Cloak & Dagger Issue 1

Page 1

MARCH 2013 ISSUE #1


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ISSUE 1 EDITORIAL: Editor: Russell Quinn Art Director: The Common Good Web Designer: The Mealings PHOTOGRAPHERS: Jeremy Cresswell Nick Bannehr Steve Wall Josh Tabone Mathew Tildesley Marc Ashdown Russell Quinn Ryan Mattick Nathan Henshaw Mitch Pearson Sam Bromwich Andy Kilfeather Sam Venn Matt Brockie Jeff Levingston Ben Hall Matt Carrick Ben Bettridge Michael Carter Michael McArthur Reece Dobbin Dahn Colman Doug Beard David Olsthoorn Jye McDonald Jarrod McCann.

WRITERS: Adam Quinn, Jack Dobinson, Russell Quinn, Declan McMullen, Mathew Tildesley, Jase Finlay. ENQUIRIES: russ@cloakanddaggermag.com SUBMISSIONS: photos@cloakanddaggermag.com ADVERTISING: advertise@cloakanddaggermag.com


Nick Ormerod at the foot of a drainer. Photo: Steve Wall


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Dallas Singer floats high above a South Coast reef. Photo: Michael McArthur


WELCOME The idea for this magazine was conceived a while ago now. I wish I could tell you some inspiring tale of how I came up with the concept when I was five years old and have been meticulously planning it out ever since. But it actually wasn’t that long ago that Cloak & Dagger was born. It was November 2011. At the time I had $46 in my bank account and held a parttime job as a valet parker at a luxury hotel in Sydney. The pay was average, but the work was mindless, and stress free – a nice change from my previous job as a newspaper journalist. This allowed me to put my mind to bigger and better things… potentially. With my new freed up brain, I recall waking up each morning and having some crazy new idea for a potential business that would lead me into the next chapter of my life. These ideas varied from crazy iPhone apps to ridiculous media firms, and even my own clothing label at one stage (I have absolutely no concept of fashion). Every time I came up with one of these mind-boggling ideas I would spend the entire day

researching it and working on my business plan. And then by the end of the day I would be completely over it and move on to the next idea. It was pretty funny now I look back. My girlfriend must have thought I was going insane at the time. And then one day I woke up and decided I wanted to start a bodyboarding magazine. As usual, I spent the whole day researching the idea and working on my business plan. Another day passed and I was still completely committed to the idea. And then a week passed, then a month, and then a year. It has now been 15 months since I decided to start Cloak & Dagger, and my passion has only grown stronger each day. I could attribute this to a lot of things – seeing epic photos land in my inbox every day, building friendships with the top riders, yada yada yada. But in my opinion, the best thing about starting a bodyboarding magazine is working with the photographers and witnessing their enthusiasm and generosity. Photographers are generous people by nature – sacrificing their time, money and often their

personal safety to capture the actions of those around them. Issue 1 of Cloak & Dagger magazine exists wholeheartedly because of that inherent generosity. The next 131 pages are devoted to showcasing the talent of the world’s best bodyboarders as captured by everyday photographers. So please sit back, put your feet up, and enjoy the view. Welcome to Cloak & Dagger. Russell Quinn - Editor


CONTENTS

1 5 / 1 6 .

ON THE COVER

1 9 / 3 8 .

F E AT U R E F R A M E

3 9 / 4 0 .

CLOSE CALLS

4 1 .

NEK WORD

4 2 .

THE DISGRUNTLED LAB

4 3 / 4 8 .

PA U S E

4 9 / 5 2 .

BLOKE & SWAGGER

5 3 / 6 0 .

WEST SIDE GLORY

6 1 / 7 2 . 8 7 / 9 8 . 1 0 1 / 1 3 4 .

T W E LV E M O N T H S I N TA S S I E NICK BANNEHR PORTFOLIO MOTHERLOAD


John Cruickshank with a textbook invert. Photo: Nathan Henshaw.


