Holly Beck

Tahiti 2 - Drop Zone Teahupoo

2008-08-21T08:25:00.000-07:00

After two weeks in Tahiti covering the Billabong Pro for Go211.com, I shifted gears when team Body Glove arrived. From watching, reacting, and discussing the action as a spectator, I jumped into the mix myself as an actor and participant for the filming of Drop Zone - a diving and surfing film produced by Body Glove and PADI.

For this adventure, I packed up my boardbag and moved down the road from the Billabong house to Mommy and Poppy Maoni's home, situated right on the water with a view of Teahupoo.

Photographer Justin Lewis and surfer Alex Gray, show off their accommodations.

Like before, the home was converted into a place for guests by packing the rooms with beds. Boys upstairs (shown above), girls down below.

Team Body Glove and Drop Zone co-stars: Alex, Cheyne Magnussen, and I

Alex is a good lookin' kid!

Cheyne is one of the coolest guys ever, as well as one mean spearfisherman.

Team Body Glove showed up to the dreaded, "you should have been here yesterday" situation. Whereas the day before Teahupoo had been heaving to the point where I was quite content to sit and watch from the safety of the boat, the first morning of the Drop Zone trip looked to be much calmer. The boys were disappointed, but I wasn't. With five cameras on hand to document the adventure (more cameras than surfers!) I wanted the waves to be manageable, especially the first day.

Walking out to board the boat, quiver in hand, smile on face, butterflies in stomach.

What am I listening to? "Stranger Things Have Happened" - Foo Fighters

We motored out to the lineup full of anticipation.

Without the contest circus in town, the channel lineup was much more mellow.

I was thrilled that the waves looked smaller and perfect.

this, and the next 3 photos by: Josh Humbert

Back on the boat, stoked to have scored a few little tubes on day 1.

Cheyne, further proving that there is a right at Teahupoo.

this photo and most others by: Justin Lewis

There were many interviews.

When the swell dropped significantly, we had the chance to try to get "the money shot". Since the goal of the trip and the film was to highlight the wonderfully complementary sports of surfing and diving, the producers wanted to capture a shot of both at once. I was chosen to be the diver with Transworld Surf's Justin Cote as the surfer.

I never thought I would be scuba diving on the reef at Teahupoo!

The view from below was worth checking out!

Here, i'm trying not to be tumbled onto the reef by the wave action, as Justin takes off above.

No, that isn't a gas mask.

Next up, underwater interviews! I was fitted with a specialized mask and microphone that would capture my words underwater. It was a little strange to be scuba diving without a regulator in my mouth, but once in the water the mask was actually really comfortable. In order to be heard I had to press a button on the mouth area.

My first underwater interview for filmer Tom Holden aka "the legend"!

Another day of small surf led us to look for other photogenic experiences. Local black pearl farmer and surf photographer, Josh Humbert, suggested we boat around the island to hike up to a waterfall. A massive fan of barefoot hiking, I was thrilled.

On the way, we spotted a rocky cliff to climb and jump off. Cheyne and I dove in immediately, swam over and began to scurry up.

Cheyne went for an insane backflip, but I just did the standard feet-first, loud-yelping jump.

We then swam from the boat up to a rocky beach.

Barefoot hiking over large smooth boulders might be my favorite non-surfing activity. These rocks were just textured enough to be easily toe-grippable and smooth enough not to hurt, so we ditched our sandals and let our toes do the exploring. We stepped through soft leaf covered reddish brown mud that squished delightfully through the toes, then into shallow cool refreshing pools, on our way to the towering waterfall and cold deep pool at the end.

The energy was delicious.

I didn't want to leave.

this and many of the preceding photos: Josh Humbert

Raimana is "the man" in Tahiti. One of the original local surfers and still one of the hardest charging when Teahupoo is huge and life-threatening, we were lucky to have him as our guide. He knew the lineup perfectly and was priceless when it came to getting waves. Seeing me struggle to be in the right spot and score waves from the aggressive boys, he paddled out and sat next to me. He would say, "stay close to me, babe," and I listened. When he told me to paddle, I paddled, then he would say, "this one, go, go, go!" Having him there removed most of the fear and all of the need for thought. Instead of spending too much time analyzing and considering whether the approaching wave might kill me or not, and then missing the opportunity to catch it, I trusted Raimana and when he told me to go, I went.

On the biggest day I paddled out, the swell was coming of of the West. Swell direction plays an important role in the way the waves break on the reef and is very noticeable. If the swell is mostly from the South, the waves peak at the top of the reef and move along it mostly evenly. You have more time to get into the wave, get to the bottom, and set your line before the tube. When the swell is more Westerly, it doesn't break at the top, but focuses all the energy to heave on the end section of the reef called the West bowl. Those waves are much more difficult to get into. You have to take off behind the peak in order to get tubed. On this day the swell was from the West and I was scared. I caught a couple smaller waves and then paddled around for an hour without catching anything.

Finally, Raimana swam out to me. He sat next to me and started coaching me. He told me when to sit patiently, when to scratch towards the outside to avoid a big set, and which waves to try to take. As I lay there on my board, he had one hand on my foot. I felt totally safe in that position. Finally, a bigger wave came and he told me to paddle. He swam along side of me and as the wave began to crest, he gave my foot a strong shove, propelling me into it with an extra burst of speed that helped me get down the face. I stood up, made the bottom turn, stalled to try to get tubed and the powerful spit covered me for a second. Cheyne was on the inside and was stoked to see me get one and cheered me on with arms raised. I pulled out safely in the channel and very grateful to Raimana. (see sequence below)

Next up, diving with sharks on Moorea!

Tahiti 1 - Billabong Pro Teahupoo

2008-08-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

I had been to Tahiti for the first time back in 2000. It was a life-changing and memorable trip designed to capture cover shots for SG magazine that became the background for many firsts. I did secure my first cover shot, a frontside turn at the super fun left called Hapiti on Moorea. I also broke a board (not quite a first) and greatly improved my barrel riding skills. It was the first surf trip that forced me to find a way to overcome fear every single session. The omnipresent danger factors of powerful waves heaving onto shallow colorful reef culminated in the unforgettable first of towing into large waves in a session during which in the span of about twenty minutes I claimed the biggest wave, the biggest barrel, and the biggest wipeout of my life. One of those waves would haunt me in dreams for years with the dreaded, "if only..." feeling.

I had been back to Tahiti in 2006, but other than a brief stop in the airport before heading over to an outer island, I hadn't revisited the main island. In May 2008, I returned for the first time, knowing i'd be there for nearly a full month and mentally anticipating and preparing to overcome that fear once again.

Tahiti embodies the undeniable beauty of a tropical island paradise. Steep lush green mountains fall directly into crystal clear blue water that is calm and inviting inside of the shallow outer reefs.

