Tiny empty tubes for happy Hawaiian…
In this short film, released today, we find Mason Ho south of the now non-existent US border, riding sand-bottom tubes reminiscent of Bruce Brown’s famous Cape Saint Francis discovery in 1962.
The waves are little but are so brilliantly turned out, that once combined with Mason’s goofiness and pert little body, the director is gifted money shot after money shot after money shot, like a barebacking gang-bang scene in a rock-and-cock movie.
Fantastic, by any imaginable standard…
New Jersey surfer Cruz Dinofa, who is eleven years old, has landed a backside front flip, the first of its sort, at a wavepool in Waco, Texas.
Dinofa, who frequents, mostly, 7th Street in Ocean City, inherits the tireless and repetitive energy as well as the futurist worship of his aerial forefathers, Martin Potter, Matt Archbold, Christian Fletcher, Kelly Slater and so on.
This backside front flip has a poetic logic, as well as an impish cultural irreverence, and is proof that wavepools, at least in the realm of the fetishised technical air, will remove the mysticism of above-the-lip surfing.
Impossible to resist.
In the third season of Vans’ Weird Waves series, which is hosted by the Puerto Rican Dylan Graves, we detour into the fundamentally complex world of tanker surfing in Texas, where the wakes of these giant vessels are chased down, wrangled and driven hard into the dirty water.
The almost-forty-year-old Graves, a favourite of BeachGrit, acts out the drama for our entertainment; his look, the hair falling to his shoulders, the very good but still accessible surfing, the vivacity, creates the cumulative effect of us all longing to be alongside Dylan Graves, chasing tankers.
The skipper of the boat charter which delivers Graves to these waves describes the kick from tanker surfing as similar to crack cocaine.
Totally addictive, totally fucked, I think.
Bring it on fur-ass!
As the undisputed face of novelty wave riding, one can imagine Ben Gravy fuming over not getting the gig for Vans’ delightfully kooky Weird Wave series.
Instead, we get Dylan Graves.
Fair dos: he is a Vans team rider after all, plus he has that kind of late 80s SST records era look – a little bit Minutemen, a little bit Hüsker Dü – that Vans can’t resist mining for all it’s worth.
Not to mention that DIY, pseudo slap-dash zine style aesthetic.
This first episode of the third series is all about night surfing. The absolute highlight: bio-luminescent glowstick waves at Oceanside – Dylan and some buddies carving iridescent lines into tumbling florescent froth.
Blue waves. Blue moons.
Later on, for a split second, a tube lit up from the inside, an ice white curtain against a jet-black backdrop. All very mystical, otherworldly, or “fully sick,” as Dylan puts it.
Have you ever done any night surfing? I have not, at least not intentionally.
He is the last custodian of the old way, talk softly, carry a big stick, surf with power and brilliance, never respond to false rumours, and away with all false humility forever.
There’s a hint of wildness and pathos in John John Florence’s rough boy persona, this almost thirty-year-old two-time world champion with the impervious reputation.
He is the last custodian of the old way, talk softly, carry a big stick, surf with power and brilliance, never respond to false rumours, and away with all false humility forever.
An Instagram post from yesterday is evidence of his effortless and fearless approach.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CONEgYPpBXn/
Now,
the twenty-minute film, Maps of Home, which you can watch by hitting the play button below, is evidence that John ain’t immune to throwing out a little show biz when it matters.
In this case, on the eve of the Margaret River event, which he’s won twice, and which he is expected to win again, particularly as conditions are expected to hover between six and ten feet for the duration.
The format is sweet, a little cartoon action, but, like porn, it follows a simple and satisfying track, pizza boy, pool boy, drama and attitude and then the cock shot.
Essential.
