The perfect board is a drag racer. Hard to master. Difficult to handle. Not suited for most roads.
Signs of life rattling within the swinging carcass, faint though they may be.
BeachGrit almost loses (another) much-loved writer day before yesterday.
"This will be the most-watched event in Australian surfing history," says ambitious presser.
Twelve-year-old boy becomes figure of ridicule after inglorious appearance in surf film…
So what comes out the other side?
South African e-foiler, hero.
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.