Following the main road that loops around the island from the airport, one road branches off and then ends abruptly at Teahupoo. Pronounced "Cho-po", the wave formed by a break in the reef just past the end of the road is one of the most feared and revered in the surfing world. A perfectly hollow and amazingly powerful left that rears up out of deep water to cascade onto nearly dry reef with what seems like the force of the entire ocean folding over onto itself, it's the stuff of dreams and nightmares where heroes rise as quickly as they can be crushed. It's a feature of countless surf films and magazine covers, as well as one of the most anticipated stops on the elite ASP Dream Tour.

The Billabong Pro brought me to Tahiti. I had covered the first two ASP tour stops in Australia for Go211.com and was excited that they wanted to send me to Tahiti to cover stop #3 as well.

With no hotels at Teahupoo, home stays are the only option. The Tahitian families at the end of the road earn their living for the entire year by temporarily moving out of their homes, lining the floors with as many mattresses as will fit, and feeding and housing all the surfers, media, and ASP staff for nearly a month. I was lucky enough to find some space in the Billabong media house which was filled with Billabong staff, security staff, and journalists. There were quite a few of us, but since there was only one other female, she and I got to share our own room.

Dinner time feeding frenzy

One of the entertainment highlights was the night Donovan Frankenrieter performed, accompanied by Dave Rastavich on bongoes. Even Occy got up and shared the mic for a few songs.

By the end of the event, nearly the entire WCT was up on stage singing and dancing. Donovan's 6 year old son Hendrix stole the show with his harmonica skills.

Good times, with beautiful people: Freddy P, Alana, Greg and Kelly

I even had a chance to learn how to hold a fishing pole, but we didn't get any bites : (

Jordy Smith waiting for his heat while bailing out his leaky boat. At least he had plenty of boards to float on if it sank!

After much anticipation, the contest finally began. The scene in the channel was quite entertaining. Since the contest takes place far offshore, the spectators and competitors form a waterworld with all sorts of boats, kayaks, inflatables, and surfboards.

Parko and Bruce, heading out to join the flotilla.

After their heats, surfers were carried by jet-ski to the media boat for their interviews.

The media boat was crowded, so I hopped overboard and floated on CJ Hobgood's board while he was interviewed by GT for the Billabong webcast.

Believe it or not, I was actually doing interviews as well, although all the photos were of me very "busy" taking in the action so I could ask intelligent questions about what went on in the heat, I did actually do some work.

Not a bad work environment, huh? No complaints here!

Unfortunately for the local fans, local hero Manoa Drollet, who had beaten Kelly Slater (the event favorite) on his way to the final, lost to fellow wildcard, Brazilian Bruno Santos in an inconsistent and anticlimactic final.

Team Brazil, always the most patriotic, was thrilled with the result!

When the contest finally finished and everyone recovered from the massive after-party, there were still a few slow days with flat surf. Then, the day before team Body Glove was scheduled to arrive and the next leg of my Tahitian adventure began, the surf jumped up overnight and by morning was booming on the outer reefs.

Up until then, i'd only surfed a few times. I had scored a few little tubes out at Teahupoo but nothing significant. The night before, the swell had begun building and I sat in the lineup for a while with way too many others, picking off a few little waves. By morning it was way bigger than anything I wanted to paddle into.

Knowing that when team Body Glove showed up the following day I would have to surf, I kept getting excited to paddle out and give it a test run. I would see a few that weren't as big as the others, and think about just paddling out to sit in the lineup and feel the power from so much closer, then a huge set would come in and I was perfectly happy sitting in the boat. To watch a video of that morning, click below.

Would you paddle out?

For more videos of the 2008 Billabong Pro Tahiti click here!

An African Surf Story

2008-06-03T15:06:00.000-07:00

Two years ago now, I embarked on a journey to the wild coast of West Africa with two fellow explorers, Joe Curren and the legendary Sam George. We spent three weeks looking for waves, journeying upriver to admire regal elephants, monkeys, crocodiles and surprisingly dangerous hippos, before taking a flight to Sao Tome (the second smallest nation in Africa) to search for a particular African surfer. It was an incredible trip. I wrote about it in a previous blog post that can be viewed by clicking the "May 2007" archive link on the right side of this page.

The result of the trip was a movie that won a few awards on the independent film circuit and has shown on Rush HD TV. To make the story more dramatic, the first half of our trip in which we missed a flight, spent a couple days in Belgium, then surfed the wild coast of Gabon was eliminated from the film. I hadn't seen any of that footage until I came across the following video on youtube. Instantly, that feeling of adventure and excitement that comes from the exploration of a new place came pouring over me. At a time when I feel ecstatic to have woken up in my own bed this morning and equally pleased with the knowledge that I will be sleeping there for another two weeks having just returned from a nearly non-stop 3 month travel tour to Australia, Nicaragua, and Tahiti, it is amazing that a simple 6 minute video can still bring back that urge to get on a plane. I hope it will inspire you to step out of your comfort zone and go explore the world.

And just in case you are interested in the other part of the trip, the section that made the film, here is the trailer:

Galloping Time

2008-03-15T21:10:00.000-07:00

There’s an onomatopoetic whisper
Of the breeze
Rustling leaves
At the tops of trees
So I stand here draped in shadow
To listen quietly
And breathe

Noticing the forest entities of most beauty
Are not the young ones; tall, perfect, symmetrical
But those standing leafless in barren contorted dignity
And those especially with a base of glaring holes,
Or burn marks long since quenched
Reaching higher to spite trauma -
The in-organic fertilizer of wisdom.

The secrets here settle in, grow a thick moss and give life to ferns.
Large smooth stones give voice to rivers.
Birds echo shrilly from somewhere out of sight.
A slither of black scales startles
Then escapes into the thick underbrush
With a fleeting look back, then gone.
But never really gone.

As surely as fallen leaves cushion footsteps
These are not places to forget.
Another pause,
to listen quietly.
And breathe.

Stepping up onto painted rock
Sandstone boulders strewn with ribbons marking time
Yellow gold white and pink
A curved history recording the passage of moments spent
In lines of brilliant color

If you cut open my heart
Or my brain,
Would it look the same?

There’s the scent of horse manure mixing with the taste of these cashews,
In a not totally un-desire-able way.
Reminding me of being thirteen
and stomping down steps to bridle my white pony
Then hopping up bareback to escape in a furious gallop
On a trail to somewhere seemingly far away

I didn’t like cashews back then
Funny,
How tastes change.

Then running fast over dusty trails
Mind tuned to body tuned to moving as one, with a stubbornly powerful animal
Cutoff jeans stretching to knobby knees
Calves gripping tightly with hands on leather-braided reins, held low.
In control.
Then reins in a knot and arms out like wings to the side
Galloping still, hair blowing, sunshine showing
Adrenalin grin growing,
And recognized for maybe the first time.

Wind brushing cheeks and shins scraping branches
The rhythmic pounding of hooves and occasional “crack” of rock
Broken for a moment by flight over that fallen tree
“You can’t stop me!”
Interesting.
I still had yet to even discover the pleasures of the sea.

It’s not much different now of course,
Other than my reaction
To the taste of cashews.

Now bouncing van swiped by branches and mud-splattered windshield
Music blaring beat and melodies on the other side of the road in another world.
Still, escapement smile the same.
And though I’m racing towards the sea,
That green grass field is calling for galloping.

