Local Costa Rican surf instructors band
together to fight greasy foreign horde!
By Chas Smith
A blood feud of sorts!
The noble profession of surf instruction is
coming under attack in Costa Rica. Central America’s famously
stable country, filled to the brim with yoga retreats, henna
stalls, murderous expats hiding from the law is, by all accounts, a
paradise. The perfect place for white girls to culturally
appropriate cornrows or chubsters to learn how to surf.
Herein lies a major malfunction.
Greasy foreigners from the United States, Australia and New
Zealand are backing packs, moving down and teaching wave sliding
thereby stealing ceviche from baby Tico mouths.
So rude.
But the locals have decided enough is enough. Per an exciting
new report, homegrown surf instructors are banding together to
fight the invading devils. Per The Tico
Times:
The movement, known as Surfistas Locales CR, is a
non-political and non-religious civil society initiative dedicated
to fighting for the employment rights of hundreds of Costa Rican
surf instructors. Comprising Costa Ricans, residents, and
naturalized citizens who adhere to all legal requirements for
employment, the movement aims to promote decent work that
contributes to the country’s development through compliance with
social security and tax regulations.
Representatives from popular coastal communities such as
Tamarindo, Negra, Hermosa, Avellanas, Guiones, Nosara, Santa
Teresa, Jacó, Dominical, Dominicalito, and Pavones have come
together under this initiative. The group of 87 instructors has
launched a vigorous campaign to expose and address the issue of
foreigners engaging in unauthorized surf instruction.
I hope the Surfistas Locales win both the battle and the
war.
Burn all foreign surf instructors.
Everywhere in the world.
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The profound importance of Surfer Dads
By Nathan Reza
"You pushed me in to it at just the right time. I
felt the momentum of the wave and was shocked by its immediate
power."
(Editor’s note: BeachGrit reader Nathan Reza
sent the letter, below, following the death of his surfer dad on
February 23. The kid wrote it as a high school project and, while
going through his dad’s possessions, discovered he’d kept it. Reza
asked if we might run the letter as a tribute to his old boy,
sorely missed etc. What can I say, I get a little misty when it
comes to kids, the passage of time, death.)
5:30am
“Do you still want to go?”
I’m not sure you realize how many times that question has played
in my head over the years, and how much I think of what my life
would have been if my answer was “no.”
The truth is, I really didn’t want to go. Watching Mad TV and
playing Super Nintendo all night had me exhausted, but I didn’t
want to disappoint you. The smell of chorizo burritos informed me
that you’d been up for a while getting ready, so there was no
turning back now. Saying “No,” I knew I would have regretted it the
rest of the day. I’ll never forget the artificial street lights in
the room, no sunlight yet. I was confused whether it was day or
night.
You had me go in to the garage and fetch the boards to put in
the back of your black Toyota pickup truck with the matching shell,
the one with the heart drawn on the top and our names in the
middle. It seemed like an easy job until I stepped outside barefoot
into subzero weather.
I’ll never forget the smell of dawn that early in the morning;
the fresh, dewy smell of the backyard as I made my way deeper in to
the garage. I remember the feel of dusty wax on the boards, caked
and black from sitting for years untouched. The boards we’d use
that day were broken, trashed, yellow, missing fins, and useless by
any standard. They were perfect. Then, I pulled out your miraculous
blue Bark Surfboards’ “Rhino Chaser” in perfect condition with
green fins. I threw them all in the back of the truck without a
care of knocking them into each other or the further damage I was
doing to them.
I remember church. The condition of letting us surf with you was
that we had to wake up for church first, the 6:30am service. Maybe
you thought that would deter us from pestering you about going.
However, the night before, when we finally made the deal to go
surfing, church seemed like a minor sidestep in what would be an
exciting day. After standing and sitting and kneeling and shaking
hands and faking going to the bathroom so I could step outside for
the readings, we left the church and greeted fellow parishioners
with small talk. The sun was fully out and the day once again had
promise for some kind of adventure.
