Frosty Mornings

I started today with a 1km sea swim off Clifton, clad in nothing but my steamiest speedo, a silicon cap and a pair of goggles to keep me warm.  It was a good, fresh start to the day.  The water was chilly - of course, but not that cold for Clifton.  A good work-rate kept hypothermia at bay.  It was a fine start to the day.

If you're wondering how deranged one would have to be to do that, then you can stop reading here.  There are plenty of gossip sites to pre-occupy you.  But, if you're intrigued, but a bit concerned with the cold - then consider these guys chilling out in Iceland.

Dane Reynolds, Tim Curran, Dan Malloy in the footsteps of Viking explorers.  Photo: Nathan Myers

Iceland.  A few years ago the suggestion of surfing there would have invoked derision.  Now, it's being billed as the 'cold water Hawaii'.  Ireland already taking the title of 'cold water Indo.'  And very cold water it is.  But, with H-bombs, Cyphers and the like entering the market, these places in higher latitudes are becoming options.  It's no profound statement that colder places are the new, if not last frontiers for surfing.  Look at that pic.  It must be cooking for it to be that cold, and have the crew pass up a wave like that and sit in the frosty morning, midday, midnight, whatever light that may be and wait for the next one.  One the subject of light, when you have 24 hours of daylight - well, the potential is as endless as the summer days.  You can hit a wave twice a day on the same tide.  There's something the tropics can't offer.  That and thermal springs to thaw out cold bones in between, things begin to sound very enticing closer to the poles.  Any takers?

Thanks to Surfer for the image

Width. Style.

I'll admit it:  I wrote this whole article about how sick it must be to ride a backhand barrel that's so wide you can spread your arms out and claim it.  Then as I was about to publish it, I had another take and whoah: that's no backhand barrel...

Why did I make the mistake?  Kalani Robb here has enough space that he can twist his back and square his shoulders to his line of riding.  That means two things: girth (yes, that word again) and poise.  Where we would all want to lead with our shoulder, if the wave throws like this, and you've got enough class, you can whip this sort of thing out.  Vintage Robb, and what a fine vintage that was.

"I caught a barrel, and it was this big." Credit: Tom Servais

Espn runs a pretty good blog on surfing, even if they are focussed a bit too much on the comp aspect of it, but hey, it's all got it's place.  They had some recent coverage of the Clash of Legends run between the Reef Hawaiin Pro.  Kalani was invited and in seeing that I thought: "Jeez, what happened to that guy."  Someone else, and doubtless many people thought the same and they ran a piece on the guy a few days later.  Check it out if you will.

Shot ESPN/Servais for the pic.

When you're just too late...

When all the bravery and commitment just don't make the slightest difference.  If you're not on it - it's on you:

Unidentified, in a moment he'd probably like to forget, but never will

 I'd actually love to know what happens next.  He could either punch into the trough and go very deep, which would be good.  He'd get a solid working, but most of the energy would be above him.  Or he could get sucked up and come back down for another grinding.  Given his complete lack of control in the dive, his wetsuit for a bit of added bouyancy, and size of the wave, I reckon the 2nd option is more likely.  Oh, the tears.

Via Word of Life Worship Centre, which seems appropriate, seeing as our guy here is about to experience the wrath of God.

Overhead...for ants?

Of course size matters.  Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.  It's not only thing that matters, though.  Shape is very important.  And so is girth.  Girth...that's a good word there.  Nothing like a girthy barrel.  I think we need a post dedicated to girth sometime soon.

But, on this perfect friday, and to end off questions week: how does this wave measure up?

ankle slapper or overhead?

I have no idea.  And that's why I like it.

Rich Reid would know as it's his pic, lifted from here.

Local Thursday: Llandudno

We called it wrong this morning.  We drove an hour in the wrong direction only to turn tail and sit in commuter traffic back through town.  It was kak, and some people do it every day.  Rob described it as having your soul eaten out from you - one teaspoon at a time.  One rusted teaspoon with a jagged edge and some of that miff hardened, old food that the dishwasher can't get off.  So to cut a long story and drive short, we turned up at Llandudno - a not too bad beachy with a rep for heavy barrels and locals.  The locals were all at work, but there were a few barrels to be had.  If you could get in them.  There was a such a current sucking up the face, that unless you got the first wave of the set, it was near impossible.  Air-drops were almost mandatory.  A very challengin surf, and as I said afterwards, without making it onto the face of a single wave, certainly my least successful surf in a long time.  I would sulk, but hey, I was surfing, so I won't.

