You get the best barrels ever, dude! Remix

You're probably seen the original footage of this brah explaining the finer points of getting barreled... well, here's the auto-tuned remix. EPIC.

Wipeout Wednesday: Zen from the Crowded North Shore

Yep, it's that time of year again-- as winter in the Northern Hemisphere is heats up, the entire professional surf world begins to descend upon the North Shore.  Just in time for the masses, our friends at the Surf Blog present: Wipeouts from Oahu!  Happy Humpday!

Part One: Painting Your Path with Drew Brophy

While scouring the web in search of art to fill the whiteness clinging to the walls of our new digs here in Sausalito, I expected a surf art exploration to be a straightforward and picture laden experience. What I found, however, is that the stories behind the brilliant hands producing the iconic paintings, images, and films that have shaped the surf industry, are as equally profound as their artistic pieces.

Three artists who conjure immense respect and have played hugely influential roles in shaping today's surf culture are Rick Griffin, John Severson and Drew Brophy.  Each artist hails from a drastically different background, yet all have made an impact that reaches far beyond the board weilding masses.  Their art has had widespread cultural implications, inspiring people across every class, demographic and location to seek more in whatever wave, liquid or otherwise, they happen upon next.

Moving in chronologic retrogression, from present to past, we look into the life of contemporary artist Drew Brophy.  Born in South Carolina, Brophy grew up obsessively surfing the fickle waves of the East Coast and painting boards in the downtime.  His talent was evident, yet when his highschool guidance counselor pulled him aside and sternly warned- “Drew, you can’t just surf and paint your whole life”,  he was crushed. 

Determined to prove her wrong, he moved to Hawaii in the early 90's, hell bent on chasing his dream of becoming a prefessional surfer.  Fueled by the money he scraped together selling his art, Brophy traveled around the globe, surfing some of the world's heaviest breaks, always with his paint pens close at hand.

His prowess for painting proved to be his real calling, when in 1996 he moved to San Clemente and began painting boards at Stewart.  Shortly thereafter he approached Matt Biolos of Lost to collaborate and it was here that things really took off.  The duo traveled the world shaping, painting and surfing, and soon he was being commissioned for premier event posters and private pieces of various kind.

This year Brophy took his art to new heights, staring in his own TV show The Paint Shop, in which he shares inspiration and techniques for those of us brave enough to put a skull or sparkle pony on our board.

To hear his full-story first hand, check out Drew in the videos below:








"It's a fabulous Ride, I can't wait to see what's next for me." ~Drew Brophy

Rip Curl Search SF: Saluting the King

Despite all the banter harking awful paddle-outs and fickle waves, the first two days of the Rip Curl Pro Search "Somewhere in San Francisco" have been a frenzy of excitement.  Tubes have been plundered, lips hacked, floaters dropped and history has been made.

 Yesterday, on a day that dished out set after set of majestically peeling bombs, the beach was packed in anticipation of Kelly Slater's third round heat. Needing to simply advance through this round to claim an unprecedented 11th World Title, Slater was patient as always.  


Paddling out to a northern peak that the field otherwise shunned, he dropped into a few fizzling closeouts and found himself significantly behind Aussie Daniel Ross about midway through the heat.  With about ten minutes remaining the King took a chance on a frothing shack, momentarily stealing the crowds breath, but got swallowed up in the belly of the beast.  

As the clock churned down to under five minutes, it started to look like it might not be Slaters day, when suddenly a promising set appeared on the horizon. The feathering right opened up teasing him to do his worst. With knifelike precision he accelerated smoothly down the line, systematically linking hack after hack all the way through the inside.  The crowd erupted in a frenzy.  The King had come to be crowned at Ocean Beach.

While the tour championship may be wrapped up, the contest here in SF is still anyone's to win, and with many competitors on top of their game-- including Owen Wright who blew up a wave following Kelly's heat, in what he thought was free-surf time-- you can be sure that there is more action to come.  


Today the competitors are off, and the current projection looks like we won't have anything solid/surfable for at least a few days. When they do return to the water we finish off the third round with Josh Kerr (AUS) taking on Tiago Pires (PRT) and Jordy Smith (ZAF) looking to best American phenom Patrick Gudauskas. 


The winners from the final two heats from the third round will face off with Joel Parkinson (AUS). Round four heats are detailed below. 

