going deeper, destruidor de corações.
Arriving at The Truth.
*Mark Occhilupo and Adriano de Souza excluded.
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Big TC, second from right, and pretty as a
summer plum Noa Deane at left.
Surf music fans left reeling as Skegss
creative force and “Rage” founder Toby Cregan flees band for health
reasons
By Derek Rielly
"I want a simpler more wholesome life where I can
spend more time with family, friends and my dog."
The music world is a little poorer tonight after Toby Cregan,
the wildly charismatic bass player and singer with Skegss, the
Australian surf-centric act which was co-founded by Noa Deane,
played his last-ever gig with the band.
Toby Cregan, who is the son of Ocean and Earth founder Brian
Cregan, said he was throwing the four-stringer in the garage to
“live a simpler more wholesome life where I can spend more time
with family, friends and my dog.”
Skegss, if you didn’t know, was founded in Byron Bay in 2014 by
Cregan, Deane, lead singer and legit shredder Ben Reed and Jonny
Lani. Deane quit soon after ‘cause he wanted to concentrate on his
lucrative surf career, back then he was on 650k a year and oowee he
wasn’t gonna throw that whale back, but not before the
band released their breakout single LSD, an ode to the simplicity
of existence, Live, Sleep, Die.
In 2018, the band poured their cash into self-recording their
first long-player, My Own Mess, fifteen bangers that captured Byron
living, the boozing, drugs, surf life and so on.
Toby said goodbye to fans at Byron’s Splendour in the Grass,
winding up his nine years on the road with, appropriately, his
self-penned and performed classic Road Trip.
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Kelly Slater launches hydra-headed
fusillade against Brazilian surf fans for ongoing vitriol against
besieged Olympian Ethan Ewing!
By Derek Rielly
“Ethan is an incredible surfer and your rant
against him and me changes nothing, it just makes your country and
fans look bad.”
Two months ago at the Surf Ranch Pro, Brazilian surf fans
were left in tears afterGabriel Medina’s shock
quarter-final loss to Australian Ethan Ewing and Italo
Ferreira’s defeat in the final against Griff Colapinto. One fan was
so sad he promised a gruesome public death should Ewing ever visit
the South American nation.
“One day, you will compete here in Brazil and us will remember
you. Get ready,” André Guideline wrote in a DM to Ewing. “I’m
saying again, here in Brazil, we will kill you. Saquarema will be
your funeral.”
Ethan posted the DMs with the note, “How good are surfing
fans!”
Biz as usual, of course.
You’ll remember the sad Brazilian faces, of course, when Griffin
Colapinto beat Filipe Toledo in El Salvador last year.
Now, in response to Brazilian surf fans ripping on ol Ethan on
the World Surf League’s Instagram account, the eleven-time world
champ Kelly Slater has come to the Australian’s defence with a
series of impassioned comments.
@ceniovictor who writes, “Ethan is a regular surfer who only
surfs the edge, he doesn’t know how to do radical manoeuvres or
progressive surf. He only has that score because the WSL chooses a
surfer to try to push down his threat, but he is nothing more than
a surfer that we see in the thousands in free surfing”
To which Kelly Slater, who carries an army of K-Fans in the
millions, replies, “Do you surf? It’s insane to hear a few
Brazilian fans try and say this about Ethan, probably the best and
cleanest power surfer on tour today.”
@ceniovictor’s response,
“maybe you need to review your concepts, and see the real surf
revolution that were made by brazilians. I know this must hurt deep
down in your soul every day, not just for you but for all gringos.
you should just pay homage to the surf revolution made by
brazilians. that simple. a young man who surfs today doesn’t want
to imitate you surfing, let alone Ethan. they want to be and surf
like Medina, Italo, Chianca and mainly Toledo. this will hurt your
soul for years to come. sorry brother. and finally, as for Ethan
surfing, it reminds me of surfing in the 90s. there is absolutely
nothing there but you guys overestimating the average surfer. good
night brow.”
Slater quickly hit back,
“Congratulations on proving my point. I made no bad mention
about any of these surfers (who I think are all incredible and
evolving the sport). Yes, I think Ethan and Medina had a close heat
and that Ethan won. I thought Italo should have won the final v
Griffin. You do realise I’m friends with all these guys right? I’m
proud of where surfing is and this is not a nationalistic opinion
for me. Filipe just surfed a couple of waves as good as I’ve ever
seen this past week. Surfing is in a good place and I’m proud I’ve
been a part of it for a few decades. Time waits for no man and
sport and abilities evolve everywhere. Don’t be so insecure you
can’t have to attack me. Ethan is an incredible surfer and your
rant against him and me changes nothing, it just makes your country
and fans look bad.”
(@ohi_marketing writes, @kellyslater, ok old man, shut
pls.)
Slater pivots, howevs, when one fan, @cams_consciosness, brings
up a conspiracy theory that forces humans into “this indentured
servitude human farm.”