I was mostly on the wrong side of the lip.

Did I mention how cold the water was?  It was very cold.  Have I mentioned that I don't have booties at the moment?  I have, haven't I... Anyway, its very kak not having booties at Llandudno. 

Did I mention the film shoot on the beach?  There was a film shoot on the beach.  There was a hot chick in a red bikini shooting an advert or something stupid.  She was probably the highlight of my session.  But, the cool thing was, partly because of her hotness, and partly because of someone's wasteful marketing budget, there at least 40 other people enjoying being on the beach this morning - AND getting paid for it. 

The other people getting paid for being on the beach were Llandudno's team of gardeners and their owners' dogs.  Cape Town housewife: "Philemon!  Walk the dog!  He wants to have his foofie now and I'm having a cup of tea!"  Still, getting paid to be on the beach - not bad.

Shot to Matt Slater for the pic.  And I will start taking my own pics soon - my camera is stuffed after being owned by me (in a literal, and a more emphatic, slangy sort of way) and mom has been preoccupied with hers on a photography course - but that means upgrade for her...and then for me by extention!  Shot mom! if you've worked out how to read this.

The unknown factor

What you see when you surf is key.  This is most apparent by the way we always strive for a better vantage.  You can't wait to go round the next bend in the road.  When riding shotgun, you push yourself out of your seat and press your head to the ceiling to get a view of the waves breaking down below.  Think Hoek, or Caves.  There's the sprint over the dunes.  And of course, raising your body up as the swell comes to you to see what lies beyond.  With a dynamic sea to play in and a world of explorable coastlines, there's so much mystery to be enjoyed.  It may be what the waves are going to be like at your local that day, or how a new line-up looks for the first time as you break the last crest and lay your eyes on the sets for the first time.  It could be the view from the backline back at the coast - a perspective few but us surfers get.


This is one such view.  I like because it holds that mystery in it.  It's got that exotic quality to it that we're always searching for.  And in the half-light of dusk, who knows what else is hidden in shadows.

Pic by Dennis Kirkland via

Who and where?

It seems like it's questions week here at Time Between Waves. 

And today's question is who and where?  The first should be fairly obvious to anyone in their late 20's.  Still a very current surfer, just not mainstream.  Oh, yes!  Did you see that pun there?  That wasn't planned.  That. Just. Happened.

As to where, well if you've been there, you'll probably get it.  It's been mentioned on this site before.  Hint: It rhymes with...

...actually, I can't think of anything that it really rhymes with.

Expert joint? Pervert oink? Sweatshirt shtoink?

Thanks to surf.co.nz for the image.

Step out of the door and go

Do you feel like throwing it all in and just going surfing?  Yeah, me too.

Wait, did I hear someone say no?  Well, then feast your eyes on this little gallery and let's see if you change your mind.

Empty beaches are around the next headland

Tropical right - begging for takers

a far away left found

explore by boat

...or by land

wax up, paddle out

select your weapon of choice

take some mates along for the ride

Get some new perspectives

Push your boundaries

Reap the rewards

Find something new, especially if its in yourself

Pics from AVG, Morgan Maassen (well worth checking out his work), Sean Davey, and my bud, Paul Berry - who knows a thing or two about hitting the road, sky and surf when he gets there. Buy his book here.

A fine line

The fine line between never having felt more alive, and thinking you may already be dead.

Thiago Candelot, and Jaws

Thanks MSW and Mike Neal for the photo.  And there's a video of it here, if you dare.

Happy Monday, now do some work before the swell hits.

Can it get better?

I'd say it's pretty much perfect.  What do you think?  Have a gander at this and give it a bit of mindsurfing.  Where are you taking off - behind? Under? Easy in front?  Backhand soul-arch to pocket crouch?  Late rail-grab to no-hands extention?  Whatever...