Open sunny field where all is known and shown
Past thoughts exposed to light of day
Then left in the sun to dry out as I swiftly gallop away.
Leaving the effects of their admission for the wind to blow astray.
New opportunities multiplying like blades of grass to gently guide the way.
But time has this life changed.

If I could go back in time
To see my young self galloping away from behind
I’d ride along ‘til she slowed down
Then cautiously step to the ground
Looking up into eyes
Wild and familiarly blue
And remind her that,
“Each day begins anew.
Everything will turn out just fine
And life will exceed every expectation you could ever form in mind.
As bleak as coming moments surely will seem
You have the power to achieve all of your dreams.
So keep pushing through and nevermind.
Believe me, I’ve seen it. The future will be kind.”

We think of time as a river and we’re all on rafts, hopelessly floating downstream. All our best efforts to paddle against the current might show temporary progress but are eventually futile. On we float to old age maybe, death as a certainty. The reunion of our physical selves with the Earth, a cyclical inevitability that the most thoughtful of us accept. We choose a story with which to reason away the fear. Paradise, but only for those who have chosen correctly. (Which, of course we have. Pity the others).

But, we are already One. If only we’d get off the raft and realize the river is shallow. There are signs on the riverbanks warning, “One Way”, “Keep arms and legs inside the raft at all times”, “There are Terrorists lurking in the water”. The signs are everywhere. TVs have been so un-protectedly promiscuous that they aren’t just in your living room anymore. They’re in your car, your phone, the grocery store, the gas station and every message is “work, earn, spend, repeat”. “Quick! Time is running out!”

Silly humans, time isn’t going anywhere. Time has been around since, well, since the beginning of time. It’s me that’s changing (and you too), and time is just the “tick tock” subconscious realization of the transition of one thought into the next. Thoughts give meaning to time, as you must be conscious to notice the feel of its passage - consciousness being the ability to have and consider “thoughts”. Thus time seems to move more quickly as thoughts multiply.
Thoughts are flowing, and even though I know time isn’t going anywhere, I still feel that these 12 days have galloped away too quickly.

More Campervan Cruising

2008-03-11T16:26:00.000-07:00

Things got a little weird yesterday. Other than a two-hour long mission back to Forster town to find internet access so I could maybe get my assignment completed on time, I didn’t do much driving. School has always come easy, a love of learning and a perfectionist personality combine to make studying fun. Still, you’ve gotta put the time in. The day before on deadline to complete a silly assignment, one step closer to earning an MBA in Marketing, I had searched for an internet café, but being Sunday, the only one I could find was closed. No luck. Oh well, I don’t have to get 100% on every assignment, right? Right.

Back to the weirdness, I was staying at a killer campground called Bulls Paddock (special thanks to Rebecca Woods for the excellent recommendation). The campground was essentially an open grass field lined and dotted with big soothing shade trees, no power hookups which deterred the big caravan campers, and no numbered camping spaces. Just show up, drop $20 in the box, and pick your piece of grass. There were only about five other campers and all spread out. I have been continually surprised by the quality of the amenities at these campgrounds. Free hot showers (no $.25 per ten minute silliness like at Jalama or San Mateo) and perfectly clean bathrooms. I’m definitely used to roughing it with no shower and a bush toilet, but I am certainly not going to complain about feeling clean. It even had a killer 6 km hike that started from the campground, looped up along a cliff, around a headland and back via the lake (see photos in previous blog post). The beach out front was long with squeaky white sand and turquoise clear water, completely empty except for a few fishermen.

A very friendly Kookaburra

The first day there were a few little waves to ride if you were desperate, which I wasn’t, so after a quick swim I went hiking instead. Yesterday by the time I returned from my internet mission the forecasted swell had started to show just a little bit. With the sand only a few meters from my camping spot, it was a quick sprint into the warm water. There were 3 guys out already which I was happy about since I hadn’t been speaking to many people and considering all the shark stories taking place in Australia, I was glad to not be out there alone. Unfortunately, before I had even worked out what the wave was doing, they all went in! Sorry for me but even sorrier for them as it seemed to be getting better. There were super tight powerful wedge peaks that produced a steep sudden drop and then mushed out, but as the tide seemed to be dropping, two nearby peaks started connecting. You could take the drop, do a turn and then pump into the next section and backdoor that peak for a quick little tube. There was no one within earshot, so I self-hooted every wave! I kept looking back to the beach to see if there was anyone there. “Did anyone see that?” Just the seagulls, and they didn’t seem very interested.

The water was boardshort warm and so clear you could see every scattered rock and random piece of seaweed on the white sandy bottom. At least I figured the sharks would not be able to confuse me for their usual prey, and I could see them coming, and have a last split second to pray to whatever god seemed like the right one when the pressure was on, before being eaten. I had enough time alone in the lineup between waves to consider the dream I had a few nights before in which I was slowly being swallowed by a shark and not even fighting it, after reading The Wild Within by Paul Rezendes where he talks about every living creature being one. He happens upon a snake with a bullfrog half in his mouth and decides not to intervene to save the bullfrog as it is in the process of “becoming the snake”. I didn’t fight because I was quite content to become the shark.

Still, it was strange that there was no one else along the whole beach as far as I could see. In California or so many other places in the world there would be someone if not a horde of someones all fighting like animals for the exact same thing. And here I am all alone finally, and almost wishing there were someone else with me. It didn’t take long for my wish to be granted. I looked back to see about a dozen surf school students walking down with 8’ long boogie boards over their heads or dragged in the sand behind them. The instructor arranged them in a circle on the sand and started going through the drill of miming the routine of lay down, paddle, pop-up. The wind had come up as well, so I called it a session and returned to the sanctity of my campsite.

This morning the wind was howling and immediately upon opening the sliding door of my campervan, I could feel a different energy in the air. The swell had finally arrived. I made coffee quickly, packed up and started driving further South to another destination recommended by Rebecca, Seal Rocks.

Seal Rocks
My surf guidebook describes it as a mellow right point break with an inside tube on big swells. It was onshore with three guys out and looking very mushy. I kept going around the headland to check Treachery. The name sounded interesting, but I found a big-water mushy left breaking far out. It was offshore and clean but absolutely no one around.

Treachery

What do you do? Surf an offshore paddle-mission left by yourself or go back to the friendly looking onshore right? I’ll tell you what you do. You go back to the right, realize the 3 guys out there do not know how to surf and you can actually take off a lot closer to the rocks allowing at least a couple turns before it turns into mushburger city. Then you feel bad about back-paddling the kooks and taking every good set wave, so after only 20 minutes you decide to go in and keep driving. On the way in, you spot the closed-out shorebreak down the beach that is almost a little bit of a left and definitely hollow and decide to give that a try. After getting chucked over the falls on your first three attempts, the beating wakes you up and you decide to stay out until you get a good one, which happens on your next wave, an unbelievably clear tube that affords you a quick view before throwing you on your back in the sand and creasing the underside of your board right above the fins. Damn! Might as well try to break it at this point, but the tide is coming up and it’s getting more make-able and you actually come out of one and the next one lets you do turns and now there are a couple of guys joining you, friendly Spaniards from San Sebastian, young chiropractors studying in Sydney but taking a few weeks off to travel up the coast in a Wicked van. After surfing, they insist you stay for a breakfast of bacon and cheese, then bust out their massage table and give you an impromptu adjustment.

