I was chatting the other day with Andy Cox, who writes on these pages about the fine sport of surfboat rowing. Andy has been trying to get me along to try surfboat racing for a while, and I finally admitted the reason I've yet to take the plunge. Yes, folks, it's the Speedos. I just don't fancy wearing the obligatory Speedo, an item of clothing which seems dangerously close to a thong, itself something which, if you're a bloke, should only be worn when strictly necessary, in the dark, and on your own.
Andy was having none of it. Here's how our conversation went.
Me: It's the Speedos. Why do you lot wear them? You do know they went out of fashion three decades ago?
Andy: Rubbish. Speedos are the real man's best friend. Besides, you can't slide on a fixed seat wearing boardies.
Me: That's another thing - all this sliding about on fixed seats. Doesn't sound natural. But in a pair of Speedos? Do me a favour.
Andy: That's what we aim to do - especially by wearing Speedos. Good eye candy for the ladies given that all boaties of the male persuasion come fitted with six-pack as standard. OK, brains are an optional extra and conscience is in very short supply, but check out this picture. A more complete vision of beauty is hard to imagine.
Me: Highly dubious.
Andy: If you didn't have Speedos, how else could you smuggle the budgies?
Me: I'm sorry?
Andy: An Oz-ism. They're also more manageable after an inadvertent Code Brown.
Me: Now you're really losing me. What's all this about a Code?
Andy: Never mind, there's another plus. You're a hirsute individual - wearing Speedos, in a surfboat, saves a fortune on hair removal products.
Me: But I don't want to remove any of my hair, least of all in the area to which, if I am not mistaken, you are alluding.
At this point, Andy clasped me on the shoulder and stared intently into my increasingly terrified eyes. Then he spoke, in a deep and resonant voice.
Andy: Come with me and I will show you the true path. You have nothing to fear. Speedos are Truth, and Truth is a pair of Speedos. Here, come into this boathouse...
I don't know about the weather in Brighton but here on the far western front it's starting to gust at around Force 7 to 8. It's dark, dank and miserable, with rain sheeting down, and it looks as if the inclemency is here for a few days. Here's hoping it'll be a little more benign on the south coast, for this weekend sees the return of the Paddle Round The Pier Beach Festival in Brighton. This year's event is double the size of last year's and I have a feeling that despite the weather it'll still make for a good weekend. The press release appears below, but meanwhile, talking about paddling, did anyone see this story from the London Evening Standard yesterday? The Standard doesn't reach these parts but a kindly soul alerted me to the tale of two dudes who paddle-surf to work along The Thames each day. Sounds bonkers to me but then again, it's got to be better than the tube.
Sponsored by the Custom Group, Paddle Round The Pier is hoping to raise more money than ever for its three chosen charities - the RNLI, the Chestnut Tree House Children’s Hospice and SurfAid International. Over the coming weekend visitors will be able to watch and take part in a whole host of activities both in the water and on the land, centred around a massive ‘paddle village’ on Hove Lawns.
Saturday is ‘Hardcore Day’ and kicks off with the Oxbow Stand Up Paddle Race, which will see competitors paddle their Stand Up boards from Worthing pier to the West Pier. Other races on the day include the Pure Vacations Pier to Pier race and the Perception Kayaks Pier to Pier to Pier race.
Sunday is ‘Family Day’, with a much more laid-back vibe to it and main events include the Paddle Something Unusual and the main ‘Paddle Round The Pier’. 
The paddle village is twice as big as last year and includes a large shopping area, children’s entertainments, the Chilled Turtle Ukulele Festival and the main music stage. This main stage plays host to a number of bands and musicians throughout the weekend, including the Railing Stains, Los Albertos and Ukulele legends the Rinky Dinks.
David Somerville from the organising team said: “The popularity of the event from the last couple of years has meant that it just keeps growing. It’s a great opportunity to bring watersports enthusiasts together to have fun and raise thousands of pounds for three really worthwhile charities. As the largest event of its kind in the UK and is also completely free to visit.
“Being a charity event we rely heavily on the kindness of our sponsors, local businesses and individual volunteers, so make sure you come down on the weekend and do your bit to help too by donating some money. There is so much going on across the weekend that people should check out www.paddleroundthepier.com to get all of the latest info.”
Congratulations to Newquay ripper Josh Hughes who, at 17, this week became almost certainly the youngest surfer to ride The Cribbar. I met Josh and saw him surf at the O'Neill Highland Open a couple of months ago, and it was clear then that he's a young man of courage, determination and talent.
An excellent effort, and Josh is justifiably stoked: "I've always wanted to surf it," he said. "It felt amazing." But is the wave pictured really 25ft, as described by just about all media, for example The Telegraph?
Who knows, for wave measurement is a dark art. Yesterday, for example, I paddled out at Sennen Cove at around 8pm (a good time for a surf - the crowds start to thin out). From the car park the waves looked to be comfortably head high on the sets. So it was in the water, though initially, on Steve Lynton's magic board, I had a Groundhog Day few moments. I'd paddle for what looked like a good wave, only for it to back off. Was this to be another of my long list of frustrating surfs?
No, for after about 15 minutes a nice left came my way. It was my first wave, and it was a good one. A good wave sets the tone for the session, and I was well and truly in the mood by the time a seriously decent set wave came through a little later. I caught it and had an awesome ride, Steve's board - one set up for big wave surfing - turning on a sixpence, at speed, and allowing some great carves. Even better, Steve, who sold me the board a week or so ago, happened to be paddling back out a little further down the line just as I caught the wave. He saw the whole thing and it felt good to paddle back out and tell him what a superb board he'd sold me. "It took 14 different versions to get right," said Steve, who's having another, in the image of that which he sold me, shaped now.
But back to wave measurement. How big was my 'seriously decent' wave? We've had a week of solid swell here on the far western front - I'd say chest to head high on most days. Yesterday's awesome left (I'm still stoked now, and slept badly last night for thinking about it) was easily over head high on the drop, with a wave face, on the peak, of perhaps 8-10ft. Having bottom turned, it lined up at head high, a solid 6ft face.