Straight to the donut shop we went for your morning coffee and
our morning hot chocolate and donuts. This is when the adventure
really started. I never knew how fun it could be to lay in the back
of that Toyota with the boards. Laying on the carpet under the
boards, I was in my own little world, replaying the opening scene
of Big Wednesday in my head.
Up until that point, Ernie and I fought to the all the time for
that front seat, but thank God you made the verdict that he was
older and could have it. Laying under my surfboard fort, the smell
of old wax and resin went perfectly with my hot chocolate and
sprinkled donut. I remember the Skid Row tape we listen to on the
way to the beach. At the highest volume possible we blasted
18 and Life and Youth Gone Wild
on repeat until we were there. There’s not a time I listen to
either of those songs without thinking of this morning.
We got to the Liquor store on the corner of PCH and Seal Beach
Blvd. As we stepped out of the truck, the smell of fish from the
bait and tackle shop next door hit us. It’s a smell that takes me
back to this day. The fog was just beginning to rise. The navy ship
in between Seal and Sunset was just coming in to view. The liquor
store always had a huge box full of Sex Wax. I remember grabbing
one as fast as I could, the smell of it, putting in on the boards &
making the smell even more potent in the back of the truck. I
fuckin love that smell!
We got to the beach in no time. And before I knew it we were
standing in the jetty parking lot. The restaurant that stands today
was an old fish market, the bathrooms weren’t renovated, and there
was a peacefull quiet in the air. The fog came back down, making it
impossible to see more than twenty feet down the beach. This didn’t
seem to matter, and we headed along the rocks toward the ocean. No
wetsuit, no booties, just swim trunks and our boards.
I didn’t mention that I couldn’t feel my feet on the freezing
cold sand. The board was too wide for my arms, so I put it over my
head and threw my towel over my shoulders as you lead us down the
beach with your board under your arm and towel draped over your
board. I’d never felt so cool. The nervousness grew as we got
closer to the water, and I could only imagine how cold it was going
to be. You turned back and noticed my shivering. “The water is
warmer than the air, it’ll be fine.”
The tide was low, the wet sand was wide and the waves were
small. Nothing intimidating and nothing to be afraid of, but the
realization set in that I was actually going to do this. Terrified
and cold, I walked out to the one-foot waves and did everything I
could to get a wave, but couldn’t balance on the board to paddle
more than a couple feet. I lost interest fast and I got out and
played on the beach.
There were about six people on the beach getting ready to paddle
out, only they were going in to the “real jetty.” We were surfing
inside Crabs. I remember thinking to myself that they were crazy
for waking up this early, coming to this freezing beach, and
paddling in to the dense fog without knowing what was out
there.
After watching on the beach for about fifteen minutes, I saw
Ernie catch two white-water waves with you hooting from deeper
water; this didn’t sit well with me. I grabbed my board and ran
back in to the water. This time I got closer to you so you’d help
me out. A bigger set came in and knocked me over. This happened
another four times. I was audibly pissed at this point and ready to
give up again. I made my way to you. You grabbed my board and said
I needed to practice my duck dives, only you said it with the
Australian accent from the movie North Shore, trying to make me
laugh, but I wasn’t amused.
As another wave came, you pushed me in to it at just the right
time. I felt the momentum of the wave and was shocked by its
immediate power. I made my way to one knee, then the other, then to
my feet and caught it all the way to the beach. I’ll never be able
to accurately put that feeling in to words but it was the most
exciting feeling I’d ever had at this point in my life. I only got
that single wave that day, but it was enough to send me running and
jumping on the beach.
We got out and rinsed off in the longboarders’ area where there
was a hose and a wooden stand for the boards. The walk back didn’t
feel nearly as cold as the walk up. The dawn patrol guys were
rinsing off and talking about their waves.
“Did you get any today?” one asked. “Ya! I got to my feet and
rode all the way in!”
I’ll never forget you grin of happiness and pride when I looked
back at you.
I can’t tell you what we did when we got home, what we had for
dinner, or even what month or season it was. I remember every
second of getting dressed in the parking lot, packing our boards
back up and the ride home. That entire day was eclipsed by those
moments: Skid Row, the smell of wax and the feeling of being a
surfer for the first time.
