Life would never be the same again, he knew that.

What a rich history the German city of Munich has. If we swing back to November 1923, we would find a very young Adolf Hitler, a baby-ish thirty-four, and thousands of his fellow national socialists raising hell, killing cops etc.

All the gang was there. Göring. Hess. And so on.

Hitler was found guilty of treason and sent to the can for five years where he would write the best-seller Mein Kampf, Chas Smith’s inspiration, ninety years later, for an issue of Stab.

Five years after Hitler’s release, the nat socialists then embarked on an ambitious program to rule the world while ceding the Pacific, including Australia and the USA, to the Japanese Empire.

It ended with a bang etc.

In this short clip, taken from the Eisbach’s Rapid Jam held on July 28, a naked man attempts to dance down a rail into the water, and into considerable glory, but a horrible slip, suggesting terrific damage to gonads, ensures a wild response from spectators and competitors. 

 

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Did you know the joint is crowded? That localism is a thing? That Kelly Slater got told to go home by an arch local known as the House Meister? And so on?

And have you ever wondered what it be like to have your balls sliced off by a medical pro? Here’s a short story in the style of Ernest Hemingway about a man, a doctor and a knife.

He stood there in the stark white room, the cold linoleum floor beneath his bare feet. The light was harsh, unforgiving, casting sharp shadows on the walls. There was no need for words; the doctor’s eyes said it all. This was it. This was the moment he had dreaded, the moment he had fought against in his mind, but now it was real, and there was no turning back.

He thought back to the days before, to the days of youth and virility, when life was a dance of endless possibilities. He had felt invincible then, with dreams of conquest and glory in his heart. But life had a way of humbling a man, of bringing him to his knees, and now he stood there, stripped of his former self, ready to face the blade.

The doctor moved closer, his face expressionless, his hands steady. He had performed this procedure countless times before, and to him, it was just another day at the office. But to the man standing there, it was everything. It was a loss of identity, of purpose, of what it meant to be a man.

He closed his eyes, trying to summon the courage to go through with it. He thought of his loved ones, of the woman he had left behind, of the children he had never had. Would they understand? Would they still love him, accept him, with this part of him taken away?

The room seemed to close in on him, the walls pressing against his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the tremor in his hands. This was a choice he had made, he reminded himself. A choice to live, to survive, to escape the clutches of a disease that threatened to consume him.

The doctor’s voice cut through the silence, his words crisp and matter-of-fact. There was no room for sentimentality here, no time for second-guessing. It was time to face the truth, to confront the reality of his situation. He nodded, his throat dry, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.

And then it was done. The blade had done its work, and he was forever changed. He felt a strange mix of relief and emptiness, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders but had been replaced by an unfillable void.

He dressed silently, the doctor already moving on to the next patient, the next life to be altered. As he stepped out into the world, he felt a strange detachment from it all. The people on the streets seemed like ghosts, their voices distant and indistinct.

He walked, not knowing where he was going, not caring. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the pavement. He thought of all the other men who had faced the same choice, the same fate, and he felt a kinship with them, a brotherhood of sacrifice.

Life would never be the same again, he knew that. But as he walked into the fading light, he felt a glimmer of hope, a spark of something new. He was still a man, still a human being, and though a part of him was gone, he was still alive, still breathing, still fighting. And in the end, that was all that mattered.

“It was getting into my board and holding it up in the air…one of its pectoral fins hit me in the groin.”

You’ll remember last week’s Great White hit on a surfer at a joint called Boat Ramps, one of the better waves down there in Margaret River. 

Jack Frost, yeah real name, who’s twenty-four, was hit from below as per the White’s modus operandi, survived the blast and paddled to shore where he limped to a nearby cafe and an off-duty nurse stemmed the bleeding while he was driven to Margs hospital. His eight-one Gunther Rohn was belted to hell.

Ain’t no surprise, of course.

The Margaret River region is notorious for its booming Great White population although when world champion Brazilian surfers Italo Ferreira and Gabriel Medina refused to surf a CT even there in 2018 after two nearby attacks in one day, they were described as “weak and conniving” by the celebrated Western Australia author Tim Winton. 

“As someone who’s surfed all over the world and with the machismo and bravado of Brazilians in particular, I thought it was amazing how cowardly those guys were,” he said. “Look, not everybody wants to be in the water the day after two guys have failed the taste test around the corner, but I thought it was a really low act on behalf of those two guys…I just think  if you want to go swimming in a dead ocean, go to a pool, go to a wave pool. If you want to be part of something that’s alive, and that’s what surfing is to most of us, then you’ve gotta be prepared, you’re doing that in a living ecosystem. If you want to kill all the sharks you’re just going to kill the oceans. It’s one of the few places in the world where there are actually real waves.”

It’s since been revealed that SharkSmart’s tagged shark notifications had been offline since the previous Wednesday ‘cause of a tech fault, which is the achilles heel of the whole there’s-gotta-be-better-ways-to-keep-shark-attacks-down-than-culling-the-beasts. All it takes is one outage, no one knows what the hell is out there and boom.

Anyway, Swellnet’s Stu Nettle interviewed Frost, who’s originally from Great White HQ Ballina ironically, about the hit and found a man pretty nonplussed by the event, although his account of his existential battle to survive will raise the hairs.