That's what I think, and that's what it felt like, but hang on, what's that? It's someone from Hawaii telling me that, actually, my wave was 3ft at most, while Josh's can't have been any bigger than 8ft. Over there, of course, they measure waves from the back.
It's a tricky subject, wave measurement. I guess the best system is by body comparison. We all know what head high means, what double overhead is, what waist high denotes. We rarely seem to agree on more precise measurements. How often do you hear a surfer say a wave was 9ft? Or 11ft? Or 16ft? Waves of such dimensions must exist, and yet you never hear them mentioned.
As for me, whether yesterday's left was 10ft or 4ft, I'm as stoked as Josh. Surfing - it's all relative.
Will Kelly Slater claim his ninth title this year? Let's hope so. The man is a genius, as we all know, but did anyone know about Emil Kozak? I didn't, but thanks to Thad at Limited Fun I now know that he's the dude behind the graphic design on the Al Merrick-shaped board ridden by Slater in this killer shot. Nice work, Emil.
Mankind has killed God. We are confronted by the fundamental absurdity of existence. There is nothing to do but wait in the line-up for waves which, today, never came.
Today's surf was rubbish.
Here's Andy Cox with a report on the action from the second round of the UKSRL. Andy is also in the midst of penning a few thoughts in favour of speedos - the one aspect of surfboat racing that I still can't get my head round.
Saunton Sands, on Devon’s north coast, played host to the second round of the United Kingdom Surfboat Rowers’ League (UKSRL). For those unfamiliar with the area, surfers living around Braunton are among the most blessed in the British Isles. Within a short drive are a number of quality reef breaks, the long walls of Woolacombe, the churning barrels of Croyde and the slow, rolling waves of Saunton. The latter are perfect for longboarders of a certain age - and surfboat racing.
The 20 crews arrived desperate for some decent surf. The 1-2’ dribble that greeted them, blown to pieces by a cross-shore gale, was not what had been ordered but no one said being a surfer of any hue in this country was easy (Ed's Note: Astute observers may contend that the image is not of 1-2' dribble blown to pieces by a cross-shore gale. They're right. Image courtesy of a UKSRL event last year.)
Continue reading "Lobsters, Wreckers and, er, Hermaphrodites: it must be Round 2 of the Surfboat League" »
It had to happen. Since last Monday evening, when Harry and I caught Gwenver working very nicely thank you, we've had a succession of fun outings at Sennen Cove, myself on Steve Lynton's magic board and Harry either on my shortboard or his own TL2. The surf has been quite chunky at times, and I've even felt a little surfed out. But the roll had to come to an end, and so it proved this morning. We rocked up to see the main peak working well, with rights and lefts, at about mid-tide on the push. Just before we paddled out, the lifeguards designated the main peak as the bathing area and ushered everyone down to North Rocks. Once there, we found that it was onshore and it was rubbish. I caught precisely three waves and only one of them was any good (the term being used, here, advisedly). But out there, in the dross, I had plenty of time to think. Here were my reflections:
1. Lifeguards and bathing areas. Without wishing to put the cat among the pigeons, why do the lifeguards at The Cove keep deciding that best peak on the beach is the bathing area? Why can't they put the red and yellow flags up opposite the car park, which is surely a safer place for swimming? Today, hardly anyone was out swimming anyway, but a huge crowd of surfers was forced to compete for waves in one area which, at mid-tide, had lacklustre surf while the main peak/bathing area was serving up fun waves. I know, like and respect a lot of the lifeguards, but this decision has been made a few times so far this summer and I don't get it. Can anyone provide enlightenment?
2. Lifeguards and jet-skis. Even if there is a decent reason for designating the main peak as the bathing area, is it necessary to herd surfers out of it using a jet-ski? Jet-skis are doubtless invaluable in certain rescue situations, and they've proved their use in tow-in surfing, but otherwise they're noisy, hideous pollutants which should be used as sparingly as possible. No one likes being told to move from the one part of the beach that's working, but being told by someone on a jet-ski, in an exquisite, pristine place like Sennen Cove, just seems plain wrong. Again, what's the rationale? Anyone know?
3. Surfing and art. There's such a profound connection between surfing and art that someone ought to write a book about it. I would if I had the time, but as I get older there's no time for anything anymore, just work, work, work (and a bit of surfing). Fortunately, there is a website devoted to surfing and art, but in case the following artists aren't on it let me mention Ben Cook, who recently showed at The Eden Project, Stephen Read and Hannah Davies. Ben, pictured above with new MBE Chris Hines among others, needs no introduction to many of the surfing community in Cornwall. He's gearing up for a show at Cornwall Contemporary in Penzance in September, while Read and Davies - both of whose work is influenced by surfing and beach culture - are presently at Badcocks in Newlyn. If you're in the area, their Beach Voyeurs show is well worth checking out (Read's "Surf Club" is shown here, with Davies' "Low Tide Longboard"). Don't forget also The Surfing Museum's exhibition and, if you're in St Just, pop in to Cove regulars Mick and Allie's Windswept Gallery.
4. Ry Cooder. How good is this guy? I've just bought I, Flathead, the concluding CD to Cooder's California Trilogy. It's not as good as Chavez Ravine, but it's still streets ahead of most of anything else around lately (and a bit more together than Amy Winehouse appeared at Glastonbury over the weekend...).
5. Sex. It was so boring sitting in the line-up this morning that I even started to think about my 27th favourite sexual fantasy. Not for long, mind you - three's a crowd in my experience, and at the Cove today, there were about 500 people in the water. Summer, doncha just love it?
I'm never all that sure about official honours. What do they mean, who decides, why do they exist? Well, for once, I'm not troubled by any of these questions because whoever made the decision to award SAS co-founder Chris Hines an MBE got it right.