ON THE COVER Sequence by Russell Quinn Portrait by Chris Gurney

Lewy Finnegan (rider): I remember watching it from land and wondering why no one was out there. It was pumping and so consistent. I was piking it at first and then started to get a few alright ones, and then this one came through that pretty much looked perfect. I started paddling for it but was a bit too far out, so I airdropped into it and rode the foam ball for as long as I could, but didn’t end up making it. I didn’t really get pumped at all, just washed into the channel on the other side.

Russell Quinn (photographer): I’ve shot this wave a lot in the past, but this day was an absolute nightmare to shoot from water. It was pouring rain, the wind was howling from the south, there was heaps of chop in the foreground, and the swell was really east so I was getting a few on the head. As luck would have it, there was a window of about 10 minutes where the sun came out and the wind backed right off, and Lewy paddled into this one. It’s probably one of my favourite images from this wave.



Image: nathanHENSHAW Rider:alanCHEGWIDDEN

BBO OD DYYBBO OA ARRD D SSH HO OPP

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1.


Alex Bunting, NSW South Coast, Photo: Russell Quinn. “This was such a good afternoon of waves, and its always exciting watching Bunts surf. He has the most incredible scoop on him. Somehow he managed to swindle this one off local reef chief Matt Young just before the sun disappeared behind the clouds.” – Russell Quinn.


2.


Eric Medcalf, Queensland Beachie, Photo: Marc Ashdown. “This day was hell fun and somehow I managed to score a makeable pit at Froggies with a wicked end bowl – something that is so rare out there. It’s a blatant closeout the majority of the time. So I guess I just got lucky.” – Eric Medcalf.


3.


Luke O’Connor, South Australian ledge, Photo: Doug Beard. “This was probably one of the most spur of the moment trips I think I have ever done. Luke Mason and photographer Doug Beard were heading over West for an indefinite stay in the mines. I was lucky to hitch a ride in Maso’s packed to the rafters Hilux. Mason and myself underestimated the size of this day, I just think we were too amped at the sight of crystal clear pearlers to realise how big it was. We jumped straight into it, just us two for three hours. Happy to say we got the job done.” – Luke O’Connor.


4.


Dallas Singer, NSW South Coast, Photo: Russell Quinn. “The swell was only just holding, the crowd was thick and the light was running thin. One long lonely drive south and one very memorable backflip. Landing it felt as though someone fly kicked me in the chest. One of my favourites from 2012 for sure.” – Dallas Singer


5.


Pierre Louis Costes, Indonesia, Photo: Jeremy Cresswell. “Most of the morning had been raining, the storm had now passed and the light was incredible. I had just swam back to the boat after shooting some water sequences. I hurriedly climbed up onto the roof of the boat. Pierre caught the first wave of the set, and Jared the second. They were the only two out. Pierre was in the barrel for 25 frames before this shot, stalling in this – the 26th frame – as the wave slowed down on the reef. Jared’s wave behind made the cover of Riptide. I still vividly remember this session like it was yesterday.” - Jem Cresswell


6.


Elliot Butler, North Coast, NSW, Photo: Matt Brockie. “This day at a northern NSW reef was one of the best of the year and it had the crowd to match, including 11 time world champ Kelly Slater. Elliot Butler had been getting a few good waves by picking off the ones that slipped through the heavily crowded lineup. If memory serves me correctly, ‘Chugg’ swung around late and paddled into this one as Slater was yelling ‘Go go go’.... So I guess he had to. He made the drop and skipped a few times, before getting rolled by the shocky. Good times and a great story to tell the Grandkids one day.” – Matt Brockie


7.


Mike Bain, Mexico, Photo: Steve Wall. “As one of the most powerful, yet unpredictable beach breaks you will ever find, Playa Zicatela can dance the fine line between utter perfection and hapless frustration in a way not many others can. Mike Bain, enjoying the luck of the draw down the beach.” – Steve Wall.


8.


