“What started as a surfing book became a story about whether an Obama speechwriter and a Joe Rogan superfan can become friends..."

Very few saw this coming. Surfing, our very and most favorite pastime, has been lightly regarded for much of modern history. The pursuit of dropouts and derelicts. Non-serious folk who need only a tasty buzz and some cool waves to be fine. Well, as it turns out, it might also be the only glue strong enough to unite the very polarized men in these-once United States of America.

Former Obama speechwriter David Litt stumbled upon this wild truth after asking his Joe Rogan-loving brother-in-law for surf lessons. Litt describes himself as “a high-functioning, high-anxiety person who experienced situational depression during the coronavirus pandemic. He had a feeling of overwhelming dread, difficulty getting out of bed and found himself endlessly doomscrolling.” Brother-in-law, on the other hand, “a guitar player, a motorcycle enthusiast and a daredevil surfer.”

“He played electric guitar in a ska band that is a big deal on the Shore; I played ultimate frisbee. He was into death metal and I was into Stephen Sondheim. So we never had anything in common. In the run up to the pandemic all of these differences weren’t always political but then somehow they started to feel like they were telling us what team we were on. It felt like we’d been drafted into opposite sides of the culture war,” Litt shared with The Guardian.

“He did well during the pandemic and he seemed resilient in a way that, to be totally honest, I didn’t,” the lightly built brunette continued. “I definitely was not about to get tattoos or try to drive a truck because I would bump into things, but I could see myself trying to surf and that’s what happened.”

His goal, to see if he could ride “a big wave in Hawaii.”

That’s when surfing’s shocking magic ignited.

“What started as a surfing book became a story about basically a will-they won’t-they?, except it’s whether an Obama speechwriter and a Joe Rogan superfan can become friends,” Litt explained. “Like a lot of Democrats, my natural inclination is to be a little annoying and condescending. I certainly wasn’t doing that when I was the one who desperately needed to learn from him.”

Spoiler alert… surfing worked!

But do you have a similar tale of bonding with someone you otherwise despise whilst bobbing in the brine or has it mostly gone the other way for you? Learning to hate basically everyone on board?

Read the rest of the interview here. Buy book here.

I love you, surfing. You are the best, surfing.

There is still time but barely. Tomorrow (or today for our southern hemisphere brothers and sisters) is International Surfing Day. The occasion when surfers everywhere shower surfing with the praise and attention, love and care it deserves during the rest of the calendar year but sometimes doesn’t get.

Like Mother’s Day, it is best to let surfing sleep in on International Surfing Day and present it with a nice rose and cup of tea when it leisurely awakes which it can enjoy quietly without being bothered. Later, when surfing has had a chance to collect itself, it is wise to take it to a champagne brunch, letting it get a little silly and chatty. Afterwards, it’s time to head home to let surfing nap before serving it a nice home cooked dinner and allowing it retire early to watch its favorite television program (The Young and the Restless) without doing any of the cleanup.

If you have children, have them write letters to surfing. Encourage them to dig deep for more meaning and greater feeling than simple tropes like “I love you, surfing” and “you are the best, surfing.”

Surfing is fine with simple, thoughtful gifts but won’t turn its nose up at a bauble from Van Cleef & Arpels or handbag from Hermes.

Please don’t give in to the cynical trend of calling International Surfing Day a holiday made up by the greeting card industry.

That’s mostly it, now hurry and sort your plan.

Heart emojis overflowing.

Surf fans near and far found themselves morphed into giddy school children, yesterday evening, after Sawyer Lindblad and Ethan Ewing released an Instagram Story featuring the latter gazing off into the distance and a heart emoji. The aforementioned surf fans screen captured the image as quickly as they could, sending it back and forth with dizzying speed.

Lindblad, 19, is, of course a professional surfer on the rise with a powerful modern style. Currently world number 11, the San Clemente-bred screwfoot won last year’s Rookie of the Year.

Ewing, 26 and hailing from Australia’s North Stradbroke Island, is considered one of the smoothest surfers on the Championship Tour where he is currently number 6.

Surfing has not had a power couple so fantastic since Jack Freestone and Alana Blanchard began dating over a decade ago.

Or maybe Jesse Mendes and Tatiana Weston-Webb.

Do you remember when Laura Enever and Granger Larson were together?

Me either.

How do you think Kelly Slater might try to steal Lindblad and Ewing’s spotlight?

Happy days.

"Heavy rainfall will lead to life-threatening flooding and mudslides..."

Hours ago, Hurricane Erick made landfall 100, or so, clicks north of Puerto Escondido, Mexico. Upgraded to a category 3 with maximum sustained winds of 205 kilometers per hour (127 mph) and gusts reaching 250 kilometers per (155 mph), it is the first to hit Mexico this hurricane season. Forecasters are predicting above-average activity from May to November, guessing that eight to eleven swirling storms will form.

The National Hurricane Center warned, “Heavy rainfall will lead to life-threatening flooding and mudslides, especially in areas of steep terrain.” Images coming out of the region show swamped streets and bendy trees.

Surfers, of course, best know Puerto Escondido as home of the “Mexican Pipeline.” A ferocious sand-bottomed tube.

Those wanting to visit, once Erick has left town, are advised to purchase a copy of Lonely Planet’s Epic Surf Breaks of the World.

The Puerto Escondido offering begins thusly:

There is likely no better feeling than sitting on a sweltering beachfront patio in Mexico, languid fan spinning overhead, sipping a still cold margarita, salt, rocks, nibbling shrimp tacos garnished with fresh pico de gallo while gallons of saltwater pour all over them from a sunburned nose. So why are my knees pulled to my chest like a frightened little kitty cat right now? Why is my heart pounding so hard that I swear it might leap right out of my throat on that next margarita sip?

The chair underneath me quakes and my senses return. Because this sweltering patio fronts Puerto Escondido and Mexico’s most notorious, dangerous, biggest, famous, superlative wave is just 500 yards away, thundering on the sand. Snapping boards in half, eating grown surfers whole.

I’d come to the Mexican Pipeline, as it’s called, to test myself. To push beyond what had become my comfort zone, namely soft southern California reef breaks, groomed Australian point breaks and warm, shoulder high tropical barrels. Becoming a surf journalist had opened up a world of ease and, as I looked myself square in the mirror one day, was disappointed with the softened visage looking back…

Enjoy the rest of this captivating tale here.