Heat # 1 Men Round 4	singlet	plc	name	from
	Orange		Matt Wilkinson	AUS
	White		Taylor Knox	USA
	Yellow		Kieren Perrow	AUS

Heat # 2 Men Round 4	singlet	plc	name	from
	Orange		Gabriel Medina	BRA
	White		Miguel Pupo	BRA
	Yellow		Kelly Slater	USA

Heat # 3 Men Round 4	singlet	plc	name	from
	Orange		Owen Wright	AUS
	White		Alejo Muniz	BRA
	Yellow		Brett Simpson	USA

Heat # 4 Men Round 4	singlet	plc	name	from
	Orange		Joel Parkinson	AUS
	White		1.11	-
	Yellow		1.12	-

Wipeout Wednesday: The Right, West OZ

SugarFresh poppin' off with your belated weekly smackdown!! Australian chargers Mark Mathews, Ryan Hipwood, Richie Vas and Laurie Towner spent last week hurling themselves into this off-shore slab know simply as "The Right". Nothing short of horrific.

Spot Check: Rodeo Beach/Fort Cronkite

Just over the Golden Gate Bridge lies Fort Cronkite, a former WWII Military base-- perfectly situated overlooking Rodeo Beach. This southwest facing stretch of sand holds knee high to double overhead waves nearly year round. It can be heavy at times; this is not a good spot for beginners. Also, beware of submerged rocks at the north end.

Best on S/W/WNW, low tide rising.




The north point can crank on the right swell direction. There is a local presence- show respect and you should be fine.

Getting there:

From the north take the Sausalito exit, south Alexander Ave.



Follow the signs to the fort.



It's a straight shot through the tunnel, follow the road a couple miles and fork left down the hill to the lot. This beach is also a great spot to hike, romp on the beach with your dog, and wallow away an afternoon with beers and barbecue.

Love that Dirty Water? Health Tips for this Storm Season

A bit of swell entered the area overnight, but the prevailing high tide and prospect of nasty water conditions, due to the first significant rainfall of the season, was enough to keep us out of the water. California, and other surf friendly locations world wide, are often highly impacted by the run-off from industrial and residential sources. The result- a less than appetizing, toxic oceanic cocktail. Here are a few tips to keep you healthy and enjoying the waves this storm season*:

• Avoid surfing for the first 72 hours after a storm event (especially at the beginning of the storm season). Even though the streets may dry-up after a day or two, run-off is still likely to be making it's way down stream from inland locations- resulting in elevated bacteria levels for an extended period of time.

• Steer clear of drain outlets, streams, creeks and other areas that offer a lot of outflow. When possible seek out more pristine locations further away from cities and towns.

• Wear ear-plugs. Any place where water can enter your body and marinate has the potential to become a breeding ground where bacteria can flourish.

• Shower as soon as possible after your session and rinse your equipment.

• Move to a remote, pristine tropical island and surf in warm waters- rain or shine- every day.

So while you wait out the storms, get your stick primed for the months to come and mindsurf Ocean Beach until the next sunny day of bombs.

Video Credit: ArtifactProductions

* I am not trained in any sort of medicine, nor do I claim to be a doctor. Proceed at your own risk and use your best judgement.

Mindsurfing the Porcelain Throne

It is fascinating how much you can learn about someone based upon their artistic selections in their bathroom. Reef co-founder Fernando Aguirre is no exception.

Stranded on the Edge of the Mojave- Top 5 Things To Do While Waiting For a Tow

Two hours out of Vegas, cruising southbound on I-15, the desert heat begins to subside as the sun races for the edges of the skyline. It's Friday evening, I'm relaxed and in good spirits following a three-day marathon of product slinging and media fluffing at Interbike- then the inevitable strikes.

My champion 2000 Subaru Outback, which I've pushed from San Francisco to the Black Rock Desert of Northern Nevada, to Southern California and Vegas in a span of 14 days, has had enough. As I pound the accelerator like a ruthless bloodthirsty jockey, she suddenly cuts out. Flashing my eyes at the dash I note that the heat gauge is well in the red. No morning Trestles surf session for you, I smirk to myself.

Flipping on the hazards I drift for the shoulder as a semi rapidly approaches in my rear-view mirror and slow to a stop.

For those of you who find yourself in a similar situation, I suggest resisting that initial instinct to thrash out of the car, kicking tires, throwing rocks, and cursing powers that be. Instead, after securing your safety (making sure your vehicle isn't in flames, moving your car far enough out of the way of traffic, turning your flashers on, etc.), I've found that taking a deep breath can be much more rewarding. You are safe, things could be worse- here are some tips on how to make the most of the situation:

1. Start by thanking your lucky stars that you renewed your AAA or other road-side assistance service, this sort of insurance is inexpensive and can be a lifesaver when ish hits the fan during road trips. If you haven't renewed yours, or have never signed up in the past, DO IT NOW. Then get on the horn, assuming there is cell service in the area, and get the proverbial ball rolling.