You might even stay for another session and an evening glass of wine with them but you’re traveling in opposite directions. So you say goodbye and head on to Newcastle.

Ah, Newcastle, the first familiar place since leaving Byron Bay. One month last year I spent a year here, or so it felt. I checked my email in the exact same backpackers in which Skippy, Laurina, and I spent a very awkward nearly two weeks sharing a bunkbed for three. The experience ended one friendship but cemented another. Driving through town, stopping at the same café to have the same mango, passionfruit smoothie with pesto chicken sandwich, all the memories of the triangular girl drama in which I played too much of a starring role came right back.

Slideshow from that trip last year

I remember it as the trip where I decided I really didn’t want to do the tour anymore. Now checking the flat surf at Merewether beach, the location of last year’s Midori Pro, those memories come back as well. It was big, stormy, and incredibly messy. I had advanced already to the second or maybe third round and was in a heat against friends. The waves were so bad that with five minutes to go, I was in third place needing a 3. My friend the silly little South African, Tammy Lee Smith was in 4th, but only needed a 1 point something and our other friend, Jessi, was in second, playing defense. I was closer in placing, but Tammy needed a lower score since she only had one wave, so Jessi went and paddled circles around her to keep her from getting a second score. I took off on a few closeouts that I couldn’t even get a turn in and as the minutes ticked away, the situation was the same. I sat there, thinking how silly it all was. The next heat was paddling out, more friends. I don’t remember exactly who it was, maybe Nicola Atherton and Kim Mayer, and for sure Rebecca. I just remember thinking how fun it was that we were all out there together and how cute they looked in their jerseys, and how annoying it was that we were putting our friendships aside to try to beat eachother in the most disgusting waves ever. I said something to that effect to Rebecca and with a minute to go in my heat, she looked at me like I was crazy, asked me what I needed and then said, “shut up and get a freakin three!” But I was over it. The hooter sounded and I rode in and announced that I would do a few more contests, but for the most part, I was done.

I’ve second-guessed that decision. I almost entered the contests on this trip, but didn’t and sitting here, I’m glad. Still, the girls are my friends and they are right now preparing to compete in the second event of the year, a 4 star at Soldiers Beach, just about an hour south of here. It’s rare that I am only an hour’s drive away from hanging out with the silliest girls in the world, and even though I’m really enjoying the solitude, I can’t resist the opportunity to laugh with them for a night.

Off I go…

The same international crew as before: Sarah, Marina, Amandine, Me, plus the cutest little South African, Tammy Lee Smith

Camper Cruising

2008-03-09T16:17:00.000-07:00

“Live with intention.
Walk to the edge.
Listen hard.
Practice wellness.
Play with abandon.
Laugh.
Choose with no regret.
Continue to learn.
Appreciate your friends.
Do what you love.
Live as if this is all there is.”

My sweet van has fuzzy pink handcuffs dangling from the rearview mirror. A good reminder of the shackles left behind. Soft and fuzzy, but still restricting...

The bed

the back view

I do not leave home without a Sector 9 skate!

Driving view...

Driving along in my Sopranos van, left hand stick shifting on the “wrong” side of the road, I look out over the calm highway at the expanse of green surrounding me and feel giddiness bubbling up into a smile not to be erased anytime soon. All the responsibility of the last so many months to family, friends, boyfriend, photo shoots, contests is left in the dust as the dashboard kilometer ticker spins.

Yeah, my friends are hilarious, but it's time for some time alone!

Sure I’ll meet up with those things once again, but right now the sense of freedom and adventure is so dangerously euphoric to my addiction prone personality that I’m a bit worried about losing any impetus whatsoever to return home.

One campervan, one chair...

...one happy camper

Coffee!

This morning marks day four. Four days wandering alone down the beautiful coast of Eastern Australia. It’s been one long candy necklace of perfectly sweet moments in which I fully realize that at this all-important “now”, I’d prefer to be absolutely nowhere else in the world. (I may have used that line one too many times, then again, isn’t that the goal? Enjoying right here right now completely? Maybe I’m just better at that than most.)

Sure the mozzies are a bit annoying. It’s warm out but I’ve got arms and legs covered, hands and feet sprayed with all natural lemon and eucalyptus insect repellant that works as well as the plastic-melting deet found in the usual toxic concoctions. Still, the mozzies are quiet. Yesterday my cell phone was out of service, preventing the pressures of home from seeping into this tranquility, and when I returned to the main road from Crescent Head, I kept it off. Ahh. The sound of solitude.

Sandy dry grass beneath adventurous toes
White rocky plain and shadow fallen cliff
Topped with trees a rustlin’,
Wind a dustin’ off the cobwebs,
And inspiration rushes in.
The steady sound of nature roaring to spite the din
Of the drone of a thousand hands reaching
Now left behind
Allowing me retreat within

I tasted the first bite of candy in the first few Kms on the road. Still focused on the novel feel of left hand on the stick and keeping that right tire parallel to the center line, I fiddled with the radio dial and nearly lost control with surprise as the familiar America-accented sounds of NPR came through the speakers. “What? How good is this?” The Australian news channel was broadcasting NPR’s coverage of the US presidential primary race. I could hardly believe my ears. (Go Obama!) I felt at home and simultaneously very much away, and the feeling was intoxicating.

I came across this skatepark one morning and had to go for it!

An effervescent feeling’s rising,
And sunshine’s closing in.
There’s a smile that warms completely,
Beneath this devilish grin.
Certain evidence to be used by those insisting
That solitude pleasures are a sin.

This morning, I packed up my van, said goodbye to the sweet lady running the Delicate Nobby Camping Ground and her group of hand-fed kangaroos.

The surf out front on the South side of the Crescent Head point was one foot and onshore. Good driving conditions, so instead of turning left and back to town down the long dirt road from which I entered, I nosed my van to the right instead. Let’s see where this dirt road goes, I thought. Who knows, it might re-join the highway?

The wide sandy colored dirt was washboard smooth. It ran along the ocean for a bit then round up a hill and into a forest of thin trees. Back down around a bend and the road started to narrow and become less smooth. The first few big bumps sent my van shuddering and I took off my seatbelt to avoid the choke. Hands at ten and two, I swerved back and forth avoiding the bigger bumps or taking them on at an angle. Big mud puddles developed, forcing me to hug the tree-lined edges of the “road” and more and more I was sure this was not going to link up with the highway. Still, I had gone too far to turn back and wondered where I would end up. Eventually, I saw a Jeep coming towards me and my hopes flickered that there would be an outlet, until the dust from the Jeep cleared and all that was before me was thick sand.