Take your time

As far as left hand reef passes go, this wave looks pretty much up there.  But then, looks can be deceiving.  Where is this?  I'll give you two clues: 1.  You've heard of it before.  2.  It's not actually a reef pass.  Another hint: to answer the title question:  Yes, it can.  But you probably don't want it to.

via

Gavin Rudolph

We are fortunate for many reasons here in South Africa.  Another mag I sometimes read ran an article recently asking their contributers that if they could live anywhere, anywhen - what would that be.  Most came up with fairly cultural answers - London in the 1690's, for example - which saw the advent of printing, the colonisation of the New World and all the wonderful new products it brought, the birth of modern finance, et cetera.  Another picked the West Coast of America - circa 15000BC - a hunter gatherers paradise and certainly uncrowded surf.  I don't think you're allowed to take a wetsuit or your modern board.  Best start carving a redwood with that flint blade then.

I'm sure the point of the article was to get the reader to ask themself the same question: anywhere, and anywhen?  Most of us are thinking already, and if you're like me, your answers are either around 40 - 50 years ago, or much, much further back.  I'm guessing you're either in Indo or Hawaii.  Possibly somewhere else in the South Pacific.

I thought a bit further and, perhaps short-sightedly, came up with: Cape Town, Now.  Why?  Because it's an amazing balance of things.  Historically, it's a fascinating time for us - we are on the cusp of either making it or not as country.  We are living in a chapter that will be closely studied in the future.  We straddle the first and third world and enjoy some of the benefits of both, and of course a few drawbacks.  We have third world freedoms, along with third world dangers.  But we also enjoy first world services.

As a surfer, it's also an awesome balance between being an established surfing nation, and a bit of a backwater.  We have 1st class shapers, who are ridiculously cheap.  Generally, its a time when technology is really cool - forecasting, wetsuits, but we still have a relatively untainted coast.  We have sufficient infrastructure and an economy which makes getting to out of the way spots possible.  We can still explore our own backyard, and with going too far find ourselves alone in cooking surf.  We have amazing talent amongst us in many fields of surfing, and we have a long enough history to have some great father figures to look up to.  Which, after all that, brings me to my point:

This guy:

Gavin Rudolph: more likely to tell you how to thread the barrel at Supers than the price of bread when he was your age.

I surfed with Gavin a few months ago, not knowing at the time I was sharing the water with a legend.  His stoke was infectious.  He's sixty plus and froths like a 15 year-old grom.  At one point, he paddles up to me and says he's sorry he snaked me on that last wave.  I'm a bit confused - I'm pretty sure I had no chance of making that section so I'd pulled back.  No snake in my book.  Still, the next one's mine, he says.  Back in the parking lot he's hooting as an unridden set comes through.  I chat to him about his Firewire and mention I'm interested in one.  He offers his for me to try out.  I don't know the guy and he's more generous with his gear than a close buddy.  One word: Legend.   Did I mention that he's a former world champ and has won at macking sunset amongst some of the original Hawaiian heroes?  And what credentials does your CV have?  Didn't think so.

I think this image is of Yzterfontein, but you can see the JBay grooming coming through.  I bet he went a long way down this wall before it caught him, or he kicked out, scanning the horizon for the next one as he did. 

the cheeky mid-weeky

It's late because I spent most of the day not at my desk and doing what I should be doing.

We picked up blanks, chatted to DVG, plowed some Compass Bakery and then hit The Dune (singular, please).   It wasn't like this. 

Dune: dark, moody, brutal.  An inaccurate protayal of 16.11.2011

Today was sunny, relaxed, playful, instead.

I got one decent cover-up and some serious ball-chafe on the way the back.  I also proved that it is possible to surf dunes without booties.  You just lie on your board the whole session and stick your feet in the air like a periscope.  It's good for your abs, too.  By the way, has anyone checked my booties?  There were lank seals cruising just off us as well.  Makes you a bit jittery, but rather the tenant, than the landlord.  Then on the scrotum chafing trek back we spied a whale just offshore.  We couldn't have been more than 100m from it on the beach.  Not a bad Wednesday - ridden or otherwise.