2. Take note of your natural environment. Would you ever see this stretch of land from this perspective otherwise? Is there any wildlife that you would otherwise miss? What is unique about the vegetation? Get out a camera or piece of paper and get creative, take a moment to record and bask in the beauty that is before you.

3. Engage the impact of humanity in the miles around you. Are there cities/towns/otherwise that you have never visited before? What have you seen in the last few miles that make this location noteworthy? During this trip out of Vegas I passed an exit with the peculiar name of Zzyzx. It turns out this place has a deep and wild history that I would have never learned about had my car not decided it was time for a break.

4. Find a spot to post up and enjoy a few moments of introspection. Take stock of your personal mental and physical shape. Are you enjoying the direction in which you are headed? Are the commitments you are rushing toward really that important? How could you adjust your course now that you have a moment to pause and reflect?

5. Once you are picked up by the truck, get to know your chauffeur. Chances are you will be spending at least a few hours in a town nearby, and this person would probably be glad to give you some insight. What is the area known for historically? Where are the best eateries? Is there a park nearby that you could explore? Do they have a cool watering hole where you can wet your lips on some local libations? Here in Barstow, CA, AAA driver Sli dropped me at a (half-)decent Ramada Inn. Following his recommendation I'm venturing out to an off the grid bar called Molley's- good times await!

***

All right, before you say anything- yea, this place is a dump. The first spot I checked out was chalk full of heifers, and the second "nightclub" was attempting to charge $5 to subject yourself to awful R&B/Rap.

I did, however, manage to stumble-upon and procure my first ever 3-pak o' tall boys!

MOOP: A virgin at Burning Man

Sometimes it's a frantic, scary existence sitting on the outside when everyone else has paddled in. This is true not only in the water, but also when returning from an experience such as Burning Man.

What the hell was that? Why was it so emotional? Now that I'm back- did the experience change me for the better? Are my creative juices flowing? Is there a new spark planted?

Now what?

When I arrived in the magical playa I was excited, yet calmly cautious- almost withdrawn. I am not one to shy away from new experience, but I had no idea what it all meant, nor how I should proceed.

Welcome Home. I was greeted with a bear hug by the Muppet sentry at the gate, and as a virgin was given the opportunity to roll in the dust and ring the bell.

Whose home? Hell, this is certainly not my home, there isn't an ocean for at least a few hundred miles.

After tracking down the neon green zebra-print bike that I had spray-painted a few days earlier, (how I found it in the pitch-dark at 3:30am, I do not know) I headed out on the playa.

Accompanied by the 22 year old male-dominatrix who had hitched a ride with me out to the desert, we tore across the open space beyond the Esplanade directly to the Man. Dawn began to seep in around the edges as we climbed the pyramid shaped structure, while below us the remaining burners eerily pulsated on the sprawling tableau of brightly lit art and booming sound.

On the platform below the Man we counted our "zins" and sipped greedily from the bottle of wine shared by a fellow Man climber. Staring up between his widely split legs I wondered exactly who this glowing man was that we would be so eagerly burning later in the week.

After orienting myself to the temple, center camp and nearby art pieces, we hopped back on our bikes and rode out past the pier, toward the purple lit domes at the edge of the mile wide arc of Black Rock City- around 2 o'clock or so. The DJ hashed out mellow groovy beats and the remaining ravers lazily rocked to and fro.

***

I awoke tucked in the corner of the Camp 161 dome, hot and sticky, the recipient of questioning stares from a few members of the close knit crew to whom I was a new-comer. I quickly introduced myself, hoping I wasn't treading on anyone's turf already, and made haste to help with breakfast and the hosting of our dome-top circus netting. Talk about a sweet chill space for a bunch of wandering hooligans.

The rest of the day was spent exploring the hordes of art pieces strewn across the playa and attempting to make a connection or two. Dinner was nice, the drinks strong, and I decided to call it an early night as the exhaustion of travel combined with watching the sunrise caught up with me.

With so much stimulation, could this really be a slow, drawn out, miserable week? I thrashed around in my brain, trying for the life of me to justify what all these people were doing out here, and drifted off for a solid 10 hours.