I did an about-face and started heading back the way I’d just come from. I wasn’t disappointed at all. In fact, I was excited. Now there was no need to spend even that little bit of mental energy on wondering where the road was leading. I could now completely enjoy the obstacles of bump and puddle, all the way back to the highway.

Smooth black pavement stretching
Two lanes through plains of grass
Left hand controlling shifting
From this right here
To that long since passed
And now my thoughts are circling
Round how might I make this feeling last?

The list of life suggestions at the top I found in a book I picked up along the way. Some Day: Inside the Dream Tour and Mick Fanning’s 2007 World Championship Win by Will Swanton. It’s the best book on professional surfing I’ve ever read. The writing style gets a little repetitive but overall it is entertaining, informative, and insightful. It looks at the 5 best surfers in the world and examines how Mick was able to top them all last year. Somewhere in the first few chapters, the author lists those suggestions for life. I agree with all of them and have made an effort to live just like that. The only one I truly struggle with is choosing with no regret. Everyone needs something to work on. And because I feel they are so important, here they are again:

Live with intention.
Walk to the edge.
Listen hard.
Practice wellness.
Play with abandon.
Laugh.
Choose with no regret.
Continue to learn.
Appreciate your friends.
Do what you love.
Live as if this is all there is.

I'm quite impressed with the quality of the camera built into my computer!

Time to get back on the road…

Australia 2008 - Contest Craziness

2008-03-07T12:54:00.000-08:00

I showed up in Coolangatta, Australia on Febuary 22nd. After a rocky two months at home, intermittently happily soaking in the feel of familiar sand through 2mm thick rubber booties, and wishing I was anywhere else, I finally found myself off the plane and onto my next adventure; five weeks (minimum) in Australia!

Internet cafe self-portrait

The first 12 days were reserved for work. Ok, so I know my job is pretty good. Being the super surf fan that I am, I enjoyed every minute spent on the hard packed sand lining the Gold Coast’s premiere surf spot, Snapper Rocks. The absolute best male and female surfers on the planet were battling for ratings points at the opening event of the 2008 season. World Champs lost to 15 year old wildcards and the greatest surfer of all time, right in front of my eyes. All day long for 8 days I sat there entranced by the action, debating my opinion of the judges’ scoring with random spectators, photographers, and friends. I was enthralled and entertained. I even got to interview friends and heroes about their performances (the work part), and my fantasy surfer team outperformed all 29 other teams in the “Let it Ride” clubhouse populated by Body Glove employees and friends. The connection to the contest was strong and enjoyed.

Of course, I did also get to enjoy my own surfing (the day job). Unfortunately however, the Gold Coast is incredibly crowded. Everybody surfs and most surf really well. Combine a talented and thick local crowd with the assorted ripping media, team support, up-and-comers, and random hangers-on connected with the ASP World Tour of surfing and you have a recipe for the most frustrating sessions of all time.

Coffee coffee coffee!

I made it a habit to wake up at 4:30am, drink coffee and psyche up to music, then run out the door with an apple, pear, or nectarine in hand to eat while walking the two blocks to Snapper every morning. Against the backdrop of a slowly lightening dawn, I would quickly decide whether or not Snapper looked big enough to be fun, and then either paddle out or continue the run up the hill overlooking the beachbreak peaks of Duranbah. In the water by the 5:15am I enjoyed at most 20 minutes of un-checked wave feasting, worriedly glancing back towards the beach to see a steady stream of others running towards my crumbling sanctuary. By 6:00am it was over and I started looking to get a good wave in, which would often take another half hour to achieve.

My apartment on the Gold Coast

I went to bed early most nights in order to be sure to be up around 4. I did go out to celebrate Sophia Mulanovich winning the Roxy Pro.

Sophia and her boyfriend Scott, playing the pokies

I also went on a silly surf mission with the girls on a contest lay day. 4 of us crammed ourselves and our boards into a small car and did a nearly 2 hour loop, checking a few surf spots and ending up back at the house for red wine and Poisson Cru.

Surf check mission with the girls

My friend Amandine from France who is still nursing a bad knee from an injury in Hawaii in November is an incredible cook. She makes the best crepes ever, as well as the Tahitian version of Ceviche (raw tuna cooked in lime juice with coconut milk) which literally translates to “raw fish” from the French “poisson cru”.

Amandine, making dinner

On a contest off day, I went for a run and discovered these rocks. Perfect for climbing and jumping across

When the contest finally finished on the second to last day of the waiting period, I was incredibly excited. My cute comfortable apartment rental was over and with nearly two weeks until the waiting period for the second WCT event begins, I decided to rent a campervan and trip around solo for a while. A friend suggested that rather than do circles somewhere nearby it might be a good idea just to drive down to Melbourne (near the CT event), a 24 hour drive. While it is all about the journey, it is also nice to have some destination in mind. After seeing numerous comically painted vans throughout Australia on previous visits I knew exactly where I would get mine.

Wicked Vans always have some sort of interesting paint job!

I stashed my boardbag and luggage where Amandine was staying and caught a bus to a train to Brisbane to the Wicked Camper Van rental depot.

On a train

12 days, one-way to Melbourne please. Thanks very much!

My wicked van!

Stoked to be out of the circus atmosphere of Coolangatta, I showed up at Sarah and Rebecca's house in Ballina for a couple nights relaxing with friends.

The next morning Sarah, Bec, Amandine, Marina and I piled into the car to go check out the local surf options. I had just finished a strong cup of coffee and compared to the crowds of Coolangatta, everywhere we checked looked epic. I was pointing and hooting at every green clean empty peak.

When we pulled up to this spot, called Angels, there was no way I was getting back in the car to go check somewhere else.

My favorite type of waves in the world - uncrowded, peaky, hollow beachbreak with friends!

Still injured, Amandine volunteered to swim out with the waterhousing and try to snap some pics. This self-portrait says it all. Gorgeous smile!

Amandine actually scored some sick pics. Check out Rebecca Woods, ripping!

Me, cutting it back in front of a friend

We came across another friend in the water, Jaime Wheatley

This is a relatively new addition to the group. Super cool Brazilian, Marina.

Marina rips too!

Sarah Beardmore is the glue that holds the group together. The social motivator, she is friends with everyone on tour and is always entertaining.

I think she was annoyed that I kept ending up in a better spot when the good lefts came in, so she moved down the beach and then couldn't resist burning Marina. All in good fun!

I was on the inside paddling back out when Sarah went for this one. A split second after the photo was taken, she got lip launched and chucked out into the flats. It was the best thing I had seen all day, and I was losing it laughing underwater. She came up laughing as well, telling stories of how many flips she did underwater and bouncing off the sand. At that point, there was no place in the world I would have rather been than surfing with my friends.

Amandine, self portrait

I have heard of the mystical town of Nimbin for years. It was rumored to be the "Amsterdam of Australia". My friends Jessi and Laurina even sent me a postcard from there a couple years ago that is still hanging on my fridge at home. It seems that every one of my friends has been there except me, so I insisted that we pay Nimbin a visit so I could finally see for myself.