Joe Silver, NSW South Coast, Photo: Jeremy Cresswell. “I love this wave, except that every time I surf it I usually get flogged. This morning we got up at 5.30AM and drove down to Bawley and watched it for a while from the lookout. After a while we decided to go out and I ended up getting some good barrels, but also flogged as usual.” – Joe Silver.


9.

Chase O’Leary, Mid North Coast, Photo: Josh Tabone. “This day was defiantly the biggest I’ve seen this particular wave. There were a few waves that you certainly couldn’t paddle into and it was good to see T-bone man up and shoot some fish!” – Chase O’Leary.



10.


Jase Finlay, NSW South Coast, Jeremy Creswell. “This was one of those days where only a couple of waves shaped up the whole session, but those that did were perfect. I swindled a couple, with one being a double loop attempt, and this being the other. I landed out the front on this but couldn’t handle the impact and whitewash.” – Jase Finlay.


CLOSE CALLS

Words by JASON FINLAY Photos by JEREMY CRESSWELL

Jase Finlay recounts the moment he and his fellow countrymen wept like “little schoolgirls” during that infamous Fijian boat trip. I have wanted everyone to know the details of this story for quite some time. I have no doubt that if one thing had of gone a hair different in this story, we would have been at the bottom of the sea. Everyone saw Jem [Cresswell], Ewan [Donnachie] and I crying like little schoolgirls on the movie ‘6 Months’, so I guess now I can explain why we were so emotional. The fellas and I, plus Andrew Kaineder (behind the lens) hit a remote island in Fiji last year. Jem and Ewan had researched the island, and had organised all the logistics for us to get there, stay,

surf, live, and then get home. The island was home to several local tribes, and had only ever been approached by one group of surfers. It was a tropical paradise amongst a vast ocean. The captain of our boat was an Aussie expat, who had been charging the Fijian seas in his rusty old fishing boat for the past 30 years. He had never attained a Fijian license, and therefore went about his adventures with absolutely zero contact with any authorities or marine rescue. This fact was one of the most haunting, once the mortifying situation unfolded. The trip couldn’t have gone better until our last day. We had a beautifully calm trip over – long, but easy. We caught fish, drank cocktails and marveled

at the scenery upon arriving to this paradise. The next four days threw pumping waves, incredible snorkeling and jungle delving. On our final morning, the swell had jumped. We were heading out from our protected bay when we passed a huge Fijian naval ship pulling in to seek shelter from the swell. We had a flight to catch the next night, and a captain who felt confident enough that we would make it back in time. I had never experienced anything like it in my life. The swell in the deepest of ocean was 15-20ft. It was the swell of the first absolutely massive Cloudbreak day that the world stopped and watched. They were catching 10-15 footers at Cloudbreak, whilst we were navigating up and down 15-20 footers that would turn into


whitewash every now and again in the distance . If one of those hit us, we were fucked. The boat was so damn old. We would be clinging to the back deck of the boat where we could see the swells about to hit us. We were also out there, as we didn’t trust the strength of the 30-yearold timber. The portholes down in the sleeping quarters wouldn’t even lock completely. If we were out in the open and something went wrong, at least we wouldn’t be trapped inside. Five hours went by and the sky started to darken. I climbed up to the driving compartment, and couldn’t believe the pressure that the captain and his first man were under. Each lump of swell was pushing us down the face till we were almost riding it, then whipping us off the back into line for the next one. The captain had to steer the boat on and off each swell line for the last five hours without overcorrecting. If you’ve been on a boat before, you know that it rocks like a pendulum. The bottom being close to the water, and therefore swaying the least, while the top of the boat swings back and forth ruthlessly. In this case it was swaying almost 180