And thanks Foxy again for the shot- that's two beers I owe you at least.

Why didn't I think of that...

The first in hopefully not a very intermittent series...

Why didn't I think of that...The Wavecave.

I'm a big fan of practicality and multi-purpose tools.  In fact, I'm about to pick up a blank for my first board and the brief is - I want a fish that can skates over fat mush - big and small, AND can handle a heavy drop.  The logic behind this may be revealed later.

However, these guys are clearly on top of their game.  Ever found yourself crawling into a waxy sandy board-bag under the thin protection of a thorn tree for shelter?  Where the moon smites you by night, and the early morning sun by hungover day, with the wind sifting grains into where only dental floss should go?

Well then: enter the Wavecave:

Board-bag and tent combined solution.  All together now: Why didn't I think of that...

It's inspired by, designed for and...wait for it...built in Indonesia.  Ideal for those missions to far off places where the warung scarcely exists, uncrowded waves are and epic times are to be had.  Because when you're in such places, you only have 3 things to do: surf, sleep, eat, and this boy covers two of those bases. It comes in various sizes - up to 7'8", because if you're going that far, you're not going to fuck around.

As far as I can tell it's not available on our shores yet, but have your got a relative coming over from the UK/Oz for Christmas?  Problem solved.  Meet said relative at the airport, pick up prezzie and give a thankful peck on the cheek (optional), then push off up the coast with your brand new toy/gadget/home. 

And then let me know how it goes, because as excited as I am about these sort of things - gear like this really needs a proper road test  before giving it the thumbs up.

Things likely to happen when you surf Padang Padang

1.  You will have the barrel of your life.
2.  Some asshole, probably Brazilian, will drop in on you.
3.  You will hit the reef (not shown).

Shot to Jarred Hancox and the boys at O&E for this.

Don't laugh

Kobi Graham, Ours

Seriously, don't laugh.

The point of Monday beatings is to have a bit of a laugh at someone elses misfortune.  And this shot fits the bill when I stumbled over it. 

Then learned that the guy broke his neck on this.  Ja, not so funny anymore.

The good news is Kobi, a lifeguard at Bondi Beach, is back in the water and stoked to be surfing again.  The story could have ended very differently, but his mates were on scene and knew what to do with him - actions that saved his life, and kept him out of a wheelchair.

I've been in the water while a guy broke his back.  I've pulled coral out of a mate's head in Indo.  We later learned his skull had shifted on his spine - a close call and luckily he came out of it with a few scars and fair sized chiro bill.  I did a First-Aid course recently where we focussed on spinal injuries.  I'm obviously going to to punt it and encourage you all to do something like it - it could make all the difference.  I will say this though:  When you're practising and you're cradling someone's head in your hands, you hope to God that you never have to do it for real. 

My surf this morning...

...was nothing like this

So, I took my longboard and my mildly healed shoulder down to Big Bay early this morning.  The good news: It's awesome to get back in the water and my shoulder works, mostly.  There were only two other guys out at the start and then I was ace out.  And there were even some head high sets coming through.  The bad news:  Mushy close-out, side-shore, slop.  Still, and bad surf - especially after months - is better than no surf. 

Get wet this weekend, wherever you are!

Thanks to Ryan P. Evans for this photo.  I think it's P-pass, but he seems to claim it's his local Hatteras.  I'm going with P-pass.

Desert Point for Beginners: Part 3

Catch up with part 1 and part 2

A sharp learning curve

The slats of our Lombok shack pressed into my shoulders.  In the dark, I could hear Bezza was awake and not happy. “Bro, where’s your bog roll?”  An important lesson:  always know where your torch is.  I flicked it on, and scanned the wicker room.  “Here!” offering him the white gold.  He grabbed it and bolted into the pre-dawn.  I lay there staring into the dark of the palm leaf ceiling.  Outside, barrels cracked on the reef.  There was no point in trying to sleep anymore. 

It was nearly dawn as stood on the shore.  Behind me, the muezzins called the faithful to prayer.  In front of me, lit by the crescent moon of Islam, another sickled curve drew me.  It was 4-6 and world class.  Easily the best waves I’d ever seen in person.  The take-off actually didn’t look too bad.  Then it got bigger, hollower and faster as it ran down before a mandatory kick-out.

