When he was paddling in after the attack he thought, “If I lose my leg I’m getting a prosthetic like Mike Coots so I can surf again.”

A wild old tale of survival in the news this morn after a fifty-year-old surfer survived a shark attack by giving the animal hell and jamming his fingers into its nostrils. 

Kevin Kanehe was surfing at Hanalei Bay, yeah the same joint that Andy and Bruce owned in the early 2000’s, when the shark, a fifteen-foot tiger, hit him on the leg. 

According to an account posted on his GoFundMe page, 31k of 75k raised ‘cause this is the US and ain’t no government gonna pull you outta your hole shark attack or not,

“He was paddling for a wave, sat up on his board to turn around and got hit hard from the left side. People that saw it have guessed 12-15 foot tiger shark. 

“The jaws grabbed ahold of his left leg and Kevin used his hands to try to lift it off, one of his fingers went in its nostrils and then it let go. Later the doctor said if it had clamped down and completed the bite he would have lost his leg

“Kevin paddled in with the help of Jeff McBride.”

On the beach a gal had a tourniquet and bandages to staunch the flow of claret. 

“The bite went to the bone above and below his knee, taking some chips off his femur, knee cap and tibia. He his knee was torn up pretty bad and into his joint too.There is still concern for infection.

“Dr. Ravinsky did a great job with the surgery to repair all he could with what was still there but Some muscle tissue was lost. His right hand ring and pinky fingers were sliced open and tendons cut. He will have surgery today to repair.

“He will remain in the hospital and the recovery will be tough, Doctor says maybe a year before full recovery.

“Everyone has said how calm Kevin was throughout it all. His state of mind is good and he remembers every detail and thought he had.

“I can’t believe when he was paddling in moments after it happened his thought was, “If I lose my leg I’m going to get a prosthetic like Mike Coots so I can surf again.”

The Hanalei attack has echoes of the Great White hit on Toby Begg at Port Macquarie a couple of months back. 

Begg was dragged so far underwater it went dark and he thought he was going to drown. He was only able to swim for the surface after his foot ripped off at the ankle. 

Back on the surface, the White hit him again, Begg scrunching into a ball, which would save his life, but causing his leg to take most of the impact.

“Then he was on the surface punching it in the head for ages,” said our source in Port Mac. “Both his hands were balloons from hitting it. After 30 seconds it let go and he started paddling in. It’d severed the femoral artery in his leg and the only thing that saved him was there was a doctor and emergency room nurse walking on the beach (separately who didn’t know each other).”

Lesson? Hit the cunts and pray for a medico on the beach.

It feels like the first week of school. New boards, new outfits. How was your summer? Go anywhere good?

The other day, I saw the Barbie Wavestorm for the very first time. It was just out there in the ocean, riding waves like it was meant to be.

I wasn’t even at Malibu, where I might expect to see such a Barbie Wavestorm in its natural habitat. I’m sure you will not be surprised to learn that the Barbie Wavestorm is very pink.

The whole thing felt like a portent of some kind, though I’m not at all sure what it was trying to tell me. Reading the signs is not my strong suit. El Niño is coming. The typhoon is recurving. The moon briefly and incompletely eclipsed the sun.

If there’s meaning in the chaos, I haven’t found it yet.

A few weeks ago now, I walked down the trail at Rincon for the first time this fall. The warm, dry days feel magical after the summer’s relentless marine layer, and the waves sparkle under the dropping sun angle. Winter’s coming. But first, there’s these bright, golden days to savor.

Got any wax? A guy with a board of indeterminate age stops on his walk up the cobbles. I toss him a bar. He rubs wax on the deck in a desultory kind of way, and tosses what’s left of the block back to me. It’s covered in sand. Of course, it is. A pair of loose boards bump against the rocks on the inside. The sun’s out and all the characters are here.

A man wearing a spring suit, exuberant with tattoos, rides an 88 on his butt a long way down the line. No one drops in on him. They just sit back and let it happen. He walks back up the beach, carrying his board with its helpful carrying handle. Apparently, paddling isn’t cool now. Surfing has become its own worst enemy. Maybe it always was.

It feels like the first week of school. New boards, new outfits. How was your summer? Go anywhere good? There’s novelty in being here after the long summer. It all wears off far too quickly.

Good waves are coming. That’s the lie the forecasts tell us. Anticipation feels so sweet, but I’ll confess that I’ve run straight past it to impatience. At the coffee shop where I’m supposed to be writing, I daydream about riding waves like a kid stuck in school. Some things don’t really ever change.