***

Let go. It's time to charge. Fuck it. It was 8am and already hot. Polishing off a quick breakfast I decided to journey out alone. Pedaling to the outskirts, I circled around along the trash fence and took in a temporary movie theater, a scene of aliens dancing, a giant headless wire lady, a wooden forest surrounding a pyramid, and a Ferris-wheel like zoetrope with skeletons paddling for freedom across the playa.

Eschewing my bike, I walked myself through some sun salutations and sat in the dust- quieting my mind as mini-planes zipped overhead. Here I am. Where am I? It doesn't matter. We're here to enjoy. What? The simplicity. Whatever you want. It's all here. Can't you see the creativity of the human spirit?

As the sun rose high, and the temperature higher, I made tracks over the cracked and bumpy former lake bed for the temple. An emotional spot indeed. Words poured off of every wall: mourning lost ones, belting out urges, celebrating freedom, proclaiming everlasting love. A mellow chorus of bells chimed from within, as people sat about hugging, crying, meditating, reading, writing, thinking, playing songs, singing... being.

Though I couldn't find words to add to the sacred grounds at that point, the seed had begun to sprout.

***

The next four days were a blur of dancing and laughing, cooking and cleaning, telling tales and bonding with new friends, psychadelic art structures climbs, fantastic playa river-boat rides, imbibing of delicious food and substances, jovial celebration, and a healthy dose of introspective processing.

Beholding the temple burn I wasn't sure exactly what I had found, but the pulse was strong. Unwrapping from my "normal" existence I had stepped onto a temporary plane where ones individual energy was able to frolic with the penetrating energy of the greater collective conscious- in a delicate balance of freedom, creativity, joy and trust.

***
Now, looking toward shore, it's not so scary. I can see that the unspoken dance continues, but for now it must continue alone, until we find ourselves in a similar line-up again.

That is the magic of the energy of the universe- the is no Matter Out Of Place (MOOP- except plastics, gray water, poop, and misc trash of course!). Stay engaged, live for what you love, change is constant. There are always more waves to come.

Unsalted

Following a fantastic four-day surfari, lapping the clean, semi-warm water breaks of Upper Trestles, Cottons, and Blacks, it blows me away that surfing is truly taking hold in the heart of the country.

Unsalted, a film charting the waves of the Great Lakes and those who charge them, is sure to be an entertaining eye-opener for those who have not yet heard about quality lake suring, and a reminder that even those who surf the most obscure breaks in America might find themselves fighting for waves in a pack of surfer in the near future.

Bells Beach

A bone-chilling blast of wind greeted me as I exited the large black luxury bus, my large blue pack clenched tightly to against my shoulders. Now what, I thought, looking back toward the shuttered-up stretch of stores marking the town we had just passed by. After a few bewildered moments I spotted a wood-carved sign offering "camping" a little further down the road and began walking.

It was mid-October 2005 (early spring in the great down-under) when I arrived at the dreary and sparsely populated campground in Torquay, Australia. A raw cold-spell, spawned from depths of Antarctica, was relentlessly throttling Victoria coast with rain, and here I was- plodding through puddles rapidly reconsidering this glorious solo-mission down the legendary Great Ocean Road.

After checking in with the campground host, I quickly pitched my cramped single-person tent and hunkered down in a less-than-substantial 40+ degree bag. Why I had ventured south when the rest of my friends had chosen a week of R&R in Bali, I truly couldn't remember.

Propping myself up on one elbow, I finished my third jelly sandwich of the day and downed a VB (the glories of being a penniless fool while studying abroad); neither of which gave me much comfort, especially since I didn't even have a pad to combat the debris scattered ground. I then wrapped my extremities with any dry clothing I could find, struggling to shake off the dull numbness.

After a few listless attempts at shut-eye, I clicked on my headlamp and pulled out the beat up Lonely Plant guide for entertainment. Checking the map I pinpointed my location in the sleepy sheep-town of Torquay and my apprehension began to ease. Just a few miles to the west was the next mornings destination: Bells Beach.

Why I was so excited to see this wave, I was unsure, but hearing the pounding surf off in the distance, I felt like there was something magical to behold around the corner.

I awoke slightly damp and mostly rested, pulled on my boots and rain jacket, and ventured out to investigate my transportation options. My hopes were quickly dashed after talking to the host. He explained how the public transportation options were minimal at this time of the year and that even if there were buses swinging through, Bells Beach was too far off the main road for anyone to bother running a regular route out there.

