How I butchered my interview with surfing’s flying man Michael Dunphy

“Everyone thought I was an idiot because I bought the plane before I knew how to fly."

I don’t remember the first time I saw a photo of Gas Chambers, the PR version, firing.

Or when I first laid eyes on Cane Garden Bay doing its thing.

Surely by the mid 80s.

All I know is that since the genesis of my Florida grom surfing life, the Caribbean has been a magical place of crystal-clear water and mind-bending barrels.

Seven thousand islands dotting a tropical sea that inundates more than one million square miles.

It’s like God’s apology to all the East Coast surfers saddled with Lake Atlantic summers and 5 mil winters.

There is an alternate universe where I skipped out on university and spent my 20’s navigating a sturdy Dutch-crafted sloop through reef passes and skirting shallow cays somewhere in the Antilles.

But, alas, in this universe I chased degrees instead of new latitudes.

So when Michael Dunphy’s travel posts started lighting up my algorithms a while back, I suffered maybe the worst FOMO of my middle-aged life.

Here’s the elevator speech background: Dunphy grew up in Virginia Beach, moved to New Smyrna over a decade ago, and chased the QS/Challenger series about as successfully as one can without ever making the big show.

In 2022, he took down Cole Houshmand in the final to win the Barbados Surf Pro and followed that up by taking out the O’Neill Coldwater Classic in 2023.

Given my decade plus tenure in Virginia Beach, I knew about Dunphy’s contest exploits – there’s only but so many VB locals (1) who can hold their own with Houshmand.

But contest wins and qualification points aren’t really in my wheelhouse these days, advanced age and divided attentions spans being what they are.

Then Dunphy leveled up.

A couple years ago, he traded his contest credentials for a Cessna – put differently, he quit chasing rankings and, from his home base in Florida, started chasing swell across the watery paradise early Europeans referred to as Mar de las Antillas.

Dunphy’s IG feed is now a wet dream of tropical barrels and cockpit POV feeds as he navigates all those latitudes I once fantasized about.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Surfline (@surfline)

He’s basically living JJF’s life, just with better waves, no hectic open ocean crossings, and fewer worries about leeward anchorage.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Michael Dunphy (@michaeldunphy)

Figuring we had at least some things in common – Florida, Virginia Beach, Caribbean surf love affairs – I decided Dunphy’s life would be marginally improved if we talked.

He may be regretting it now, but a week or so ago he agreed.

In response to a cold DM, he picked up the phone and rang your boy Rocks.  

There is, of course, a dance to these conversations.

The subject is a well-known, even globally famous, surfer.

And the questioner is, well, me.

Which is pretty damn unimpressive in real life.

To make up for the imbalance, my basic warm-up strategy is to provide a few biographical tidbits, often consisting of semi-insider knowledge involving stuff the subject might know about.

Unfortunately, my approach immediately backfired, since poor Dunphy interpreted the awkward intro as an effort to pry out deets on secret spots.

Things somehow went downhill from there.

I forgot who his main sponsor was (Quiksilver).

I fucked up a simple question about his future plans by making a cringeworthy suggestion that maybe he had some secret projects he would like to unveil.

And then, in full kook fashion, I had to cut the call short because, with Ms. Rocks bossing minions around in Europe, I forgot I had to pick up my kid from elementary school.

In short, I full on chandelier-ed the interview.

But like a tube master wrangling a bucking foam ball – or a bush pilot dialing in a jungle landing strip during a surprise rain squall, pick your metaphor – Dunphy locked on and didn’t hang up.

On the plane: “Everyone thought I was an idiot because I bought the plane before I knew how to fly. But I was competing and pretty burnt on it, and I wanted to really challenge myself.

On whether he’s looking to explore Mexico and Central America by air: “For now, I’ve kept it to the Caribbean to the south and Montauk to the North. But I’m focused on adding more flight ratings and would love to expand my reach, Mexico would be very cool.”

On the various nooks and crannies he’s discovered: “Ha ha, I wanna do it the right way and be respectful. [Lengthy discussion of the BeachGrit faithful’s general antipathy toward blowing up spots and Dunphy’s commitment to keeping any new discoveries under wrap].”

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Michael Dunphy (@michaeldunphy)

On why he ends up solo on most of his strike missions: “People are definitely apprehensive [about flying with him]. I can understand it. But my girlfriend has really warmed up to it, she joins me on some trips.” 

On whether his sponsors, including Quiksilver, …Lost, and Dragon, have been copacetic with his shift from contest junkie to strike mission pilot in an era where sponsors are famously belt-tightening: “They’ve been good, I think it’s been of good value to them.”  

On whether he’s done competing: “I’ll still do the Barbados contest and the ECSC [East Coast Surfing Championships, held every year in Virginia Beach]. But I’m not focused on it.”

On what he does with his time when he’s not in the cockpit checking for mysto waves: “I still surf my balls off. And I’m focused on adding flight ratings. I just want to keep challenging myself.”

After the call wrapped, I texted to say thanks for talking.

Dunphy responded “nice to chat with you,” but almost certainly didn’t mean it.

And he didn’t invite me to co-pilot his next mission.

My FOMO unsated, I’m left to stalking his IG feed – and wishing I could teleport 33 years back in time to give 21-year-old Rocks some much needed life (and surf) advice.