That day has stayed with me my entire life, and is one of the
best memories I have.
I love you and I miss you.
Thank you Dad.
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“Distressing” video shows Orca killing
Great White in surprise attack!
By Giancarlo Guardascione
"When you’re underwater you can actually hear the
Great White ripping, and it sounds like Velcro being ripped
apart."
Tears yesterday after a heart-wrenching video did the
rounds of a beached Great White near where Queenslander Rob
Pedretti was killed by a Great White in 2020.
Again, tears are flowing after footage emerged of an Orca
destroying, I think is an appropriate description, a Great
White.
In an assault with more might and surprise than a US Navy SEAL
team stoppin’ by Bin Laden’s Islamabad compound at two am during
iftar, a grandma Orca has created the ultimate surfer snuff film by
cleaving a Great White shark in half.
This Orca resembles a famished Audrey II from Little Shop of
Horrors sprung from her clay pot and given a clear path to the
buffet line.
The shark is trolling the water almost listlessly (eerily
similar to how a
surfer would sit on his board waiting for a set wave) when the Orca
strikes.
Next scene is a piece of the Great White’s head in the Orca’s
mouth after her family has been served helpings.
Does it give a little thrill to watch the specter that haunts us
get mauled by its own method, the surprise attack?
A high school bully finally getting his ass kicked by that
silent giant who sits quietly in the back of the class
and just snaps one
day.
“When they come in after they’ve debilitated a shark, whether
that’s a ‘karate chop’ or ramming, then they tend to try and flip
it upside-down, and that induces tonic immobility, and then the
shark basically becomes catatonic, and it’ll just lie there,”
explains Doctor Ingrid Visser, who founded the Orca Research Trust
in 1998.
“And at that stage the Orca will come in, and they’ll typically
grab it from the pectoral fin, then they’ll give it a good shake —
viciously, violently, very, very hard — and when you’re underwater
you can actually hear the shark ripping, and it sounds like Velcro
being ripped apart.
“And then they’re going for the liver, and that’s the real thing
they’re targeting — it’s the liver that they’re after.”
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All eyes on surf great Kelly Slater as Fox
announces Baywatch reboot!
By Chas Smith
Jimmy Slade, is that you?
The world’s greatest surfer, Kelly Slater, is
far past his competitive prime. Oh, what he has achieved over the
course of a 45-year professional career, winning 11 championships,
an Eddie, 8 Pipe Masters etc. will likely never be eclipsed though,
like many athletes, he has hung on too long and as a still very
handsome 56-year-old will never win another heat.
What, then, should he do?
Rumors floated that he was angling to be coach of the U.S.
Olympic surf team over certain objections. But imagine him bobbing
in that channel boat, watching, Billy Stairmand et. al. thread
Teahupo’o, a wave he himself has conquered 5 times. Torture. It
would be a pure torture more excruciating than the Dune pain box or
getting stung on the
testicles by a scorpion.
What, then, else?
Slater watchers know that he needs the spotlight and so a quiet
fade into obscurity is not in the cards. Likewise, entering the
World Surf League booth would be a hefty step down, singing and
dancing for 15,000 fans. Moving full time to his new Abu Dhabi
facility might seem fun for a minute, and he would certainly be
feted, but as someone who has spent enough time in the United Arab
Emirates, the thrill quickly wears off.
Enter Fox.
The right-leaning television network has just announced that it
is bringing a reboot of the 90s hit Baywatch back to the small
screen.
Fox and Fremantle have tapped Lara Olsen (“Spinning Out”) to
serve as showrunner for the new “Baywatch,” which was originally
created by Michael Berk, Douglas Schwartz and Gregory J. Bonann.
Starring David Hasselhoff, “Baywatch” originally ran from 1989 to
1999 and then was retooled as “Baywatch: Hawaii” from 1999 to
2001.