“@kellyslater so lost
in nationalism that many are not even consciously aware of the
words coming out of their mouths and the thoughts out of their
minds. Just another program. Nationalism is a form of enslavement.
Simply more division. These are temporary human avatars for our
light bodies. Our light bodies all look the same. People get so
caught up in these avatars. Even more so now with social media. By
design. They want us locked in the sacrum low frequency that is
Primal and tribal. So that we hate one another. Instead we should
love one another. We should be able to travel freely without a
passport. I could go on and on when you start talking about exotic
Technologies which have been secretly kept hidden from us in order
to keep us in this indentured servitude human farm. Look into the
invention secrecy Act of 1951. Lockheed Skunk Works perfected
radiant energy acquisition technology which would have gotten rid
of all other Energy Technologies in October of 1954.
That’s only one of them. That alone would completely change our
civilization. We need to awaken our consciousness and the Kundalini
serpent within us to come up the 33° of the vertebrae to the
hypothalamus and then opening the pineal gland to awaken dormant
brain cells to enlightenment. When that day comes, division will be
gone.”
Slater replies,
“@cams_consciousness, sometimes you lose me and sometimes I’m
right there with your comments. Locked in on this.”
Dicky Metz, now ninety-four, is the sexy as
hell Laguna surfer who inspired the groundbreaking surf movie The
Endless Summer.
The wild true story of how a sexy Laguna
Beach surfer inspired The Endless Summer and its search for the
mythical Perfect Wave!
By Chas Smith
The discovery of Cape St. Francis is only one of
his epic stories. My first thought was, “How have I never heard of
this guy?”
We surfers, we players upon the seas, are, at our worst,
Instagram-loving kook heads craving attention and affirmation from
other Instagram-loving kook heads in a vicious, empty void
where our stomach is our god and our glory is our shame.
At our best, though, we are gallant adventurers. Original
explorers of exotic, far-flung lands that we brave hell and high
water to reach. Tropical disease-ridden, spoiled stomach aching,
impoverished, exhausted beyond exhausted yet still driven. Caring
not for fortune or fame but the simple, momentary joy of sliding
down a wave for that very first time.
The Endless Summer, the 1966 Bruce Brown masterpiece which
captured the very best of the surf travel life. Mike Hynson and
Robert August, flying here, motoring there in search of the perfect
wave until they stumbled upon it in Cape St. Francis, South
Africa.
Iconic.
But did you know that an American man had surfed the break years
before Brown and crew’s indelible discovery?
A man who was decidedly not an Instagram-loving kook head,
caring nothing for the praise of strangers, who was content merely
to experience what he had experienced?
A man named Dick Metz.
“I first heard of Dick Metz,” Richard Yelland tells me over the
sound of jackhammers and taxi blasts in New York City, “from my
lifeguard buddies in Laguna Beach. I worked as a lifeguard there
and those watermen really do a great job of keeping the legends and
the stories alive. Stories of pioneers, people who did it first.
Dick’s name popped up early and was almost always included but I
didn’t really know know his story until 12 Miles North.”
Yelland, a filmmaker from Laguna who directed the award-winning
documentary 12 Miles North about the life of Nick Gabeldon, the
first African-American surfer who made a name for himself at Malibu
in those early halcyon years. His latest, Birth of The Endless
Summer, follows Dick Metz, now 90, back to Cape St. Francis.
“So, I was reintroduced to Dick because he was an expert on
1950s Malibu. He was the only guy still alive who was old enough to
really be there for it. I interviewed him a lot, heard his stories
and began tying in what I had heard from the lifeguards and
basically figured out that he had been to Cape St. Francis before
Bruce Brown.
“Now, when Bruce died and so many people were writing tributes
about what The Endless Summer meant to them, how it had impacted
them, it made me re-realize what a powerful film it was. Surfing
was pretty divided when Brown died, I mean, it still is, but The
Endless Summer bonded everyone so I decided to revisit it with
Dick. He told me the entire story and I understood how huge it was
and now I had to make this film.”
Oh but you must watch the film to see the details, to understand
how and why a young California surfer took off on a three-year surf
tour, one of many, that circled the globe. How he discovered the
“perfect wave” and what he did with it.
I was exceptionally curious about what Dick felt today. Bitter
that Bruce Brown and cast got all the credit? The attention and
affirmation? Holed up in a dark room doing squats and dips while
staring at his picture vowing revenge?
“Dick never felt ripped off at all by The Endless Summer,”
Yelland laughs between bites of whatever delicious New York street
delicacy he had ordered. “He is so in the moment. He never had any
designs on what was doing to happen. For him, he just didn’t want
to go east of the Pacific Coast Highway. Didn’t want to go to a job
that required lace-up shoes. I mean, those guys wrote the rules.