The drive was long and beautiful. Green hills and valleys parted by a long smooth stretch of two-lane highway. We spent quite a while behind this vehicle and I was so stoked to see the young hippie couple driving it, cuddling in the front seat, as we passed them. Such a sweet car and couch combo.

Unfortunately, by the time we actually got to Nimbin, it was 5pm and most of the shops were quickly closing.

Marina and Sarah

I treasure my international group of friends. One Californian, one Brazilian, a British girl living in Australia, and a Frenchy that spends at least equal amounts of time in Tahiti. Independent, wandering women, looking for adventure and a few fun waves.

We passed the giant prawn of Endless Summer fame and Amandine hopped up on top of the car for a photo.

In this crowded, fast-paced world, it is soothing to see that solitude exists. The country side was sprinkled with the most appetizing farmhouses surrounded by open space.

More to come as I make my way down the coast...

The Bearback Challenge

2008-02-09T07:32:00.000-08:00

I remember thinking, "so this is what it would feel like to die of hypothermia." I was surprised that I didn't actually feel cold. I expected something along the lines of a full-body ice cream headache, a sudden crippling all-over pain as every blood vessel in the skin contracted and my entire body begged me to "get out of the freezing cold water, you idiot!" Strangely though, it felt more like burning.

Unusual thoughts were popping up along with the strange sensation. I visualized the Ralph Wiggum character from the Simpsons episode that alludes to the Lord of the Flies novel by William Golding. Faced with the need to survive on a deserted island after someone ate all the food, Ralph stuffs his face with strange berries and when asked how they taste, he replies, "they taste like burning!" Ok, so I wasn't tasting anything, but the cold seemed to be having an effect on my brain as well. Who's idea was this anyway?

All non-surf photos by Jeff Browning

I remember hearing the boys talk about last year's Bearback Challenge. It certainly sounded crazy to me. Who wants to spend 20 minutes without a wetsuit in the frigid waters of a February morning in Southern California? I laughed at them. Silly boys always trying to be so macho. "Yup, hypothermia is really cool," I thought sarcastically.

When I received the text message alerting me to the fact that the second annual event was to be held the following morning, I deleted it, thinking, "there's no way I'm participating in that!" But, after a big cup of strong coffee and noticing that the morning sun was strong and warmish, I figured I might as well head down to Hermosa to watch. I even grabbed a pair of boardshorts and a bikini top, just in case.

Pre-event psyche up

Really, I wasn't planning on competing. I'm not that crazy, and I get cold easily. I'm the type that loses feeling in my toes after an hour, even while wearing booties and a 4/3. But, somehow I got carried away in the excitement and before I had time to fully consider the implications of my decision I was signed up for the second heat. At least, the others in my heat, Alex Gray and Matt Walls, were both similarly lacking in extra body fat. Knowing that they would be out there freezing with me somehow made it all seem OK, not unlike taking big cleanup sets on the head with a friend nearby.

Heat two lineup

It was all fun and games until we had to get in the water. I was shivering and numb just standing on the beach, the sun having ducked behind the clouds just in time for our heat to paddle out. We ran down there and started yelping in unison upon feeling the first splash of cold water hitting bare skin. My senses screamed so loud my vocal chords had to join in, then they both went haywire. By the time I had duck-dove enough times to make it to the outside, I was having trouble speaking and my skin actually felt hot. I tried to keep moving, paddling back and forth. I scored a decent left but was hardly even excited about it, and didn't surf it very well.

All surf photos by Mike Balzer

I even got a right, threw the board up at the lip, blindly, and was somehow able to come down and ride out of it.
As usual, Alex was ripping. I've always known that the kid rips. He's been impressing me in the water ever since he was 11 years old. I've come to expect it. But knowing how I felt and that he must be feeling the same, watching him absolutely going off took my respect of his surfing to a whole new level, or it would anyways as soon as I thawed out enough to consider it.

You may notice in the following photo an unusual choice of surfwear. It was announced that nudity or costumes would earn more points and despite the fact that Alex has the skill to easily win the event without any extra credit, he also happens to be quite entertaining, as well as particularly fond of being naked.

Yes, that is an elephant, and no, right now he doesn't happen to be happy to see you. When asked where he got his costume he replied, "some girl gave it to me in high school."
All I can say is, "Alex, you're the greatest!"

I ran in, completely frozen, to ring the bell signifying the fact that the self-imposed torture session was over. I don't even look cold, right?

And just to prove that we weren't alone in our mental instability, check out the number of entrants in heat 4, half of whom had already spent an hour or so surfing in the comfort of their wetsuits, only to run in, peel off the rubber, and enthusiastically charge back out for more.

It took longer than expected to regain feeling in my limbs. Alex let out a big sneeze and said, "well, i've already got a cold!" I shivered on the beach for another hour, dancing around, stepping from side to side, anything to get the blood flowing and try to raise my core temperature. Despite the pain, it was surprisingly fun. One more piece of evidence to convince those who already consider surfers to be "not quite right".

In the red beanie, Bearback Challenge co-founder, Jimmy Young

With his top score a 14 (out of a possible 10), Alex Gray easily won this year's Bearback Challenge. Here co-founder Jeff Browning awards the trophy to the new champion.

So, who's in for next year? Mark your calendars and start bulking up on body fat, the Saturday of Super Bowl weekend, it's on!

Home

2008-01-04T16:37:00.000-08:00

Everywhere I go I try to soak in the feeling of the place. I want to talk to the people, feel the sand, notice the difference in smell between an offshore wind and an onshore breeze, taste the food, drink the beer, soak in the saltwater, walk the walk, mimic the pronunciation of the local slang, and figure out which café serves the best coffee. All the senses work together to compile a picture of a place that can be remembered later like a song that instantly brings back a complete package of memory and emotion. I’ve collected quite a few of those.

I have my favorite coffee shop in Hossegor, in Durban, on the North Shore, in Western Australia. I remember the smell of being upriver in wild Gabon and surfing with naked locals in Sao Tome. I savored fried noodles with bits of charred onion in Bali, straight out of the ocean sashimi in the mentawais, and the hottest thai food ever in the Andaman sea. I am sometimes accused of having an almost Australian accent and I can pronounce “South Africa” like a local. I know what to look for when searching for a whale shark and where to find a few good hikes in Brazil.

When you travel so much, home becomes a trip as well. Sure, it is familiar. I know the names of most of the people I run into. I’ve already found the best coffee (French Roast from Trader Joe’s with organic sugar and heavy whipping cream made at home), which item to order at every restaurant in town (grilled chicken and papaya salad at The Riviera, carne asada burrito wet at Casa Pulido, and an adobada burrito with habanero salsa at Amigos, breakfast burrito with sausage and bacon at Phanny's and Classic Burger), and exactly which surf spot to check first depending on the wind, tide, and morning buoy reading. I usually run down to the beach in my wetsuit, then run back home and into the shower to take it off. I walk to the bank, Trader Joe’s, a handful of Mexican food restaurants, Subway, Kinko’s, and even the post office. It’s comfortable, it’s convenient, it’s home.