“It’s hit me and I’ve done a kind of back flip off my board. Landed in the water and as I’ve surfaced, I’m thinking, ‘What the fuck was that?’ It was getting into my board and holding it up in the air. The shark was kind of across me, one of its pectoral fins hit me in the groin area… And then I ended up sort of spinning backwards. Kind of…what’s the word? Not manhandled, but shouldered by it. But I just figured I’m not going to roll over for it, so I moved onto its back and started punching its head a few times. That doesn’t really do much; it didn’t even flinch. But then I started punching it in the side towards the gills and I must have got one punch in where it’s touch sensitive and it just fucking shot down into the depths. It went quiet and then I got back on my board. Thank fuck my legrope wasn’t in its mouth.”

It’s a longer form Q and A but very much worth peeling a little time off for, as is the grainy video from Swellnet’s own cam.

Former WSL CEO Erik Logan's parting gift to the surf world!

I broke Amazon, and Chas made me do it. All I wanted to do was watch Surf Girls Hawai’i, a series recently released on Amazon Prime. Chas tried to lend his account to me, but he didn’t know the password. I am not judging. I forget passwords with reckless abansdon. In fact, I managed to lock two accounts at Amazon that I didn’t even know that I had. After much trial, I made it in. The world is mine.

About two years ago now, the women’s media platform Togethxr made a four-part film called Surf Girls Kaikaina. Owned by Alex Morgan, Chloe Kim, Simone Manuel, and Sue Bird, Togethxr has created a killer platform for women’s sports. Surf Girls Kaikaina painted a group portrait of teen surfer girls coming of age in Hawai’i, and focused on Hokulani Topping, Vaihitimahana Inso, Ēweleiʻula Wong, and Puamakamae DeSoto.

As the Surf Girls Kaikaina series progressed, it centered the girls’ Hawaiian culture and their efforts to find themselves both in and out of the water. Though contest surfing formed a piece of the story — Moana Jones and Carissa Moore both appeared — it was not foregrounded. Instead, director Monica Medellin centered the young womens relationships with surfing, the ocean, and their culture. The interviews, which took place in bedrooms and skateparks had a raw authenticity. It felt real.

So, I was excited to see a new version of the film appear with some fanfare and a release on a mainstream platform like Amazon Prime. The new version, renamed Surf Girls Hawai’i bears only a passing resemblance to its predecessor. Moana Jones receives top billing. Ēweleiʻula Wong and Puamakamae DeSoto reappear, while Brianne Cope and Maluhia Kinimaka join the cast. And while Medellin returns as director, the series receives a new executive producer.

I’m pretty sure you can see where this whole thing is headed. You are smart people. Have you already guessed the identity of the executive producer? Sure, you have. Of course, it’s Erik Logan, with one last parting gift. Without giving too much away, too soon, I have been forced to conclude that the man can not make good media. Like, at all.

The shift in vision is clear from the start.

Surf Girls Hawai’i puts contest surfing at the center of the story. The narrative arc becomes the effort to qualify for the Championship Tour and the stresses of competing. There’s a sequence devoted to training that predictably involves carrying rocks underwater. It’s like Ultimate Surfer got stuffed on a plane and flown to Hawai’i.

When the women involved have the opportunity to tell their stories, Surf Girls is at its best. But the interviews have lost their intimacy in favor of studio backdrops and professional makeup jobs. We learn about where the girls come from and how they learned to surf. The stories have a Hawaiian accent, sure, but the cultural connections are largely lost in favor of a kind of stock hard luck, long odds sports story-telling.

There’s nothing Hawaiian about the soundtrack either. With the exception of a brief bit of Moana playing ukulele, the scoring is mundane and unimaginative. The film now even sounds like Ultimate Surfer. It beats you over the head, like omg, isn’t this exciting?

Surf Girls Hawai’i plays like an extended advertisement for the WSL, and that’s almost certainly what Logan set out to make. In her original, Medellin trusted her material. She believed that this coming of age story about girls surfing in Hawai’i had something to tell us. There was less lip gloss and shine in Surf Girls Kaikaina, but far more authentic story-telling.

Watching Medellin’s original, I became invested in the girls involved, never mind their world rankings. And that’s the reality that kept intruding into the new version. The women in this film are young contest surfers who have a long — and maybe impossibly long — way go to to make it on Tour. After all, this isn’t the story of Sierra Kerr. Centering their heat surfing did the women in the film a disservice that I lay entirely at Logan’s door.

It takes a long time to get good at surfing, and an even longer time to get good at contest surfing. It requires a deep well of financial resources and a so, so many hours in good waves. Contest surfing is a painfully cruel business where only a small fraction of even the most talented surfers succeed. The best in the world are the best for a reason. No shade on anyone for not making it to the top level right away, or even ever.

What’s frustrating about Surf Girls Hawai’i is that it grew from a compelling concept. These women are plainly strong, engaging, and passionate characters. Tell me the story of these women, growing up in Hawai’i, finding their way in some of the world’s toughest lineups. Tell me about their fears, frustrations, and joys. Tell me about what it means to them to be Hawaiian and how their heritage shapes their relationship with the ocean and the wider world.

That’s the story Logan steamrollered in his desperate effort to sell contest surfing to the masses. And I think we all know by now, that they aren’t going to buy what he’s selling. The story that didn’t get told, that might have drawn people to follow these women and their journey, that might have shown the world something beautiful about women’s surfing and Hawai’i — I’m not sure he even saw that story and its value. And that’s a shame.

I really wanted to love this film. I got super stoked when I saw Togethxr promote it. I am a fan of what Togethxr is doing to elevate women’s sports and I couldn’t wait to see them wave their wand over women’s surfing. Medellin strikes me a talented film-maker and skilled interviewer. I look forward to seeing what she does next.

Too bad a spectacularly untalented man had to get in the way.