"And they have friends. Friends they give surf reports to. Friends they surf with, and they laugh with each other and they surround me with their youthful exuberance."

In this, the tenth episode of Dane Reynolds’ newly launched vlog Chapter11 we find Reynolds, a former world number four surfer famous for his “go-for-broke” style lancing a bitterness that threatened to eat him alive.

Hard to imagine, yes?

The still-best-surfer-in-the-world’s homeostasis upset by the arrival of a younger, prettier, more popular and more energetic man?

Reynolds writes,

I used to hate Jake.

It was no fault of his own I was just being an asshole.

So here’s what happens – Every bright eye’d young kid with an NSSA win under their belt and a sticker on their nose eventually gets a drivers license and graduates high school and if they’re lucky enough to be earning a buck off said sticker they likely have no college or job or other responsibilities and are at the beach every goddamn day.

And they have friends. Friends they give surf reports to. Friends they surf with, and they laugh with each other and they surround me with their youthful exuberance.

When Jake was 18 I would have been a 29… just had my first kid, Quiksilver had just gone bankrupt, I was trying to figure out what’s next. Still filming and making a surf movie which would become Chapter 11. My time to surf became scheduled and limited. Clips became harder to capture. Crowds increased.

And there’s Jake. And his friends. At the beach every goddamn day. Full of energy and zest for life.

There’s a pattern with each new crop of kids. They first start showing up when the waves are good and then figuring out swells and wind and when to be at what spot and they have an eagerness that I can’t relate to and I feel like I can’t shake em and we surf the same peak every day and step on each other’s toes trying to do tricks for the camera and i get annoyed…

Then when I finally get to know them I feel like an asshole.

Jake turned out to be a fucken cool kid. As most of em do…

Here’s my highly evolved and mature fresh perspective –

I owe a lot to the older generation of surfers that accepted my group of friends. Virs and Purps would drive us around. Dunk us, burn us, introduce us to filmers and photographers take us to contests. Point out locals, rocks and other hazards. Miss those days. A part of why I wanted to start Chapter 11 tv is to rebuild that sense of fraternity and give the guys that i surf with an outlet as the surf industry evolves and becomes more fickle.

Jake lost his main sponsor last year and is handling it like a champ. He surfs cause he loves it and when there’s no waves he takes jobs as a PA on production sets. No bitterness. That’s something I admire.

And he’s surfing better than ever.

CH | 11 | TV | 010 from CHAPTER 11 TV on Vimeo.

Being a two-time world champion in your field grants one a certain license to naval gaze.

Posting six-and-a0-half minutes of oneself doing anything at 300 frames-per-second might come across as a bit self-indulgent, but then again what’s social media for if not a bit of narcissistic self-aggrandisement?

And being a two-time world champion in your field must grant one a certain license to naval gaze.

My personal favourite frame is the frame grab that fronts this story, taken at the roughly twenty-five second mark: John (John) turning off the top, working that action-figure swivel waist to sculpt a perfect bowl into the face – nature, body and board combining in perfect unison; poetry in 300fps motion; the gratifying blend of synergy and symmetry.

The flight of a hummingbird.

The leap of a cat.

The ripples on a lake from the first drop of morning rain etc. etc. and so on and so forth.

How does he do it? We know it’s not Spam.

Maybe it’s the adrenalin of a good night’s work updating his LinkedIn profile that gives him the drive to perform.

What can you do that’d be worth filming in 300fps for six and a half minutes?

I’m getting pretty good at flicking dried beans into my neighbour’s pot plants in the building next door. Bean on the nail of the middle finger.

Build tension against the thumb. Lionel Messi himself would weep.