I met Chris (pictured on the left) while researching Surf Nation. He's bright, articulate and committed to making this world a better place. For many years a driving force behind SAS, recently Chris has been devoting his considerable energies via the Eden Project (working as its Sustainability Director) to the Eco Board. Prior to his involvement in the Eco Board, Chris gave evidence to the select committees in the House of Commons
and Lords and was selected as special adviser to the minister for the
environment Micheal Meacher. He's known also for once chasing the UK's
minister of the environment around the House of Commons with an
inflatable turd, and helping to cause South West Water's PR manager to come
close to breakdown by dumping a bag full of condoms and sanitary towels
at his feet during a press conference, with the immortal words: "I think these belong
to you."
Remarkably, Chris was awarded his MBE on his wedding day. "The happiest day
of my life just got happier," he said. "It's also a great day for the environment,
the oceans and for surfing. I'd like to thank all the people who
supported SAS and the staff at Eden."
A fine achievement all round. Honours lists? A good thing. See below for the excerpt from Surf Nation in which I met Chris and check out his website to learn more about what he's up to now.
Continue reading "Chris Hines awarded MBE" »
Pete Robinson drops me a line with some summer surfing news from The Surfing Museum:
Surfing and Art
Our latest exhibition, An Art History of British Surfing, is at the Fishing Heritage Centre in Grimsby from 28 June to 7 September, 2008. Art and surfing have been inextricably linked for hundreds of years, and this show looks at how both these elements combined to glide into British consciousness over the past few centuries.
From early sketches of surfers during the voyages of Captain James Cook in the 18th century and iconic hand sculpted wooden surfboards, to the flower power of the 1960s and garish fluorescent colours of the 1980s – paintings, posters, photography and film – An Art History of British Surfing is a visual feast. Also on show will be stunning replicas of ancient Hawaiian surfboards hand-carved by the Tom Pohaku Stone – a lecturer in Hawaiian culture and surfer of legendary status. You'll also be able to play our wonderful 1976 Surf Champ pinball machine - and help raise money for the British Surfing Museum at the same time.
Paddle Round the Pier
We'll be at this wonderful charity weekend on Brighton beach on the weekend of 5 and 6 July, 2008.
We will have a 1960s surfing beach display featuring our 1966 VW splitscreen van alongside our friends and sponsors Oxbow - come and say hello! This promises to be a great weekend for all the family down on Brighton seafront near the West Pier. Plus there's the amazing spectacle of the Oxbow Endurance Stand Up Paddle race - a mere 10 miles from Worthing Pier to the West Pier... Pray for calm conditions in the English Channel!
'Surfing's Golden Age: the 70s Kodachromes' by Jeff Divine
For the first time in the UK, Jeff Divine's iconic 1970s imagery will be on display at the Crane Kalman Gallery - 38 Kensington Gardens, North Laine, Brighton BN1 4AL - 23 July to 31 August, 2008.
We'll have some original 1970s surfboards on show alongside Divine's stunning photos. Here's the press blurb on the show: "At a time when surfing is more popular than ever, Jeff Divine's work pays a fitting tribute to its golden years - a nostalgic and fascinating testimony to the style, the boards, the locations, the attitudes; and not just to the sport but to the way of life. The Seventies birthed a new generation of surfers, with a new language, new attitude and, with the advent of the shortboard, a new way of surfing. Divine captured the time in a comprehensive, on-the-spot fashion. Divine's colour saturated photography is drenched with purity and soul, and with a hint of 70s psychedelic spin. His vision was vibrantly tuned to the times and captured the free-spirited nature embodied by a sport in its adolescence."
I enjoyed a gorgeous early evening session at mellow, nicely working Gwenver a couple of nights ago - it still brings a smile to my face now. Likewise, these images of the Midsummer Swellboard Classic, held at Godrevy on Sunday. Mel Sedgwick tells me that "despite the 20mph onshore winds, we still had a great time - in fancy dress."
The event - one which evidently puts a premium on fun, with nul points for negative vibes - saw a stand-out performance by Hayle-based four-year-old Ollie Turrel, who, "dressed as a Bam Bam and with only a little help from his Mum," took overall 4th and 3rd in the Junior Boys contest.
Also at the same event, Surf4theSoul International Soulsurfers Surf Club presented the annual SoulSurfer
of the year award to Keith Prowse and Dave Barnwell. This was a double presentation by which Keith received the award for last year, with Dave (not present, so not pictured) bagging this year's.
Other firsts were:
Fancy dress winner - the Adam Nightingale and Nancy Seer duo for their prison
break outfit
1st Junior boys - Finlay Abbot Ellwood
1st
Junior Girls - Anna Steele-Perkins
Family Prize - The Pleasants from
Newquay
Green surfer award - Jasmine Nevitt (just one point on the carbon footprint index)
Overall winner - Pete Williams (Shore Surf
School)
The sponsors were: Splashography, The National Trust, Shore Surf School, Swell Surfboards, Dodgy Gear Clothing, Finisterre, Godrevy Cafe, Hager Vor, Natural Balance, Treviglas Surf Academy (who sent the beach marshalls), and, of course, the RNLI, who provided the
lifeguards. All good stuff, and with the reforming of Sennen Surf Club, there'll doubtless be more such frolics here in the far west as the (excellent, so far - but I've probably tempted fate) summer rolls on. (Just one last thing - excuse the formatting in this post. Something strange is afoot with it today.)
I should have mentioned this a few days ago but there's still time to enter the annual SAS Green Raffle. No less a figure than Jack Johnson has donated 50 tickets to SAS (one of his favourite environmental campaign groups) for the UK leg of his tour. Throughout June, anyone who joins SAS or renews their membership through the SAS website (and quotes a designated promotional code) will be entered into a draw to win a pair of tickets to see Johnson, so check out the site now before the month is over.
You'll also be in with a chance of winning one of 15 green prizes including seven days' accommodation at the ‘Carbon Light’ La Lucertola Farmhouse in Tuscany, a Bodyglove Eco Wetsuit and a meal for two at Jamie Oliver’s Fifteen Restaurant, Cornwall.
Get your tickets now by visiting www.sas.org.uk. The raffle draw takes place on 18 July 2008 and tickets must be returned by 16 July 2008.
The SAS fundraising raffle ticket costs 50p - protecting our oceans is... priceless.