A short hooded figure appeared next to me.  I looked down into the shadow where a face should have been.  That, with the minarets wailing behind me put me on edge.  “Hey, bru…” My words disappeared into the abyss.  A local kid?  Or a Djinn from the underworld here to warn me of my ill fate?  It let out a high-pitched cackle, deriding the fear it sensed.  That broke into a more mischievous laugh, and the boy dropped his hood, revealing a naughty face.  I’d been had.  Twenty years younger and he’d made me a fool.  His victory assured he disappeared into the night to taunt some other unfortunate tourist.

Bezza appeared back from the bush somewhere.  His body language told me he was a bit more comfortable and bit lighter.  “Hey, bru.  You should have seen what just happened.” and I retold the story.  His humour improved and he turned to the sea, with the moonlight sparkling off the reaming sets.  Excitement built in him and soon the same light glinted in his eyes.  Behind us dawn was beginning to show.  Somewhere, an iman bowed to Mecca.  In front of us, the purpose of our own faith beckoned.  “Let’s do it, mate!”

Back at the hut, we took turns to hold each other’s boards, muffling the resonant scraping as we waxed up.  Silently we slipped off the end of the point and into world class surf.  But very soon, stars waned, the sky pinked and a pack appeared alongside us.  

That session did not go well for me.  I was not to be the hero I was promised.  Barrels are not awarded to the unready.  I stacked a few take-offs and the others recognised a weak surfer, someone out of his depth.  My head hung as I picked my way over the coral.  While I had a sense of failure, I could take something away.  I knew that with some more time, I could do it.  A flame was lit.  

Perfect Deserts. Unless you're still learning, in which case: Terrifying Deserts

 On land, the circus was gearing up.  Cars with board coffins had parked on the edge of the beach.  Guys stood with crossed arms surveying the scene.  A crew of steroidal Hawaiians had brought their testosterone attitude with them.  Hordes of hustling Brazilians were thick on the ground as well.  Maybe Garuda had lost their manners in transit, maybe they just never packed them.  By the time the sun was high enough to think about a hat, there were 50 guys out.  Them, and the wave, weren’t giving an inch.  I was done for the day.  The next day saw a similar scene on a dropping swell.  With a glance over my shoulder, we headed back to the Bukit.  

Next episode: The switch.  coming soon...

The Factory

I love this wave, even though I haven't surfed it in a while.  A decade or two ago it was the the most vaunted of big wave spots, the Cape's Holy Grail of size.  Then as the current generation adapted to Sunset and Dungeons became the pinnacle of what was possible with size and NW wind, Crayfish Factory slipped from the media's attention.

And, you know what: I'm fine with that.

I had a memorable session out there with just myself and Chris Bertish - an awesome priviledge in itself.  The session cost my beloved 7'6" Pierre de Villiers, but just hanging with the man and garnering nuggets of wisdom from him seemed a worthwhil trade-off.  Pierre, who lives within sight at Scarborough, is also one of the stand-outs here and probably has more claim on this place than anyone.

One of my other favourite memories was, ironically enough, not riding it at its best or biggest.  Going on yesterday's theme, it was a dying swell late one evening.  There were a few of us out, and most were packing it in.  It reached the point where we were saying to ourselves: If there's no wave in the next few minutes, i'm just paddling in.  Which is a mission against the current which pulls out the bay.  Eventually, everyone except myself had made that call.  I sat and waited in the dusk, peering it to the gloom, hoping for a dark rise to appear.  Some seals were hunting nearby, cormorants skimmed past on their way back to their roosts.  The dark form of a whale cruised past, just visible in the late dusk.  At the time, I thought of it as a cold and lonely heaven.  The antethesis of what we think of as paradise, but to sit on the edge of the reef, surrounded by so much life was such an experience.

A wave did come, but on bottom turning I snagged kelp and bailed, so had a bit of a paddle in.  It was completely dark by the time I reached the slipway.  I was shivering, hadn't had the waves I'd hoped for, but still so stoked.