Since I’ve been neglecting it so much over the last few months and the fact that for the first time in quite a while, this month’s calendar page is completely empty as far as international travel goes, I figured it was time to pay homage to the place I call home. That is, until a couple weeks go by and my travel addiction resurfaces… For now, I’m content to let my skateboard suffice as my primary method of travel. It’s good to be home in Redondo Beach, CA.

This is where i'm sitting right now

The view from the couch

Looking out the window to see what the wind is doing. In this case, not much.

Heading down to check the surf

If it looked like this a little more often, I might be less tempted to leave! This and the next two photos: Bill Watt

I'm addicted to Sector 9 skateboards

Sequence: Dave Hall

Diving with a Whale Shark!

2007-10-08T08:39:00.000-07:00

Pro surfer, Alex Gray, pro wakeboarder Jeff McKee, and myself, hanging out on the boat in La Paz, Mexico. photo: Justin Lewis

We were told it would look like a bus, an underwater bus steaming ahead at an average speed of a little over three mph. Moments following the sputtering radio announcement that our sea plane had spotted the creature, we sped over the tepid waters of the Sea of Cortez at top speed, overflowing with anticipation.

Jeff McKee, throwing the bunny ears.

Upon first spying the dorsal fin poking through the surface, I hastily threw on fins, mask, and snorkel, and dove overboard with an awkward splash. Unfortunately, the “bus” was already traveling away, and while the projected speed previously seemed doable, it was more than I could do to catch up. I peeked my masked eyes above the surface line to gauge my progress, only to see three divers flop off the boat more than 20ft away, the dorsal fin just ahead of them. Putting my head down, I swam with all my might, arms and fins fully engaged, slowly gaining. But just as the turbulence from their fins came into view, the creature sped off and out of reach for all of us. Frustrated, I pulled myself back into the boat.

Looking for critters. photo: Justin Lewis

The boat circled with a crewmember perched on the bow looking for that fin and telltale shadow. I watched him carefully, and when he suddenly pointed with outstretched arm, I wasted no time in diving in once more. We were only a few dozen yards from shore and the water was cloudy with a high mixture of sand. I swam eagerly through the silt as the murky shadow slowly gained form. My first attempt had revealed only the fleeting sight of a powerful tail, but as I approached this time, the entire outline came into view. It was as if suddenly a veil had been lifted and the whole animal, covered in a beautiful pattern of white spots immediately filled the frame of my perspective. I paused, mesmerized. It took a moment to process the sight of a 20ft long whale shark in all its spotted glory, lingering just a few kicks away.

All photos unless otherwise noted: Justin Lewis

The “bus” had stopped for us. For the next two hours, we admired it. We respected it. We reveled in it. Not wanting to waste any time with too much gear, unsure of how long the creature would allow us to play, I free dove, bouncing between the surface and just below. Surprisingly to me, he was sunning himself only a few feet from the waterline, making for easy viewing.

I swam alongside of him, eye to eye.

I drifted back towards the tail to appreciate the extent of the massive body and powerful swimming capabilities.

I took a deep breath to dive underneath, swimming belly to belly, and look up at the silhouetted outline from below. Eventually, the excitement, kicking, and frequent dives had my breath running a little thin and I couldn’t stay on his level as long as I wanted.

PADI's Kristin Valette and I

Alex Gray. We would later joke that the whale shark had never seen so many "shakas" before and is not likely to ever see that many again!

Reluctantly taking my eyes off of the most amazing creature with which I’ve ever had the chance to interact, I kicked back towards the boat to trade in my snorkel for regulator and more bottom time.

Originally the boat driver had warned us that the bubbles produced from exhaling on scuba would scare the shark away. On the contrary, this one seemed to be attracted to the bubbles.

Whether the boat captain was wrong or the simple fact of the curiosity of youth (this whale shark was only 20ft long, coming from a species that regularly grows to 40ft in length) prompted him to swerve towards our bubbles rather than away. Maybe it was only my own hubris, but he seemed to actually enjoy our presence.

In the occasional instance that he did divert from his orbit, swimming in front of him while kicking with fins towards his gaping mouth seemed to have a calming effect.

Kristin Valette, taming the beast. photo: Greg Browning

He gulped up the propelled water, apparently happy to participate in lazy feeding. Rather that having to work to keep up with him as expected, I had to focus on not bumping into him while posing for the cameras.

After a plethora of photo opportunities, I set back into the simple rhythm of admiration. The previous day we had attempted to swim with a pod of dolphins, jumping in off the boat repeatedly, hoping they would continue to swim towards us only to hear them squeaking directions to each other to dart the other way. We did have the chance to commune with a colony of seals.

Seal and sardine photos: Greg Browning

They dove off the rocks and performed impressive spins and swirls right before our eyes in incredibly clear water.

Alex, enjoying the sardines. photo: Greg Browning

Still the seal antics did nothing to rival the awe-inspiring sight of the gracefulness of such a large animal. Even after an hour, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. At one point, he appeared to simply stop and float, repeatedly opening and closing his wide mouth. I found myself peering into the huge plankton-sucking cavern. Tentatively, I stuck my hand near the opening and it was immediately sucked inward. The reflexes kicked in and I pulled it back immediately letting out a big burst of bubbles from laughter.

Eventually, I decided to head back to the boat for a break to take some time to digest the awesome experience. I was floating in the water between our two boats, relaying my tale to those still dry when a friend warned me the shark was approaching. I looked back to see the broad head coming straight at me and quickly moved out of the way, just in time. Turning to watch his departure, straight through the middle of the six-foot gap between boats, I was inadvertently struck by the strong tail as he passed. I took it as a friendly gesture, a pat on the back from a new friend. His way of saying, “see ya later, alligator.” Internally, I replied, “after a while, whale shark!”

That afternoon, we piled into a truck for the two-hour trek to the Pacific Coast of the Baja Peninsula. A NW swell was running and it was time to trade in the dive gear for the more familiar activity of surfing.

The waves were fun and it certainly felt good to be propelled by the power of the ocean once again after a weeklong break.

Body Glove marketing director, Scott Daley rips!

Wakeboarder, Jeff McKee is pretty solid on a surfboard as well!

Alex Gray looks as good on land as he does in the water!

Still, my mind was elsewhere. Every fin in the distance and every murky shadow that caught my eye from below the surface was a reminder of the variety of life lurking below. Usually while surfing, I prefer to ignore the existence of sharks in the ocean, but after having actually met one and spent some quality time, my perspective has changed. If only they were all so friendly!