Olsen, Berk, Bonann and Schwartz will serve as exec
producers on the one-hour drama, which comes from both Fremantle
and Fox Entertainment. Here’s the new logline: “Daring ocean
rescues, pristine beaches, and iconic red bathing suits are back,
along with a whole new generation of Baywatch lifeguards, who
navigate complicated, messy personal lives in this action-packed
reboot that demonstrates there’s the family you’re born into and
the family you find.”
Besides Hasselhoff, the show’s cast over the years included
Pamela Anderson, Yasmine Bleeth, Alexandra Paul, Erika Eleniak,
Nicole Eggert, Parker Stevenson and many others. Hasselhoff also
starred in a spinoff series, the private eye drama “Baywatch
Nights,” which aired from 1995 to 1997. “Baywatch” was a
syndication sensation, airing in more than 145 countries at one
point, more than any other TV show. The series’ PR company even
made up a stat, calling it the “No. 1 series in the world,” which
was then reprinted as fact in publications.
Left off the list of stars the show broke, one Kelly Slater, who
thrilled audiences with his turn as Jimmy Slade. Handsome,
brooding, sensitive and sexy, Slater was perfect in the role and a
reimagining of that character at 58 would be the perfect bookend to
a phenomenal career.
So good it feels destined.
Should we start an online petition demanding Slater’s
casting?
Those usually work really good.
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“Distressing” video shows Great White shark
dying after beaching itself near where surfer was attacked and
killed
By Derek Rielly
"One of the locals was chased in last night by a
big shark, then this shows up this morning…"
Four years back, Queensland surfer Rob Pedretti
died after being attacked by a ten-foot Great White shark at Salt
Beach, in front of popular holiday resorts Peppers Salt Resort
and Spa and Mantra on Salt, and forty miles north of
shark-attack hotspot Byron Bay.
Poor bastard had his leg ripped off in the jaws off a fired
up Great White. He did not survive the attack.
Soft, wintery day. You get a lot of them around here this
time of year.
Warm sun, high cloud drifting in. Clean babyfood with little
cats paws of wind ruffle on it. A fit wiry sixty year old would
think of nothing but enjoying a little shred.
Day before the attack was a dreamy day. Head-high sets
rifling down the bank. Moderate crowd. The water was stacked with
bait. Slivers of cut glass in the morning sun. A yellowtail
kingfish the size of a small pony swam straight past me. Crystal
clear water.
There’s no safety in that. We’ve learnt the published
guidelines on avoiding White shark attacks are straight up BS. They
like clear water, sunshine, small surf. The mistaken identity
theory was the first casualty. White sharks, we learnt, are curious
to aggressive.
What makes a looker, into a circler, into a bumper then a
biter we don’t know.
Neither will Rob Pedretti or his buddies that tried to drag
him in after the attack. The attack happened around ten
am.
Paramedics were there by 10.40. The police cat scrambled
from Tweed Heads, went out the bar, turned south, went past Fingal
headland, then Kingscliff creek and the rocky reefy corner of the
coast before it got to the open stretch of beach in front of a
series of resorts and a new suburb called Casuarina.
That took just under an hour. Rob was already gone by
then.
Under a blue sheet on the beach, soul hopefully transporting
to a more peaceful place.
Yesterday, on the same stretch of sand, a Great White shark, ten
feet or so, beached itself.
“A crazy site this morning down the road. Word has it one of the
locals was chased in last night by a big shark, then this shows up
this morning. We reckon potentially was chasing bait fish in close
through the gutter then beached itself. Never a nice site seeing
any animal washed up, even if it is a gnarly white!”
In one of the greater ironies, a rescue crew from the nearby Sea
World, itself a watery prison for marine mammals, tried to shove
the Great White back out to sea, eventually failing, must’ve been
sick etc.
The irony wasn’t lost on anyone.
Sea world “rescue” crews. Meanwhile keeping countless
animals in captivity..
And forcing dolphins to work for treats, pimping them out
for their “animal adventures” where people pay hundreds to swim
with them.
Obvious questions, I suppose: are you distressed by the vision
of the Great White in the paws of the tractor or are you of the
mind that a fish if a fish ergo what’s the prob?