degrees from left to right. To the point where the captain had to walk up one side of the wall just to stay standing, then quickly jump across to the other side with the change of swing, all whilst guiding the steering wheel with slight movement. You couldn’t believe it, unless you saw it. It had now become dark. Clouds covered the sky, which meant the captain had absolutely no moonlight to guide him. By now we were advised to head down into the sleeping quarters right down the bottom, and strap in for the next seven hours. We hit the absolute bulk of the swell a few hours into the night, and on three separate occasions, we felt the boat go so drastically horizontal that we had no doubt in our mind that it was all going to be over. The boat had completely flipped on its side throwing us all out of bed, as well as every piece of equipment and supplies in the galley. We all screamed and panicked. The swell slowly surged back up and yanked the boat upright. It was at that point then that everything I’d ever done in my life filled my mind. All of my

accomplishments, all my regrets, overtook my train of thought, and for the first time in my life I prayed that we would make it through. I have never been religious, and to this day I don’t believe in God, but at that point in time, when you’ve lost all hope, I guess it feels right to be asking someone for help. We were on a rusty old trawler that was just holding together, in the biggest Fijian swell for years, and absolutely no one in the world knew where we were. The swell calmed a little, but not enough to relieve us. Kaineder got the camera out and filmed us crying schoolgirls, knowing that nothing could ever portray what we had just been through. We continued for several hours, to an island that we could take shelter behind for the rest of the night. The only lighthouse on the island that could guide the captain through the outer reefs was out. The worst was passed and the captain made cautious yet sure decisions to guide us to safety. I thanked Pat the Captain for saving my life. He replied with: “In 30 years of sailing these seas, this is the first time I’ve just been worried about saving my own life”.


My full name is… James Mitchell Kates But I also respond to… all manner of absurd nick names such as Squishy and Flames My actual age is… 25 But most people think I am… between 12 and 21 I currently reside… in Bulli, NSW But I’d prefer to live in… the green room Bodyboarding is… about getting in that room I become emotional when… I’m not getting slotted and sometimes when I am I’ve always wanted to… make love whilst getting tubed Love is… a battlefield

NEK WORD With James Kates Photo by Jye McDonald

Drugs are… fashion Fashion is… drugs The only purpose alcohol serves is… there’s no one purpose! My dream job would be to… get paid a commission on the amount of time spent in the green room. I have never told my parents… I’m a pit pilot I secretly love… bailing my booges There is nothing I hate more than… hate I become panicked when… I’m not getting shacked The last time I checked I was… walking in Memphis I will always regret… not learning the saxophone One thing people don’t know about me is… I once danced with Bjork in Bali.


THE DISGRUNTLED LAB The Age of Reason Words by JACK DOBINSON

Hungover as a ballsack, sprawled out on my lounge on a Sunday afternoon, I was thinking very deeply and considering my life as a 26-year-old man. Listening to my iTunes, an old classic was thrown my way in shuffle mode, that being ‘The Age of Reason’ by John Farnham. The last verse was belted out with passion and vigour through my headphones;
“If we consider carefully the options put before us. So much wisdom, so much love, so much waiting for us. And if we look ahead there’s the sun and the seasons. Another day, another age of reason.” And I knew exactly in that moment that Jonny was singing about bodyboarders. That’s right – if you didn’t already know, John Farnham is a massive bodyboarding fan. This cannot be confirmed by any valid sources other than me, so here is my proof. John is telling us that as we grow from young groms into men, we should be embracing the process of ageing. We really should be celebrating the wisdom and talent of those before us that clearly are still at the forefront of our sport. I know you are currently thinking this is as farfetched as it gets, and you are entirely correct, but never the less, I shall go on. I believe we are spending too much time worrying about the future of our sport, rather than celebrating what we already have. We are constantly inundated with hype about ‘the next big thing’, while we forget the old guards are still our biggest assets. Sure,

