Make art, and see what happens. If you don’t have a plan you can never fail.
"The Surf Don reckons wave riding was perfected by Taylor Knox at Trestles in ‘98. Anything that came after that is just gristle on the bone."
Who gives a fuck about surfing, other than our globally dispersed splattering of non-conformists and authority-thumbers? The battle for middle America/Australia was never fought, let alone won.
"I got angrier the longer I stayed out. Everyone’s face looked punchable. The rain and wind kicked up a notch. Conditions deteriorated. More people kept coming out off the rocks."
No tour? Who cares etc.
Booze, food, fuel, running low.
Dramatic measures considered in wake of vulnerable adult learner onslaught.
A glorious win? Yes?
Big-wave highlight reels should be the spear tip of the engagement funnel for surfing’s mainstream foray. The formula, blood-soaked as it is, works.
"It was the strangest thing I ever saw, a tableau of the surfing experience painted so perfectly you couldn’t deny its brilliance, even if you disagreed with its right to exist."
An exciting time, culturally, as surfers shuck capitalist lords and seize the means to production.
Science don't lie!
“Nearly every coastal town from Noosa to Bells has been affected by these fires, so the great Australian surfing adventure depicted in Morning of the Earth now looks more like Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome."
Old news, yes, but fascinating as a historical footnote.
Eleven-time champ opens up on Olympic podcast. “The way to fill that hole in my heart was just to win.”
“Back in the day, they would’ve got cracks after getting run over #nojoke” says noted enforcer Johnny Boy Gomes.