Huck came out recently with an interview by yours truly with Tom Curren. He was a great guy to meet and talk to as well as an inspirational surfer. The most stylish ever? Quite possibly. Here's the interview for those who may not have caught up with Huck yet (the pictures, by Sam Christmas, are excellent but you'll have to buy the mag to see them).
Hossegor, France, The small beach town is even more awash with the imagery of surfing than usual thanks to the highest-rated WQS event of the year, the Rip Curl Pro. Australia’s Shaun Candsell is the man of the moment, having won the event by beating 21-year-old Californian Dane Reynolds. Cansdell pockets a cheque for $20,000 and, if he has yet to fulfil the promise that saw him crowned ASP Rookie of the Year in 2006, he has surfed well enough to remind the cognoscenti that he should be a contender in the coming years.
Whatever Cansdell’s fate, he looks a little more media friendly than his compatriots in the notorious Bra Boys film, which showed in Hossegor’s tiny beachside square on the evening of the contest’s conclusion. The French audience seemed unsure of Sunny Abberton’s homage to the localism and testosterone endemic to the Sydney suburb of Maroubra, gasping with due reverence at the heaviest of oceanic hammerings courtesy of the Maroubra reef but greeting the film’s overt macho posturing with sang-froid edging - subtly enough, for this is France - to froideur.
The Bra Boys might not have found a home from home in Hossegor, but a dark, almost swarthy 43-year-old Californian paced with such feline ease along the promenade on the morning after the film’s screening that, to the casual observer, he looked as if he owned the place. Or rather, he ambled so effortlessly as to suggest that ideas of ownership – of materialism of any kind – were of the utmost irrelevance. He was unhurried and calm, relaxed and lithe; the antithesis, you might say, of the avatars of aggression in The Bra Boys.
Step forward, Tom Curren, arguably one of only three surfers to transcend surfing and etch his personality into mainstream consciousness. The others are Kelly Slater and Laird Hamilton, super-heroes to contemporary surfing and men whose considerable wealth is matched by finely-honed media awareness. Curren, though, is different. He’s from yesteryear. He’s famously reclusive. He once reputedly answered “Yeah” to every question put to him by a journalist. And yet he’s still one of the most charismatic sportsmen men on the planet. After all, how many people can say they’re paid just to be themselves?
Continue reading "Huck magazine Tom Curren interview" »
I'm indebted to Ed at Global Boarders, who alerts me to what is surely a first - Radio 4 selecting a book on surfing as its book at bedtime. There have been a slew of surfing books lately (and I'll tell you more about a couple that have landed on my desk soon), but the book in question is Tim Winton's acclaimed Breath. See this link for more info. 
Meanwhile, has anyone noted that Italian Vogue's July issue features only black models? As editor Franca Sozzani put it: “I thought, it’s ridiculous, this
discrimination. It’s so crazy to live in such a narrow, narrow place.
Age, weight, sexuality, race - every kind of prejudice."
I couldn't agree more. Surfing magazines, nota bene?
A great site, if you've not encountered it yet, is YouSurfTubes. Here's some killer footage of Puerto Escondido to prove the point.
Why is it fashionable, in certain of surfing's offshoot sports, to wear a pair of boardies outside one's wetsuit?
I wrote a week or so ago of Finisterre's nomination in the fashion category in the Observer Ethical Business Awards. Time has flown and other things have diverted me from following this up, not least my involvement in this project - I am, as regular readers will know, a man of many hats (Too many. You should trim down your commitments and concentrate on writing that novel. And updating this blog on a daily basis. Ed). Anyway, I'm sure many of you know the result, but if you don't, without further ado, at all, in any way, the winner is... Finisterre.
A great effort and congratulations. Here's an image to show you the brains behind the brand; click this link to read more.
What a good idea a shark repellent is. OK, there's not much call for one in our waters, but if you were in the line-up when the St Ives Great White returns this summer, wouldn't it be good to have a shark repellent with you, like Batman's, for example?
Unfortunately, as this story reports (thanks to James Orr), a problem has emerged with one particular shark repellent. It seems that rather than deterring sharks, it attracts them.
Call me old school, but that sounds like a design flaw.
Many UK readers will have heard of Alf Alderson. If you haven't met the Wales-based journalist, I can confirm that he is (a) a man of strong views, (b) from Yorkshire, and (c) a sound bloke. This makes reviewing his classic surfing book slightly difficult, in the sense that I'm about to say good things about the work of someone I know.
However, like Alf, I don't say things that I don't mean, so let me recommend, without hesitation, the reissued version of Alf's Surf UK. This first came out in the early 90s and is now into its third edition. The original was decidedly old school in tone and looks, but the new issue has been glammed up with lots of colour photos and maps. The information about the UK's many and various breaks remains bang on, without a word wasted - a bit like the man himself.
Alf also takes time out in the introduction to discuss the thorny issue of surfing guidebooks. He recalls the early 90s era and his feeling, at the time of the first book, that surfing "had got about as big as it was going to get in the UK." He readily admits that he was wrong, pointing out that "there are now few major towns in Britain where you can't buy a board and a wetsuit, however far they may be from the sea." That being the case, what of the writer of surfing guidebooks? Is he or she a force for good, or just someone who makes our line-ups yet more crowded?
I recall, in the late 80s, the joy of using the Stormrider Guide and then, later, Surf UK. Then Chris Nelson and Demi Taylor published Surfing Britain - another good read. But these books, for me, weren't essentials without which I would never go for a surf. Sure, they might be in the car on various trips, but the joy of simply driving around the next headland to see what was there was, and still is, key to the surfing experience. The surfing guidebooks operated, as much as anything, as cerebral stoke. Yes, they were useful, but they were also inspirational reads of an evening. I'd open Surf UK and read about, say, the Scarborough surf scene. I'd be amazed at the thought that there really was a surf scene in Scarborough, and it'd comfort me to think that if I ever found myself in that neck of the woods, I might be able to have a wave or two. I'd read about the conditions necessary for certain breaks to work, and then, thanks to the information in the books, know that a surf was on the cards at, say, Pentewan in Cornwall (my wife, when she was my fiancee, lived near this fickle but occasionally excellent break. Thanks to Surf UK, and having only, then, ever surfed the North Coast of Cornwall, I knew to bring my board when I stayed).