Pic credit: Ant Fox.  and lifted from The Bomb

the virture of surfing

There's been quite a lot happening in the world of competitive surfing this year.  If you follow that scene, you'll know what I'm referring too.  In short, it's been quite interesting.  I'll spare you most of my thoughts on the matter, but one of things I've been trying to work out is why is such a hard sport to sell to the mainstream?  Even amongst ourselves, why do so few of us actually want to watch a surf comp?  There may be a few answers, but one surely has to be that a live comp mostly involves nothing going on.  It's mostly just 2 to 4 guys sitting astride boards and waiting for things to happen.  And then commentators trying really hard to fill in between.  Action is fleeting.

Which makes one realise that a large part of surfing is waiting.  Waiting for conditions to be favourable, waiting for the next wave.  We wait.  And I realise as I write this, that's the name of the blog.  It's the comtemplation that bridges the time between waves.  We wait, and we think.  It's a serene atmosphere.  You're at rest and relaxed.  And its fine to let your mind bob along with current.  Drifting aimlessly to wash up on an idea as it may happen.  An undisciplined meditation.  I'm sure Buddhists would have their own take on this.

We should cherish this time, despite it being the opposite of the reason why we actually surf.  But, it's part of the total experience.  And its fairly unique to surfing.  I can't think of another sport that is more inaction than activity.  Yet, those intense moments of riding, those few seconds far outweigh the lethargy in between.

Photo: Chris Orwig

It comes back to one of the many lessons that surfing will teach you about yourself:  How you react to an inevitable wait.  Do you have patience?  For me, I know I'm having a bad session when I'm getting impatient between waves.  And the only thing I can do about it is change my attitude.

tu times tubes for your tuesday

I grew up sponging a beach break.  In winter, storms would bring swell and a fortuitous offshore that would make some pretty heavy, seldom makeable barrels.  Just occasionally, during summer we'd have similar conditions when there was an unseasonal front.  The summer sand pattern meant that a particularly savage rip would form and scour out a channel, and then form a tongue of sand out off the front of the bank.  There was a brutal left that used to break off it.

There was so much water rushing out that takes offs were always stationary, and usually airborne.  Depending on how well you could set your rail during that drop you either got the barrel or the flogging of your life.  Whatever happened, you were about to be plunged into darkness - either complete or just a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.  The current had dragged up so much sediment that the opaque water formed a solid screen.  Those last few seconds before pummeling were awesome as a grom with flexible bones, and an even more indestructable, flexible board.  There was that moment when was nothing left, your last hope was snuffed out and it was just the hollow crunch of an imploding barrel, and your final warm breath in a cold, malevolent tomb.  I tried to find a picture of something similar, but the web clearly doesn't think such conditions are too photogentic.

Like this, but angrier, darker and on your stomach

I wanted to show the realm of shadows in the barrel.  This pic is almost there, but the light through the curtain distracts from my point.  Which I wanted to contrast with this.

A potrait of clarity and composure

Light vs dark, warm vs cold, clear vs dirty, coral vs sand.  The yin in the yang.  Two very different barrels.  Both silouetted for different reasons.  But both there for the same reason.

And I think i've touched on this before:  one of the things I love about surfing is how many different forms it takes.

Pics from the legendary Aaron Chang and NJ Monthly

PS - don't google 'dirty barrel' unless you want learn about cleaning rifles.

Drive time observations

So, it's been a pretty grim few weeks surf wise here in the fairest Cape.  More throrough readers may recall a brief whinge about a shoulder injury.  Well, that's sitll ongoing.  In fact, since I resurrected this blog - I haven't surfed.  Sis.  It's been a very, very long time between waves.  Still, no whinging - I'll break the drought this week and then hit you up with an epic story of mediocre surf and a lazy session.  Yes, there were waves this weekend, but I'd retreated to a sub-zero mountain peak - far away from tempting my fragile shoulder.