there is the odd exception to this, but for me there is too much kiddy surf porn – and I’m calling for a cull! Any groms that can pull a backflip or whack a tight reverse spin wants to get themselves all over Vimeo, with their age clearly visible. ‘14 years old’ I read day after day in huge titles - ‘all filmed when I was 16 and a quarter’. Next thing you know you’ve met the kid a few times out in the water and then nek minnit you’re attending his 21st and he’s rocking a solid beard. Where does the time go? Now I’m not calling anyone liars but I have felt a recurring theme of young riders using their limited time on earth as some kind of claim to fame. Something to use as to impress potential sponsors. “He’s only 15, imagine what he will do in a few years”. Wrong I say! Wrong! I’m all about reversing this trend and now advising young riders to over-estimate their age. Here is why. Let’s think about all of the world’s best riders and their average ages. Using a very valid mathematical equation I’ve come up with, the average age of the world’s best is 31. Ben Player, Dave Winchester, Damien King, Ryan Hardy and Jeff Hubbard just to name a few of my mature favourites (Mike Stewart being a no-brainer). This is where it’s at, and still is! So I propose this to the groms – if you want to be the best, you’ve got to model yourself on the best. Get yourself some fake chest hair, shave yourself a receding

hairline and if you really want to impress those who matter, ad 10-15 years onto your actual age when creating resumes. I want to see more clips of old salt dogs (or groms disguised as old men) riding some smooth lines and giving me some flow, rather than seeing some twelvie do a reverse spin at the end of a dying wave for no reason. I want to see the resurgence of the older gen flooding the net with some clips involving the odd tension-inspired drop rolls, a lifestyle shot with a weathered body and rough head, then the first wave being a big, dirty bum stall in the pit followed by a loopy roll out for good measure. I remember a particular session I had when I was a teen with three friends, and the legend that is Steve ‘Bullet’ McKenzie. It was at a semi-secluded South Coast reef and he was rolling solo. He was just riding these 3-4ft grinding pits with barrel knowledge I didn’t even know existed. Sitting deep, stalling for days and coming out with the odd Eppo for good measure. I thought to myself, ‘How friggin’ good is that! I want to be able to do that! Maybe I don’t need to learn how to forward spin going right”. So here comes to an end my first rant about the current state of our bodyboarding community. In conclusion, I like my surf porn to use mature, proven performers with moustaches and dense chest rugs, but my women young (legal age of course). The best of both worlds.


Jem Cresswell. Indonesia.

Doug Beard. South Australia.


Jeff Levingston. South Australia.


Matt Carrick. New South Wales.


Jarrod McCann. Western Australia. Matt Carrick. New South Wales.


Photo by Josh Tabone. New South Wales.

Photo by Jem Cresswell. South Australia.


Photo by Matt Brockie. New South Wales.

Photo by Matt Brockie. New South Wales.


JOEY ORME Interview by ADAM QUINN All photos: Michael Carter


DEFINE A BLOKE: Far out I don’t know? A bloke would definitely drink beer, watch footy (I guess), and most likely drive a Ute or other such manly vehicles. I don’t do any of those things so I can’t really define myself as a bloke I suppose. I watched a game of State of Origin last year, does that count? AUTOMOBILE: I’m driving a 1983 Nissan Urvan. Kitchen and bed in the back. Pretty bitchin setup. BEVERAGE: I don’t tend to get out too much nowadays, but when I do it’s always vodka mixed with something super sweet.

CHICKS: Petite, dark hair, blue eyes, weird personality. They have to be weird so they can tolerate the constant nonsense that comes out of my mouth, otherwise I think they would be scared and probably worried. Luckily for me my girlfriend tolerates the nonsense and even adds to it herself haha. She also ticks all the boxes in the looks department too. MATES: Basically every session I’m accompanied by Logan Miatke, either filming water, land or out surfing with me. His brother Brodie Miatke and of course Michael Carter who also gets behind the lens as well when I’m out. Cheers boys! Otherwise I’ll be out with Gabriel Baker, Bradey Coffey, or my girlfriend who I’ve recently introduced to the sponge and completely froths it.


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DEFINE SWAGGER: Something I don’t really subscribe to.

DANCE MOVES: I like to mix super awkward yet hilarious maneuvers into my dancing.

BODYBOARDING: Getting air is definitely prioritised over style in my riding.

TUNES: A lot of chilled out sort of stuff. Made in Heights, Shakey Graves, XXYYXX, Grizzly Bear and Pinback are always on high rotation in my car.