At a nearby table, a girl eats Cup Noodles. I picture Trestles and millionaire pro surfers with their entourages. I imagine a Sprinter stocked with Cup Noodles. The joke fails. An avocado sponsor or a sourdough starter, now that’s synergy.

I paddle into a mirror one afternoon. The water shines with promise and small waves crease the surface. A rabid crew has descended on it like seagulls on a bag of chips. Hassle and shove, gotta get your share. A dude tells me how he and a friend are heading to Santa Cruz to get some real waves over the coming weekend. I wish him luck.

In the dry days of fall, I can’t imagine he’s the only one with that idea. The sun sets in a golden fury.

Another day, more windswell. It looks much better than it surfs. I run into a friend and we laugh at how bad it is. Rails sink into quicksand. We stand frozen, boards stalled, in the most ridiculous positions. Oh yeah, you think you can surf? There’s a lot of talk about he tide and boards, a sure sign the waves are bad.

A guy on a fish relentlessly snakes everyone. Angry words fly his way, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s on his own mission, living his best life. I hear him tell his friend about his house nearby. He lives here, you know. He can do what he wants. I’ve never seen him before, but I’m not about to argue.

The forecasts taunt us, and the clock ticks down on the winter’s first swell. Are you ready? The lineup vibrates with anxiety. Gotta practice. Gotta get ready. Just one more — as though a few waves on a mediocre day will transform their surfing forever.

I admire the optimism. I scoop up a neglected corner. When I stand up, my leash coils like a snake under my backfoot. It’s all going according to plan.

Later I sit on the curb in the sun and eat ice cream dipped chocolate. Ice cream understands. Who needs surfing, anyway. A dog sits in the driver’s seat of a VW van. He’s ready to go. Where is everyone?

In the afternoon glimmer, I surf the incoming tide. My leash miraculously stays out of the way where it belongs. There’s no hype today, no striving, just a few little peaks. I turn on a cute section and then find another. Dance like no one’s watching, because in truth, no one is.

The sun falls. I tuck my board under my arm and walk down the point. Fall’s deep shadows stretch across the trail. A warm wind funnels through the canyon and carries away our secrets. Sunken rails and tangled leashes, they’re all forgotten now. I drive home in the fading light, windows open to the fast-cooling breeze.

Maybe this surfing thing is alright after all.

“I wish I could download my brain,” says Slater.

Ain’t nobody cleaner in sports than Kelly Slater, fifty-one, oldest, youngest-ever world champ, eleven tiaras balanced upon on his satin-skinned head. 

It came as a surprise, therefore, when an old interview that appeared in Montauk-based magazine Whalebone five years ago, Kelly and Bill Murray back and forthing while in a golf-cart together, suddenly started doin’ the rounds again. 

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Whalebone (@whalebonemagazine)

Yesterday Slater posted,

“What percentage of people have @williammurrarygolf on their list of dream foursomes? I’ve had the pleasure of playing golf and spending time with this legendary greenskeeper a few times.

“Bill never disappoints. Here he is telling me about his first ever surf experience in Bali in 1980 when he quit SNL then ultimately found himself in G-Land with some familiar surf names.”

Better than that.

In their exchanges, Murray takes Slater on a tour of some hitherto unknown ports, including the fatal curse of eighties cult-comedy Caddyshack and the wild life of the long-dead comic Rodney Dangerfield. 

“There were a lot of fun people in (Caddyshack). That was a lot of fun. We lost some people on that,” says Murray.

“What do you mean?” says Slater.

“We lost some people, some good people never were the same after that. It’s so funny when you’re with Rodney… he was wild,” says Murray. 

“Rodney was wild huh?” says Kelly.

“Poppers and blow,” says Murray.

“Jesus Christ,” says Kelly. 

Later, Kelly tells Murray of his wish to examine the contents of his brain. 

Murray: You’ve probably seen, probably just so many amazing things in the ocean.

Slater: Yeah.

Murray: Many of which you were unable to document, right?

Slater: Yeah, I wish I could download my brain.

Murray: You know you could probably do a picture book. You could probably have someone draw it, ya know? You could have someone illustrate it, just from you telling them what it was, ya know?

Slater: Well I’ve read that they’re coming up with this technology that can go in and see your visions or something and take a picture of it and put it into a holograph. Your brain is a holograph, just thoughts in your head, so nothing is the storage of anything solid… it’s just a thought really. Weird.

Murray: Did you read this, that they discovered the largest organ in the body and they didn’t even know it existed?

Slater: No! Really?

Murray Yeah it’s just a interconnected, like a chain that goes through everything, it passes through everything.

Read the whole damn thing here.