Anyway, whilst cruising through traffic this AM, I happened to pull up behind your standard late-nineties white model family car.  Roof racks, longboard on top.  Poser; was my initial reaction.  But, being a board perve, I drew up a bit closer than advised and checked out what was poking out from the gap in his board bag zip.  Intriguing...  The tail just had a bit of a different look to it.  A bit narrower, a bit more foil than expected.  Then the fin caught my eye.  Proper swept-back wide-tipped single fin.  No, no, no, my predjudicial self.  This guy is the real deal.  Then I spied the wet towel on his back window shelf.  Yes, this guy is, in actual fact, more of a surfer than your sorry dry ass.  Shame on me.

He drove straight.  I turned left.  And I was left wondering where and how he had styled it just a few minutes prior.  I was a little stoked for him.  And disappointed in myself.  The trick now, is bring that stoke home.

Good news to come - I hope.

Lunes Madrazo

Like cruising through Latin America, getting jumped by some banditos and having the shit kicked out of you.

Bueos dias, muchachos!

I went to Puerto a few years back.  Which 'Puerto' you ask? The one that doesn't need a second name - it's that hardcore.  I was there out of season.  Which I was disappointed by and thankful for at the same time.  It did get to about 4 foot one day and that was interesting enough. 

By all the Catholic saints, that place hits hard.  Swell comes uniterrupted from which ever other side of the Pacific is throwing out swell.  So, its a very long period.  Offshore is a deep water canyon which means there's no energy lost before it slams into the sand bank.  And when I say sandbank - there isn't too much sand left on it as most of it is kicked up and held in suspension.  This means two things - neither of them good.  1.  The water is heavier, with all the sand in it.  2.  It isnt so much a sand bank as a gravel patch - those bits too heavy to be scoured.  So, instead - you get scoured, properly.

I hate to think what this guys about to go through

In Spanish speaking countries, they don't appreciate the notion of a man confident enough to wear pink.  Unknown at Mex Pipe.

Thanks to MSW and RpmSurfer.  Check 'em out for some more Puerto action and some steamy senoritas.
And an extra muchas gracias to my scandatina/latinavian missus for the title.

Heaven Waits

One of my first published works tried to capture the colours that we see when we surf.  I think I did an adequate job.  But, as I tried to convey in the piece, there's nothing like actually being there.  There's something about being so close to the water - a semi transparent surface - and the fact that we're out there in all conditions and chasing it through all coastal orientations and latitudes that make every moment of every session unique.  Like you'll never step in the same river twice, you will never see the same moment again when surfing.  Time on the water is a kaleidoscope - a complex and dynamic arrangement of light that cannot be reproduced.

Photography means 'light writing' so its only fitting that they capture these moments better than these monochrome letters ever could.  As much as surf photography is about shooting surfers, photographers know that there is so much more going on around them than just waves being ridden.  As surfers, we recognise moments like this from our own experience.  We hark back to those points in time.  Perhaps, this is one aspect of that expression: Only a surfer knows the feeling.

Heaven Waits, by Matt Clark

Via 6 feet and perfect

Being Mocked by Shaun Joubert

Sometimes you just have to admit being beaten.  Here's Shaun Joubert's blog.  Having a brief look at it, it's pretty plain to see that he does most things better than me.  He surfs better than me.  Takes better photos than me.  Travels better than me.  Blogs better than me.  (Sigh)

Hacks better than me...

I first became aware of Shaun about 4 years ago in Bali while watching Occy's Grom Comp.  He was pretty good back then, but now, he's a household name and one of our rising stars.  Keep an eye on him.  Good things to come from this guy.

Here's a pic of J-Bay taken by Shaun. I originally meant meant for J-Bay subject of this post.  Then I got distracted.  Now I feel inferior.  Damn you, interweb.  Crush my ego like that...

A new take on an old subject.  Pretty sweet shot from a guy whose job it is to be on the pixels, not creating them.

Do yourself a favour and hit the link above.  Then, carry on being awesome to yourself and carry on hitting his links (note: marinelayerproductions in there.  See...I'm not the only one)

Enter the Neckbeard

It's about time we had a little chat.  For the last while - since about the time he blew off JBay to go surf somewhere else - I've had a little man crush on one Dane Reynolds.  He's just too awesome.  His hand drawn logos.   His flop-all-over-the-wave style.  His tube-riding.  His carves.  His airs - of course.  His casual attitude.  His sexy anchor tatoo.  You see?  I'm just going on about him like a teenage girl.