When he and Bruce Brown talked about it, Dick would just make it a
joke. Claiming is such a construct of our modern surf culture
because some of us are trying to make it a living. Brown struggled
immensely trying to get The Endless Summer distributed in those
early days. Had to mortgage his house, play to sold out auditoriums
in snow-bound Iowa in order for the studios to pay attention. It
was crazy hard work. Dick Metz, on the other hand, never envisioned
a career in surfing. He was just doing it because that’s what he
loved.”
And what a lesson for these look-at-me look-at-me times. But is
it resonating? Are kids watching Birth of The Endless Summer today?
Is there anything even left to explore today?
“I know for sure there’s tons to explore and also how to
explore,” Yelland raises his voice to reach above a garbage truck
rumbling down the street. “If you’re going to places to blow up
your Insta… that’s now what it’s about. It’s about getting lost.
The world is so much smaller now, you can get anywhere, so how much
do you have in terms of hunger? I’ll say this, the young people who
have come to the show have loved it. There’s a connection between
generations, somehow. They’ll come and watch the film then stick
around for an hour to hear Metz talk then stick around for another
two hours to get him to sign a poster. There’s an analog nature
that is getting passed along.”
Which brings us back to Dick Metz himself. The first time I’d
ever heard his name was from David Lee Scales. This discovery of
Cape St. Francis is only one of the wild Dick Metz stories out
there. When David Lee Scales told me about him, anyhow, my first
thought was, “How in the world have I never heard of this guy?” I
think this is true of everyone. Dick Metz getting passed from
person to person in a classic oral tradition. Now, with Yelland’s
film, the glories of adventure, of exploration, can spread like
fire.
But wait, there’s more.
The singular Jamie Brisick, award-winning author, professional
surfer, has written an accompanying book for the film.
Birth of The Endless Summer: A Surf
Odyssey is available now on Scribd and, of course, I
had to speak with surfing’s greatest living author as well, though
he was not in sexy New York City but rather… to be honest there
were no auditory clues. Malibu, I suppose.
But Brisick’s voice, warm and charming, needs no
enhancement.
“When Richard made the film he also made a deal to do a book and
approached me and at our first conversation, I realized I had to
write it,” he says. “I had to write it because I’ve become a much
better person by traveling. So much wrong with the world today is
that people aren’t exposed to other cultures.”
I asked if he had known of Dick Metz before working on the
project and what took his story so long to break out.
“I had,” he tells me, “but not that much about him. Just knew
vague details and why did it take so long? Maybe it’s the bouncy,
sprightly nature of Metz. He’s so unique, so lighter than air and
maybe as he’s gotten older it’s become easier to peg him down. Or
maybe his uniqueness, today, is just more obvious. I look back on
my own journey and, maybe early it seemed like it was about winning
surf contests but really it was about traveling. Gathering
experience. For me, when I first started, there was no email, no
social media. Phone calls were expensive and maybe every two weeks
you’d call home just to say, ‘Mom, I’m fine…’ then hang up. I was
immersed in that travel experience. Now people travel and it’s a
photo op. It breaks the dream and the spell. Dick Metz, his story,
is both dream and spell.”
“Our north star.” That’s how Richard Yelland describes Dick
Metz. Not just the man but how the man lived and why it
matters.
Why it matters now more than ever, damned Instagram-loving kook
heads.
Catch the film on 7/26 at Laemmle Santa Monica Film
Center.
Mortal terror ripples through Filipe
Toledo’s camp ahead of Tahiti Pro after revelation that Brazilians
have no idea who li’l lionhearted surfer is!
By Chas Smith
The horror, the horror.
Deeper, man. Losing myself then finding myself.
Horror and mortal terror becoming my friends. The bullshit coming
out of Santa Monica had piled up so high that I needed wings to
stay above it. I Had to leave. Had to come to the last place former
World Surf League CEO Erik Logan was before becoming brutally fired
then ruthlessly vanished.
I can smell what happened now. Like caipirinha in the
morning.
My idea of great r & r has become a cold cachaça-based cocktail
and warm acarajé com vatapa de inhame. The only ways home death, or
victory. And on that note, before we get to what Logan did, where
Logan is, I asked the rooftop bar staff at the iconic Hotel Fasano
if they knew anything at all about competitive professional surfing
at the highest level last night.
The World Surf League.
English is not universal, here, which shouldn’t surprise but did
and the two women plus four men scrunched their noses, repeating
“World Surf Leash?”
“Gabriel Medina?” I wondered and boom, they all broke into
smiles and wild hoots. Pumping fists, showing passion.
“Famoush!” one hollered.
Buoyed, I offered, “Italo Fereirra?”
“Ohhhhhh!” The celebration grew in both tone and intensity.
“Italo!”
On a roll, I dropped current world number one and champion
Filipe Toledo, expecting his gilded name to bring the house
absolutely down.
Spontaneous samba, vuvuzelas etc.
The celebration instantly stopped as they looked at each other,
passing the name “Filipe Toledo” around the circle, each time
accompanied by a light head shake, until it returned to me with a
“Filipe Toledo? Não sei.”
I was shocked and wondered how the King of Saquarema was not
known.