So I agree with Alf's words in his introduction: "I don't really feel that Surf UK has made any difference to the number of surfers at British breaks, it's just meant that those wave riders who use it have a better chance of scoring good surf when they're travelling to unknown coasts."
Surf UK was, when first published, an excellent guide to the breaks of Britain, and it's better yet in its third edition. It ably endorses the words of Gabe Davies in the foreword: "I still can't find anything to compare to sitting in the ocean off the UK coast and waiting to catch the pulse of a storm buzzing across the jet stream... [Surfing in the UK] is as fun or as radical as you want it to be."
A must-have for anyone who wants to explore our coastline and its jewels, Surf UK is published by Wiley Nautical at £14.99.
In a move certain to put the leashless longboarders among the lifeguards, Alex has been eliminated from all further surf contests on Channel 4.
Said a spokesthing: "Alex has been intimidatory from the moment she started reading Tom Anderson's Riding the Magic Carpet. OK, so we planted the book in The House, to see what the contestants would make of surfing, but we had no idea what would happen (honest). What we were confronted with was unprecedented and totally rubbish for ratings (super honest). Alex became increasingly controversial, and no one can say why, though a LITERARY PROFESSOR says that CHAPTER THREE, with its tales of PORN STARS, PROSTITUTES, RENT BOYS AND OTHER (SEX SEX SEX) SEARCH ENGINE MAXIMISATION TERMS was possibly a turning point."
Luckily for the profile of all surf contests in the UK, especially those in Swindon, Alex will be allowed to surf again - so long as she surfs NAKED.
Alex had this to say about her unlikely fate: "I've never been to Swindon, though I once had a Mondex card. It didn't work in London."
No surfer, anywhere, was available for comment, though a renegade skater, out as late as this blog's writer, had this to say:
"Dad, can we go to Mount Hawke tomorrow?"
Astonishingly, this blog celebrated its second anniversary yesterday. I only know this because of a comment by Ben Howey to an old post. I checked out the comment, as one does, and saw that the date of the original post was 15 June 2006.
Two years of writing a surf blog for The Times! Who'd have thought it? And where has the last two years gone?
If you know the answer to the second question, let me know. I have no idea. As for the first, this blog was launched thanks to the good folk at The Times agreeing that surfing was sufficiently interesting to merit coverage on a near-daily basis. OK, I've since sneaked in a lot of skateboarding, for no good reason other than my recidivistic love of skating, but here I am, two years down the line, still writing. The fact that I am is down to you, my loyal readers, so thanks to everyone for keeping the stoke.
I'm reminded, at this point, of a line from Hunter S. Thompson's The Rum Diary. In it journalist Paul Kemp finds himself working for The Daily News in Puerto Rico. For Kemp, read Thompson, and in The Rum Diary, look out for typical Thompson themes such as violence, chaos, compulsive writing and alcoholism. Even when things are going well, Kemp imagines a sword of Damocles hanging over his head, an ever-present meeting with doom around every corner. I can't remember the precise wording but that's the gist.
Likewise, me, now. I've surely tempted fate. The blog will end tomorrow when, accompanied by 
Tony Plant, I go for the swim of all swims, the one that will take me inside a basking shark's harmless mouth so that Tony can get the shot of all shots. Sadly, the basking shark in question is a renegade of the species, one sick of its billing as an inadequate pseudo-shark. For the past few weeks, it has not been venturing into the turquoise waters of PK in search of plankton but sharpening its fangs on the Seven Stones reef. They glisten like ice and are sharper than the shards of a broken bottle of Vodka. The shark is ready and, moreover, determined to emerge as a serious contender for the Great White which roams around St Ives each summer. I know nothing of this and, encouraged by Tony, swim up the shark making absurd gestures, confident that it is incapable of doing me harm. The shark eyes me intently, as if it really is a completely useless shark, one barely deserving of the name, and then snaps. It tears my new summer suit - a recent acquisition from Chapel Idne - to pieces before ripping the flesh from my elbows and the meat from my knees. Not content with this, it eats me. All Tony can do is take shot after shot, a teaser of which he posts, with the assistance of an old school friend, on this blog later the same day. In this way my legacy is kept alive, the blog lives on, and Tony makes a fortune.
I think I need a surf. Perhaps the image above will placate the Surf Gods. Meanwhile, thanks to all for keeping on reading.
This blog has been in a quiet, contemplative and, indeed, silent mood of late because last week I had to travel to London for my uncle's funeral.
My uncle, Stephen Wade, lived on the Chiswick High Road, London, in the same flat that my parents occupied when I was an infant, and died on 26 May 2008, aged 71, of a massive stroke. Steve was born in Torquay, Devon, the second of three sons to a doctor, and by 12 was fascinated by music. He went on to study French and German at University and to work as an international telephone operator. In his spare time, he spent the first half of his adult life painting, the second composing. By the time of his death, he had nigh on 2,000 MySpace friends, some of whom are themselves musicians of note. Various of Steve's compositions were played here and there, and although he was in the autumn of his life, it is possible that he might, even as an old man, have enjoyed recognition for his undoubted talents.
They're the bare facts of Steve's life. He was, though, a remarkable man for a number of other reasons. The key thing omitted in a simple summary is the stroke Steve suffered 15 years ago. He was, then, on the brink of critical acclaim for his music, but was plunged him into a coma for three weeks. He was in hospital for five
months and, when he was finally released, it was to live a life of paralysis on his right side and experience an extraordinarily frustrating inability
to talk, read or write. He had almost total cognitive memory loss and obvious learning difficulties. For over half a year, Steve was unable to
even sign or mime, but gradually it became apparent that the right hemisphere of his brain had not been affected by his first stroke. Incredibly, indeed, Steve's musical faculties were undimmed. Eventually, despite his paralysis and continued inarticulacy, he returned to composing, releasing a CD and being featured in the Daily Mail in an article entitled The Musical Genius That Couldn't Be Silenced. By the time of his death, Steve had attained significant respect as a musician, not merely because he had created music against all odds, but on merit. His work is experimental, challenging and sometimes difficult, but undeniably good.