The prospects for someone to pick me up while hitching with my board, suit and pack were even more dismal so I rethought my strategy. Peeling on my 3/2 I decided to try my luck at the local Torquay break. Turns out this spot held another Australian point not to be scoffed at. The water here was substantially more frigid than what I had been enjoying on the gold coast- but the rollers were playful and I surfed until my feet were substantially frozen.

Making my way back up the grassy hill to the campground after the session I ran into a few families enjoying holiday- hanging out around their RV's with barbie's blazing. In traditional Aussie fashion the asked me what I was doing there (they had spotted me struggling to get settled the night before) and offered me a beer.

A few rounds later I had explained my goal of reaching Bells and the unforeseen difficulties I was experieincing.

Borrow one of our bikes, Mate! One of the ladies readily offered.

While my intention had always been to surf the spot my options were limited and this didn't sound like such a shabby proposal, so I mounted up. After a half-hour of plowing over lush green hills I found myself on the bluffs above the break. There she was, double-overhead set's pumping with hardly a dozen guys out.

I walked down the stairs hypnotically watching the pack methodically rip turns along the face of the wave. The energy was unmistakable. This is one of those unruly sections of coast that dishes up sheer perfection where it's least expected.

Seeing this video promoting the 50th anniversary of the Bells Beach contest rekindled many memories from my trip down Great Ocean Road: to Bells, Airey Inlet, Lorne, the 12 Apostles, Appolo Bay, hitchhiking to random beaches, hiking along the hills of Port Campbell, sharing pints in little local bars along the way.

The stoke in a wild place like this can certainly be experience on land almost as well as it can by sea, reminding me how I wouldn't have traded my soggy Great Ocean Road adventure for anything.

Have you been on a solo trip that sticks in you mind or seen a wave that you will have to revisit and actually surf?

Playa Grande, Costa Rica

Costa Rica is a land of simple beauty and perfection. During my second trip to this fascinating country we spent our time on the Nicoya Peninsula where the off-shore winds kicked up right around 10am each day, the swell was consistent, the people were super-friendly, and the sun was hot.

A recipe for success while in these little latitudes:

Wake early

Fill with banana pancakes

Down 2 liters of water

Apply sunscreen liberally

Shred

Repeat

And yea- I couldn't imagine anything better than finishing each session with an insanely-refreshing Imperial Lager.

Slater vs. Curren - 1990

It's amazing to think that Kelly Slater has been on the forfront of the surfing world for over 20 years. After claiming his 10th World Title this year he is still the man to beat. Here's a peek back to the early 90's when Slater's career was just heating up: A classic heat between the King himself and fellow surfing legend Tom Curren.

Monumental Baby Steps

Pardon me sir, but can you tell me how to get to the Banzai Pipeline?

Consistency, consistency, consistency...

Or did that old saying have something to do with practice? Either way 2011 is here and it's heating up to be a good one. The shortest days winter are already behind us, and as we experience last Friday at Pleasure Point, the waves continue to barrel across the Pacific.

Each year of surfing is a tableau of beautiful rides, terrible wipeouts, boring lulls, progression, steep drops, frustrating lackadaisical floundering, and mellow evenings fading to black. So- as we pour on the sauce and get ready for the next round of flogging, sogging, and dodging- cheers to surfing half as well as these ladies this year!

Wet and Wild Holiday Guide

The holidays are fun. Pop on your favorite local christmas music station (or stream The Christmas Lounge on SomaFM for a heady modern mix), regress to ten years old, and sneak as much eggnog as you can before mom gets home. You're guaranteed to have a good time. What can make the holidays a drag, however, is shopping for those damned relatives who have everything and/or won't give you the slightest clue of what they might enjoy for the new year.

The solution: custom swim suits. Splish.com allows you to customize a variety of suit styles so your friends and family will be more than ready for their next tropical excursion. Put a groovy logo on it, maybe even a cute phrase, or if you're really feeling darring, your beautiful face across the package.

If you want to get serious tho- check out Mark Dillinger Arts. Dillingers impressive use of color and realism blended with a careful balance of mystical elements, creates magical landscapes that any surfer can get lost in for a lifetime.

For stocking stuffers Energy CHOMPS are a must. They give you the jolt you need to bite back should one of those slippery creatures comes from below.

A garanteed winner this season: fashionable, yet cheap, shades. The Grindhouse from Ryders Eyewear will get even your ugliest cousin laid this winter.

Add a touch of sophistication to the mix with some light reading that everyone will enjoy. The Wave, by Susan Casey, is a well-rounded exploration of mother ocean's darkest moments- including insight from those who know it best... big wave riders.