On these little boards you can climb into even
Backdoor's Byzantine domes.
Watch: Mason Ho give hell to Backdoor on a
4’9″ micro-whip, “A work of mastercraft, with perfectly beveled
rim…”
By Derek Rielly
A day to blow or get blown…
One of the heroes of the North Shore is a young-ish man,
thirty one years old, with light tea-coloured skin and hair so
curly many believe he wears a woollen wig.
In this short film, Mason Ho, son of Mike, big bro of Coco,
rides a four-foot-nine, seventeen-and-a-half-inch-wide Lost Mini
Rad Ripper, a micro sled he expertly uses to caress various
grooves.
At Backdoor of a reasonable size, Mason expert strays from the
usual lines and employs footwork in a manner as hot as a teenage
boy.
Watch and admire the textures.
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Riotous high-seas play.
Watch: John John Florence in “I was
devastated when they stopped making sailors’ pants with bell
bottoms! They project something good-natured!”
By Derek Rielly
Episodes one and two of John John Florence
four-part series where he learns to conquer the ocean by sail…
If further confirmation of two-time world champion
surfer John John Florence’s connection to the ocean was
necessary, it comes, here, in the form of a four-part
series documenting his route to becoming a bluewater sailor.
The series, called Vela, a Sanskrit word for coast and not to be
confused with the Punjabi word Velle which means a sonofabitch
layabout, although both are apt names for a sailing vessel, follows
John John as the open ocean opens up to him like a flower, slowly,
petal by petal.
A riotous excursion of the human spirit.
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Watch: Happy Gen Z Surfers mock Coronavirus
in “Either your brains or your signature is going to be on this
contract!”
By Derek Rielly
The absurdity of the blackmarket and the insanity
of hoarders wrapped up in a neat lil Mafia movie spoof…
Difficult times, etc, or so I’m told, although
if I peer through my curtain, past the cavalcade of rangers in
fluorescent coats with notebooks and the authority to hit a man
with a thousand-buck fine, I see blue skies painted with handfuls
of cirrus clouds and an ocean, as green as Capri, and without its
usual colony of suicidal VALs.
A paradise, you would say, if sinister particles weren’t smeared
on shopping trolly handles, door frames and so on, hunting the,
mostly, elderly.
Two surfers who refuse to be cowed by the possibility of
drowning on their own mucous in a makeshift hospital cot, weepy
mammy and daddy watching their death agonies via FaceTime, are
Josiah and Micah Amico, from Ventura, California.
In this short, written, directed and starring Josiah,
twenty-one, and his little bro Michah, eighteen, the pair take on
the absurdity of the blackmarket and the insanity of hoarders and
wrap it up in a neat lil Mafia movie spoof.
Outstandingly well edited, enlightening and entertaining.
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Mason and fan, of which there are many.
Behind-the-scenes as Mason Ho eats up
French Polynesian surf contest: “I don’t want to be that guy
mumbling into his drink at the bar!”
By Derek Rielly
An emotional thrill!
Happy Mason Ho, thirty-one years old, is an attractive
man with huge eyes and a brown moustache covering a mouth
as delicate as a woman’s.
For most of his career, Mason has dreamed of being a full-time
contestant on the World Championship Tour.
He was five years old when his Uncle Derek won the world
title.
“I’ve wanted to win the world title since I was a kid,” he says.
“But to be a world champ you have to…get… on the tour. So my goal
before my goal is to qualify. So I need to hypnotize myself into
thinking it’s fun.”
That dream might’ve been relegated to the occasional wildcard,
but his black magic is occasionally still applied to qualifying
events.
In this short behind-the-scenes film by his footman Rory
Pringle, we see Mason stomping his way to a victory at the Rangiroa
Pro three weeks ago, an atoll noted for its fine pearls in the
Tuamotus in French Polynesia.
It is a win for exuberance, I think, something which is
completely lacking in modern life.
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Caldwell in a helluva tub a few hours north of
Carnarvon.
Watch: Desert tube-conquering Imogen
Caldwell in “A dazzling style of living!”
By Derek Rielly
Girl who grew up on the beach learned a little
about tube weaving…
Imogen Caldwell, twenty-four, was raised under the
blazing desert sun and with a front row seat to the most
picturesque left in the country, The Bluff, fifteen
hours north of the Western Australian capital, Perth.
Isolated, yeah.
Moved there with her family when she was six. Camped on the
beach. Eventually, mum and dad got to run the campsite there. They
moved to a house fifty metres from the lineup. The windows shake
when it’s big.
Imogen is the sort of person who is studied and gazed at in
stunned surprise. Men feel the veins pulsing in their temples.
Tall, well-made, skin that looks as if it has has the flavour of
fresh cream.
But we’re not here for that sort of play, not today at
least.
Here, in under three minutes, is Imogen implanting herself in a
series of tubes at The Bluff and a little further north, that’ll
leave your tongue hanging out.