So why the controversial headline? Well, beyond the bare facts there's another thing. Steve was gay. I imagine that almost as early as he demonstrated his musical prowess, Steve knew he was gay. This cannot have been anything other than extremely difficult for him, coming, as he did, from a generation for which being gay was still viewed as an aberration and, moreover, being the product of a highly conservative, almost Victorian family.
Steve came out early in his twenties. As a young teenager myself, I knew nothing of Steve's sexuality. Indeed, I thought he was quite a cool uncle, given that he lived in West London, near the home of my beloved QPR FC, wore clothes which weren't anything like the smart suits preferred by my father and, most remarkable of all, went to nightclubs. Steve also encouraged my own decidedly average efforts as a jazz bass player, sending me compilation tapes of relevant musical discoveries until his first stroke, and also influenced my choice of literature. Upon learning that I'd devoured Kafka as a young teenager, Steve suggested I try Proust. Years later, I got round to a la Recherche du Temps Perdu, and knew that Steve was right: Proust is one of the world's greatest writers.
I still haven't explained the headline, but bear with me. When I was a teenager living in south-east Devon, Steve knew I was into windsurfing. He'd smile wryly at this development but later, when I got into surfing, was positively elated. "I have a collection of Surfer magazine from the day it started," he told me, telling me to "Come and have a look when I was in London."
Often, when I'd make the trek for QPR games and especially once my career had taken me to London, I would pop round to the flat in Chiswick. It was never less than an amazing place. Rare first editions, shelves of meticulously catalogued LPs and books, original music scores and a grand piano dominated the space in the main front room, from whose window I'd see stray QPR fans walking towards Shepherd's Bush. I'd think "I must get going", but then there'd be something else that'd catch my eye. Another obscure novel, a John Coltrane album, or maybe just one's of Steve's life total of 80 paintings.
Many of these were supra-realistic, almost Hockney-esque, sharply delineated and crisp. Frequently they were of surfers, surfing and waves. Steve painted water beautifully, but, somewhat belatedly I confess, the reason for his fascination for surfing dawned upon me. Steve liked reading Surfer because in it rather than in any other magazine of the time, he would find images of bronzed and sculpted male physiques. And this was Steve's thing.
Steve owes his ability to have recovered from his first stroke sufficiently to make music again to his partner of nearly 30 years, Gerald, whose tribute at the funeral last week, at St Nicholas' Church on The Thames, was moving and dignified. Gerald stuck by Steve despite his profound disability, when many others would have had him go into a home.
As for myself, I prefer the fairer sex. Indeed, as Wrecking Machine points out, a wandering eye on that front has led me into all kinds of trouble in the past. But I'm not homophobic, and I am aware that for a great many surfers, being gay is A Very Bad Thing. How discomforted, I imagine, must those people feel to think that certain men - men like my uncle Steve - might buy a surfing magazine not to admire the gnarly drop at Mavericks, or the hectic inside section of Pipeline, still less to find out how to nail a roundhouse cutback, but instead to admire semi-naked, perma-tanned young male athletes?
Well, I'd say chill out and take five. In this life, we can't take anything to the grave but what we can do is try, on the way there, to be decent and humane. Prejudice is odious and a total waste of time. So Steve, if you enjoyed those mags, great; I've still got the ones you gave me and in they're in safe custody. You were a fine painter, a great musician, and a good man. RIP.
There's an interesting piece in today's FT whose strapline says it all: "Can the thrill of extreme sports ever by captured in writing?"
The writer, Mark Alderson, examines three recently published books: The Thin White Line, by Andy Cave (mountaineering, memoir); Breath, by Tim Winton (surfing, fiction); and Cham, by Jonathan Trigell (off-piste skiing in Chamonix, novel, cover opposite). Breath comes off well and Alderson's piece is well worth a read, though perhaps another take might have been to ask: "Are there are any books which adequately examine the demons which drive people to take on (truly) extreme sports?"
The classic, for me, is Feeding the Rat by Al Alvarez, the poet, critic and poker-playing novelist's account of legendary Welsh climber Mo Anthoine, himself a man of rare integrity and a compulsive drive to take ever greater risks. This he explained by way of the need to feed the rat inside:
The rat is you, really.
It’s the other you, and it’s being fed by the you that you think you are. And
they are often very different people. But when they come close to each other,
that’s smashing, that is. Then the rat’s had a good meal and you come away
feeling terrific. It’s a fairly rare thing, but you have to keep feeding the
brute, just for your own peace of mind.
For as he also says: And even if you did blow it, at least there wouldn’t be that great
unknown. But to snuff it without knowing who you are and what you are capable of,
I can’t think of anything sadder than that.
You can check out Alderson's piece here.
Pictured here is the latest addition to the Wade family. She's called Maya and she's seven weeks old.
Not pictured is our other dog, Rio, a hound of many wonderful qualities but a let down on the surfing front. Rio tends to run from any wave bigger than three inches and does not therefore have the requisite mental attributes to be a surf dog. Maya, though, can already do layback tailslides and 360 re-entries.
(Then why is she standing on an upside down board? And a longboard at that? Ed.)
One of the pleasures of life in the far west is The Cornishman. I mean the newspaper, not one particular Cornish chap who, for example, stands in the centre of Penzance selling pasties. The Cornishman is an excellent local newspaper and, for me as with a number of surfers in these parts, the weekly Tales from the Tube slot is a must.
Last Thursday's piece was by Thruster, and you can find it here. Thruster has come up with a novel solution to the 'what board to ride? debate, a question that has been plaguing for me for some time.
As you'll see, Thruster, in lamenting the outrageous fortune that has brought him to the cusp of middle age (yes, he is nearly 40), has decided that it is time to start riding a swellboard. As he says: "
You
can't change your natural ability or your age, so the alternative is to
make your sport easier, and let's face it, it doesn't get any easier
than those big yellow lumps of foam. The advantages are extensive: I'll
never struggle to catch waves; I'll never mess up a turn (because
nobody expects you to turn a swellboard); I'll never come out from a
surf gutted because I wasn't tearing it apart (because it's
impossible); the waves will never be too small, and I'll never put a
hole in my face with the nose of my board."