We also did some wreck diving

Thank you to PADI and Body Glove for such an amazing experience!
Want to get certified? Check out http://www.padi.com
To see more photography from Justin Lewis, check out http://www.justinlewis.com

Mutual Understanding In the Indian Ocean

2007-09-18T06:14:00.000-07:00

My boyfriend Ryan is not a pro surfer. He’s a mechanical engineer, designing helicopters for Robinson Helicopter Company in Torrance, CA. He does surf of course, but since he spends 40+ hours a week locked down behind a computer screen, he doesn’t get in the water as much as he would like. At our local beach he is known as the “surf camel”. Like the desert animal of his namesake, he stores up water time in excess of 6 hours per session if the waves are halfway decent, which gets him through the week-long droughts. Often the first guy in the water on a Saturday morning, I’ll paddle out to join him around seven, surf an hour or two, jog home for a shower and breakfast, head out again around ten, surf another session, return home for a rinse and a snack, then skate back down to the beach around noon to find him still in the water. If I were not a surfer myself, I think it would drive me mad.

Ryan, pulling in at Uluwatu

Ryan actually claims to “hate pro surfers and everything connected to them”. You might find that strange considering the fact that he’s been dating me for the past four years. When presented with the accusation of hypocrisy he wryly replies that he is “fighting the power from the inside”. He shapes his own surfboards in the shaping room he constructed in our garage, and while he happily wears Body Glove wetsuits and Sector 9 t-shirts, steals my fins and leashes, he refuses to purchase any product from a surf company. He complains about the daily onslaught of over-amped surf team members from at least seven high schools that make a mess of what would be an otherwise calm morning line-up and prevent him from enjoying a peaceful pre-work surf. He constantly grumbles about the hyped swell forecasts on surfline.com, and boycotts all surf camps. All of the above are staple elements of my life as a pro surfer however, while I haven’t been converted completely, I certainly have been swayed.

On a trip to Barra last year he showed up with one buddy to find solid 4ft waves completely overtaken by no less than 20 under 20-year-olds accompanied by multiple cameras and coaches all battling each other for set waves on which they would take off, attempt a massive aerial maneuver, more often than not, not make it, then rush back to the inside position to steal priority for the next set wave. All of this madness was facilitated and approved of by industry big wigs for the sake of filming a team video. “At what point does a company have the right to take over a surf spot and ruin something for everyone,” he wonders to me angrily, “I’m never giving them a penny!” Don’t even get him started on the exploitation of the spot by the Rip Curl Search event. I can’t stand to hear that rant again. Having traveled for contests and been one of the sponsored surfers caught up in madness for the sake of “getting the shot”, I see both sides.

Posing in Bali. Photo: Mike Balzer

Caangu bikini photo shoot. Photo: Mike Balzer

On a trip several years ago to a further North region of mainland Mexico, he had driven more than 24 hours to reach a remote point break and set up camp on the beach only to have his life threatened and then be relentlessly burned by a surf camp guide who showed up with a boatload of lazy guests who somehow felt more entitled to the waves because they had paid their thousand bucks for a week at the camp. “Are the days when you could drive a little further and camp on the beach to be rewarded with fun uncrowded waves over?” he wondered to me repeatedly.

Over ten years prior, Ryan had “discovered” another similar point further to the North when after taking a chance down an unmarked dirt road just before sunset, their truck got stuck in the mud. They spent that night bogged in the middle of the road and awoke to a perfectly reeling wave with only two other guys camped nearby. They all traded waves happily and swore each other to secrecy. He didn’t tell anyone about the location of the wave, didn’t even take me there until we had been together more than two years, then while checking the surf at home one day was handed a flyer for a new surf camp opening at his “secret” spot by a loud-mouthed local from our area, who had also papered the entire parking lot at Lowers on a South swell Saturday, not to mention the lots at Huntington, Newport, and El Porto.

Ryan, studying the info to decide where the best surf will be

I’ve surfed on as well as coached for surf teams, participated in photo shoots, and stayed at surf camps. I plan to do all three again in the future, but Ryan’s perspective has caused me to re-evaluate my own. As selfish as it is, being a pro surfer certainly has perks, and I still don’t plan to relinquish them in the immediate future. Little by little, I even feel like I’m convincing him. In June, I went to Bali for the first time with team Body Glove for a photo shoot. We paddled out as a group and took over the lineup at Keramas more than once. There were a few non-endorsed surfers out in the water who were immediately frustrated by the aggression of my pro surfing companions and I felt guilty about it. Still I was there to do a job and while I made sure to show them respect and wait my turn, I wasn’t about to give any handouts.

Keramas. Photo: Greg Browning

Despite the crowd, I had a great time in Bali. I called home often to tell my poor 8-5 desk jockey about the great waves and interesting culture, and suggest that next time he come along. Surprisingly, he agreed and less than 2 months later, he took a leave of absence from his computer and boarded a plane with me bound for Bali.

Checking out Singapore during a layover

We spent an amazing two weeks just cruising together. We surfed when the waves were good, and when they weren’t instead of forcing a session for the sake of contest preparation or photos, as I would have on my usual trips, we just kicked back and took in the environment. We made our plan for the day that morning or at the earliest the night before, and moved on a whim rather than a requirement.

Sequence shot from the inside "racetrack" section at Uluwatu

Hanging with monkeys at the Uluwatu temple

Admiring the sunset at Dreamland

Relaxing on Lembongan Island

Lembongan sunset

Completely surfed-out and exhausted!

The next stop was a boat trip to the Maldives.

This time the trip wasn’t purely pleasure. He was being smuggled aboard a photo trip with an eclectic group of professional surfers for a photo trip.

The legendary David Pu'u, always at work.
There was a tandem team, a male and female longboarder, a male and two more female shortboarders, a model/mermaid, a photographer, and me. I figured he would certainly fit in somewhere.

Unaccustomed to the burdens of decision-making and getting into the lineup with such a large group, it took him a few days to figure out a strategy. Still I think he handled it quite well, albeit not without some grumbling.

Ryan, hanging out with the crew

By the end of the three-week trip I think we understood each other quite a bit better. He finally had an opportunity to see first hand what a trip as a pro surfer is like, and I certainly appreciated the unplanned and unencumbered adventure travel of his ideal. A complete role reversal even occurred over a game of Scrabble.

I had packed a travel Scrabble game and we played at least three games almost every night. Ryan is incredibly smart and while I’m used to wearing that hat among my pro surfing friends, playing any strategy game with him is frustrating. In more than what must have been 100 games, I beat him only once. The victory was enough to bring a tear or two to my eyes and I thought I was finally on to something. It was however short lived and not repeated.

Ever since we first started surfing together, he has always thought my ending floater on a closeout is a waste of time. He chastises me for trying to fit too many turns on a wave and coming out the “doggy-door” of a tube rather than just enjoying a longer view that might not result in a “come-out”. When he questions me about those actions, I cite the WQS judging criteria and explain that properly finishing the wave earns more points. Of course he will then remind me that I’m not wearing a jersey. I can't help it, it's just how I’ve been trained. When we play scrabble however, we take opposite approaches. I like coming up with interesting words that might not necessarily earn as many points as a shorter word that would count as a “triple letter” or “double word” score. So, while I’m looking for fun, he’s killing me on points. I guess we really are the same, just not at the same time. I’m not entirely satisfied with admitting that he is the undisputed champion of Scrabble (and Chess) but if it helps him understand my surfing, I suppose it’s worthwhile.