"Swoon" - in a stricly-hetero surf-envy kind of way

And have you checked out his website: marinelayerproductions.com  There's some prett sick stuff right there.  Take the time to watch Lost Interest...  For me, those 12 minutes are way, way better than the whole of Lost Atlas.  Lost Atlas was very formulaic:  Drop in to mushy beachbreak, drive once, loft and throw tail a varying number of degrees.  Repeat.  Show occasional wildlife shot to let the viewer know this is somewhere exotic.  Lost Interest however.... actually, why you listening to me?  Just go watch it.  Click the download and comeback to it - it takes a while - but like most good things, it's worth the wait.

Then there are his boards.  The Dumpster Diver - so named because he found the prototype in a Dumpster behind Merrick's factory - set the tone for board shapes today.  It's the most popular board in the US currently.  I appreciated the break from the spearhead/leaf shapes that had been the norm until then, but the DD never did it for me.  Perhaps, it was the realisation that no board would allow me to surf like Dane.

Then came the Neckbeard.  Just look at it:

Its the perfect example of a host of ugly features coming together to create something beautiful.  I want one.  Better add it to that lengthening Christmas wishlist.

But, instead of receiving, and in the spirit of the Neckbeard, Christmas and Movember, I'm going to do the next best thing.  Moustaches - they've been done.  So, this Movember, apart from the regular 'tache, I will be growing a neckbeard to go with it.  I hope to raise money for testicular cancer, in the hope that some may be cured of this afflication and have the balls to go out and surf like Dane.  Not only just chop hopping, but also charging heavy barrels which he also does

A different kind of Dane Reynolds air

Check out my mospace at http://mobro.co/neckbeard.  Help a bro - donate for a mo.  It's as easy as booking a movie ticket.  Maybe even easier depending on how fussy you are on movies and picking seats.  You can follow my progress here, on FB, or at the mospace.

Nature's airbrush

As a Cape surfer, there's a lot to relate to in this photo.  It's the wide open spaces. And the wind that blows it wider.  It's the sounds of it scattering sand on sand around your ankles.  It's the battering against your hood.  It's the tugging on your board forcing you off balance as you pad across the beach.  The newly settled sand is soft and your feet sink into it making the walk even more challenging.  Your suit, built for the cold just beyond, is added resistence is the hot, dry wind.

Yet, despite all this, there's a sense of euphoria in the group.  You know what's to come.  You know what the wind has done for the banks, how it shapes the wave.  You embrace this constant force.  You have no choice.  It swirls around you in constance.  To shun it is pointless.  It's the unseen ally that is taken for a foe. Where would you be were it not for this wind?  Not here, in the starkest of beautiful places.   

Pic by the legendary AVG.  (Yes, this one is not from the Cape.  Get over it.)

Thick upper lip

I don't have to say it.  You know what this month is about.  My top lip is bristling with excitement.  Here are some surfers who embrace the mo.  Now, tell me what you want to do to be more like them.

Michael Peterson - owning it.  Burt Reynolds got nothing on MP

Gerry Lopex - perhaps the original.  Gerry now has a bare top lip.  I would give him grief, but he is Mr Pipeline

Ant Keidis of the Chilli Peppers.  As if he isn't cool enough

Donny Frakenreiter - Of course

Matt McConaughey - surfs, apparently; wears a 'tache, occasionally; humiliates himself, frequently

There's too much awesomeness going on there

Bobby Martinez - happier days with a handle-bar

I have no idea who this is, but that's an awesome tache there, bro.  And if you Google 'surfer moustache'  he deservedly comes in 1st place.

Tom Selleck - probably not a surfer, but Magnum PI was set in Hawaii, and c'mon: look at its magnificance.

Some big names getting in on the action.  Here's Dane Reynolds

And Kelly...wait a minute...

Interestingly there may be more Dane Reynolds/facial hair related action here later.  And check the guy out in SF later - he will be there.  Allegedly.

And, if you still need inspiration to grow a mo, help a bro after that, well then, I don't know...