The idea of abandoning shortboards, longboards and mini-mals in favour of a swellboard seemed quite attractive for 85% of my surf on Friday afternoon. Quite simply, I was woeful. I can't blame the surf - it was quite good - and I can't blame being on the wrong board. I could blame Fuz Bleakley and Charles Williams, the two surfers in the water lucky enough to witness me nose-diving, falling backwards, sideways and every which way, but then again they didn't have anything to do with my ineptitude. It was me wot was rubbish, and that's that. Worse, Friday's lousy surf was the third lousy surf of the week.
But why? I've never exactly ripped but I have had some fine waves in my time, especially on my recent trips to Scotland and Barbados and, indeed, only a couple of weeks ago at Gwenver. So how do I manage to paddle out and find that it all goes so horribly wrong? In Friday's session, why did I contrive to have one left-hander that was miraculously full of top turns and cutbacks, as if I vaguely knew what I was doing, but five minutes later have my hands slip off the rails as soon as I caught the wave?
Yesterday, on my longboard (well, it's Steve's, but I am going to buy it), I caught wave after wave at North Rocks, trimming nicely in the pocket on many and carving on others, and my ever-present witness, Harry, even told me that was the best he'd seen me surf for ages. But if there was any surf tonight, it seems lately to have become a 50/50 toss up as to whether I'd paddle out and demonstrate complete incompetence, or surf with the intermediate aplomb for which I am not renowned.
I don't know why this is, and fear that age (42 and 10 weeks) allied with a fundamental absence of ability may have something to do with it. But thanks to Thruster, there is a solution. If things get really bad, I too will take to swellboarding.
Those magnificent men (and women) in their rowing machines are back in action. Here's Andy Cox - captured in not one but two rare photographs - with a report of the action in the first round of this summer's UK Surf Rowers League Summer Series. 
Porthcawl was the exotic location for the first round of the United Kingdom Surf Rowers League (UKSRL) Summer Series held on 31 May. Twenty teams made the trip to South Wales, notable amongst them flat water competitors from Molesey and City of Bristol Rowing Clubs.
Once the fog lifted, a clean 1-2’ wave emerged with swells running far enough from the beach to keep sweeps (steersmen) honest even though rowing technique and fitness (as opposed to surf craft) were still the key qualities of the day.
The first round of the year is always an opportunity to run an eye over the opposition and see who has put the effort in during the long, cold winter months away from the coast. This year, the sense of anticipation was more heightened than usual following confirmation that the best teams in Europe are to take on the might of Australia at Ocean Thunder Europe in Biarritz, south-west France in early September. A chance to be European champions is one thing, to win, in effect an unofficial world title, quite something else altogether.
Continue reading "Porthtowan Blue Bali off to flyer in surfboats summer series" »
About a month ago I wandered into Tristan's Gallery in Wadebridge. The purpose of my visit was to interview the owner, Edward Davis, for a piece in Cornwall Today magazine, for whom I masquerade as Arts Editor. Tristan's Gallery is renowned internationally as a fine art photographic gallery, and so was well deserving of a profile.
It was a pleasure being there and checking out work by the likes of Bill Brandt, Terry O'Neill and David Bailey, but, lo and behold, Davis had sourced some exquisite surfing photographs. They're by Jack Eden, the founding father of Australian surfing photography, and Davis - who recently travelled all the way to Australia to meet Eden - is exhibiting them in a show which runs throughout the summer. Below is the text of a press release by Matthew Arney; tomorrow night is the opening of the show. Eden's images are beautiful and well worth checking out.
This summer Tristan’s Photographers Gallery in Wadebridge, North Cornwall, takes advantage of both its status as one of the few international fine art photographic galleries outside London and its sunny location amid the surf beaches of North Cornwall to present a collection of rare hand-printed black and white images by the founding father of Australian surf photography, Jack Eden.
Described as “the photographic biographer” of Australian surfing history, Eden shot the majority of the images displayed between the late fifties and late sixties mainly around the beaches of Sydney for use in his magazine Surfabout. He learned developing and printing techniques by correspondence with legendary American landscape photographer Ansel Adams.
This period was a time of great transition, growth and development in surfing, as both new materials and designs allowed for great progression in the water and more young people pursued a relaxed and carefree lifestyle after the war years such as that offered by the beach. Jack Eden captured both the action taking place on the waves, and also the fashions, cars, musicians and attitudes of the blossoming Australian beach scene which has since developed to become a national stereotype.
The sixties were the decade when Australia came of age on the waves – the surfing evolution and revolution. Comprising well-composed and aesthetic action shots, portraiture and photojournalistic lifestyle subject matter, Eden's photography truly captured the innocence and essence of surfing in the sixties.
Among the prints on display are classic images from the First World Surfing Championship held in Manly, Australia in 1964, and featuring such iconic forefathers of modern surfing as Midget Farrelly, Nat Young, Mike Doyle, Joey Cabell, Peter Drouyn and Bob McTavish.
This is the first time that any of these works have been displayed in Europe, having extensively toured museums and galleries throughout Australia, and the prints exhibited are from an extremely limited edition run of three hand-printed by Eden himself before the onset of poor health. One run was for the Australian exhibition's permanent collection, one was for his family, and the other - on display at Tristan’s Gallery - are for sale.
If you're unable to visit the gallery all images can be purchased directly through the gallery website. See Tristan's Gallery for more info; Tel. 01208 815767. 
Neil Watson alerts me to an intriguing innovation by CRN. The IT magazine last week hosted its very own 'Fight Night' in which readers took on journalists. As one journalist, Nick Booth, put it: "I think it’s great that someone has finally organised a fight between a
magazine’s journalists and its readers. There are plenty of people in
the IT industry who’d like to see a journalist getting punched in the
face, believe me. This is the way ahead for journalism."
Could the idea catch on? Does anyone out there want a fight?
Unfortunately, being freelance, I can only volunteer myself, though maybe Vince over at Huck Magazine might want to put a few scribes forward? Talking of Huck, issue 10 has just hit the streets. It contains an interview with Tom Curren by yours truly which I'll post in a couple of days and a host of cool stuff. As ever, more than just the ride.
I'm eagerly awaiting the result of Finisterre's nomination for the Fashion Brand of the Year in the Observer Ethical Awards. I believe that judging has been completed for the prestigious award, and that as I write the winners are being announced. Good luck to Tom, Ernie and the lads, who as well as making some cool and right on gear also host a daily skateboard competition in their office. I'll be there to give it a go sometime soon, but meanwhile, here's the press release for the awards.
Who's done the most to safeguard the planet in the past 12 months? The shortlist has been revealed for the third Observer Ethical Awards. The announcement follows the success and integrity of the 2006 and 2007 awards, which saw Make Poverty History win Campaign of the Year and Al Gore win Campaigner of the Year.
The awards are instrumental in progressing ethical thinking and ideas in the UK. The aim is to reward those pioneering a sustainable future for the country and to recognise the very best products, innovations and schemes that make living ethically achievable. The awards will also bring to light those who give ethical living a mainstream and practical appeal.
What started as a vague notion of highlighting efforts to progress social and environmental justice in the UK, seems to have somehow become a dynamic, growing, three-year-old fixture on the eco social calendar.
Green awards are no longer an anomaly. Since they started, quite a few green gongs have begun to be handed out - predominantly in the corporate and marketing worlds. But the Observer Ethical Awards are not just about attaching a green tag; they also examine transparent environmental and social agendas. The awards break across sectors and communities, acknowledging everyone from campaigning kids to fashion designers.
Cornwall’s own Finisterre, the first action sports company to specialise in quality technical apparel with a groundbreaking manufacturing and environmental ethic, has been nominated for Fashion Brand of the Year. Finisterre will be alongside some of the most progressive ethical thinking politicians, businesses and campaigns this year. “We don’t push environmental and social issues to turn a profit, or achieve greater market share, it has always been at the core of what we do, since day one. We’re honoured to have been noticed for this and loads of thanks to all those who voted - we’re stoked”, said Tom Kay, Finisterre founder.
Check out this link for info about Mike Sheldrake's new invention - the cardboard surfboard. Well, it's covered in transparent fibreglass, so it's not quite a case of cardboard being directly in touch with the sea. That would be silly, if you ask me.
Another excellent brushboarding session went down last week at Crealy Adventure Park, to which the Exmouth crew took their surreal and superb invention. There's talk of the Brush Ramp appearing at various UK surf events this summer, and no wonder. It's a blast, as James Parry and Sam Smart will confirm. The Sennen duo turned up too, bringing acid drops and pop shove-its to the ramp. My sons, Harry and Elliot, have got it wired (excuse the pun), and I even managed to avoid injury once again. Here's a selection of shots courtesy of Mike Newman (himself, along with James's girlfriend Bryn, another convert).
Remember: if you see the Brush Ramp, ride it. It's one of those things that has to be done to understood.
Today's surf was a surf of two halfs.
The first half saw me take a longboard out at the Cove. It was onshore, it was messy, it was sunny, it was slack. But thanks to my longboard - loaned to me by Steve Linton, to see if I'd like to buy it - I nevertheless caught a few decent right-handers. I kept pace with my irritatingly better-than-me-at-everything-lately son Harry, dropped in on him consistently, snaked him with elan and generally made him realise that, as his father, I am his superior, a person who deserves love, admiration and respect (as he confirmed when he said "Dad, that was a nice off the top. Not.").
The second half saw the tide push in and conditions deteriorate. Unable to refrain from my habitual delusional thinking, at this stage I suggested to Harry that we swap boards. With a big smile on his face, he said "OK, Dad." I then spent the next 45 minutes immured in a longueur of seemingly infinite frustration, or, put perhaps more clearly, failing to achieve anything whatsoever on my shortboard. Harry meanwhile caught wave after wave on Steve's longboard, to add to the 573 that he'd ridden earlier on my shortboard.
As we walked up the beach I bumped into Sam Whittaker, one of the lifeguards. He will one day be Dr Whittaker, which is a scary thought, but as we were chatting about the novel ways he intends to inflict medical science on the population of West Penwith his eyes veered alarmingly downwards. I realised that he had noticed THE LONGBOARD, which Harry had cunningly swapped minutes earlier when we reached the sand.
"Does Stef know you've been riding a longboard?" asked Sam, with a sly grin.
"Of course he does," I replied. "He's encouraged me to try one."
This was a lie. Stef (of skater fame on this blog and in the latest issue of Huck magazine) has sworn that he will never talk to me again if I take up longboarding, anywhere other than in Barbados where no one knows that he knows me.
"Really?" said Sam, as if were a lawyer rather than a Doctor-in-the-making with bizarre and sadistic fantasies which really can't be repeated here. "Are you quite sure?"
"OK, he didn't say that. But keep it quiet. He doesn't need to know, does he?"
Sam merely gazed at the horizon, and muttered something about compulsory lobotomies for 42-year-olds. I walked on up the beach, heedless. Steve, if you're out there, I'd like to buy your board. My first half wave count was A LOT, the second half one was .... ZERO. And numbers, as we all know, make more sense than doctors and lawyers put together.
A visit to Beach Bum's site is always rewarding. If you don't regularly check out it out, you should.
It is thanks to him that I am now aware of this deft-looking sand(not snow)boarder. |
I was chatting the other day with Andy Cox, who writes on these pages about the fine sport of surfboat rowing. Andy has been trying to get me along to try surfboat racing for a while, and I finally admitted the reason I've yet to take the plunge. Yes, folks, it's the Speedos. I just don't fancy wearing the obligatory Speedo, an item of clothing which seems dangerously close to a thong, itself something which, if you're a bloke, should only be worn when strictly necessary, in the dark, and on your own. 