COLOURS: Because my riding isn’t super stylish, I always try to run a fresh colour combo. My newest setup: I’ll be using a black/blue fins, black/blue steamer, and black rails blue slick and deck on my board. Should look pretty sweet!

SPONSORS: Inverted Bodyboarding, Funkshen Bodyboads. Limited Edition and Attica Wetsuits. Sickest sponsors I could ask for!



/ Words by DECLAN MCMULLEN All photos by ANDY KILFEATHER

As our earth moves closer to the sun, we know that shit is heating up. Combine record temps with chicks unveiling newly tightened rigs, and beneath the flesh of all redblooded males, testosterone begins to boil in almost uncontrollable quantities. More and more humans begin to turn to the ocean for respite and if you are a year-round surfer, shit waves and big crowds add to the rapid nature of your summer neg spiral. Kooks riding all sorts of crafts create dangerous mixups. Tempers flare and local hellmen – drunk on ignorance and sunburn – begin to repay a dudes love of trimming along curls on his belly with violence and aggression.



It seems like a world away when I was sitting in the backyard of Ireland’s most renowned stand up surfer, Fergal Smith, discussing anything from the best bodyboards to ride the local reefs on, to his distain of the macho bullshit that seems to go hand-in-hand with the global surfing scene. While journeying around the powerful and beautiful coastline with the guidance of Shambles McGoldrick, Andy Kilfeather and Shane Meehan, and good friends

Tom Gillespie, Adam Green and Morgan Hives, we were able to behold some of our own cold water dreams with our own eyeballs. Green pits, greener pastures, castles created to guard against Viking warriors, pearly white, auburn haired dream babes and a shit ton of good times are what lay at our feet on the West Coast of Eire. The first few weeks in Ireland consisted of some fun waves, good times on the tins and we were

fortunate to meet some of the raddest dudes I know. Highlights included checking wrapping, wedging setups from castles, finding long, grinding left-hand pits, lucking into sessions at waves that break once or twice a year and even literally stumbling into a perfect turquoise setup, with sharp as teets end bowl, that could deceive most right-minded men into thinking it was unsurfable.


Tom Gillespie.


Declan McMullen.

Tom [Gillespie] pretty much lived on the college campus in Galway, resulting in some wild party sessions. The dude’s got charisma. After appearing on the Irish version of the Hills, gracing magazine covers and despite putting lemon in his hair and having the most shithouse Aussie accent my ears have been subject to, he still manages to dominate on the local nightlife. Most notable of these nights were Arthurs Day and the night of the All Ireland Hurling final. Arthurs day is one of the greatest marketing ploys of all time. It is a holiday that is specifically put on the calendar to celebrate the founder of Guiness, Arthur Guiness, signing the lease to the grounds of the factory that produces this liquid gold. Everyone gets involved in an

all day session, going skits from lunch time onwards, culminating in thousands of people spilling out on to the city streets, raising the blackest of Ales and saluting Arthur and his dreamy creation. With barely enough time for our hangovers to subside, Galway was in the All Ireland Hurling final (the equivalent of the NRL grand final) for the first time in 29 years. So once again, this time decked out in the local maroon and white, the whole town was in party mode. While this did little for our fitness or our quest to steer clear of the dreaded Euro rig, it did give us a chance to bro down with the rest of the local surfing and booging crew. This downtime gave us the chance to get our froth levels at an all-time high in anticipation for tubes, find Tommy asleep on

the Jacks (dunny) on more than one occasion and led a couple of the fellas to meet their own Galwegian princesses. The first day that truly drove home what it meant to be a surfer in Ireland was smack bang in the middle of our trip and the day that Morgan [Hives] was due to arrive in the country. The Irish dudes are proper meteorological nerds – eyes constantly glued to the net, in pubs, at home and at breakfast. Looking for little windows where the wind, swell, six-meter tides and period all align to create some cylinders out of the wild and green mass that is the Atlantic. That afternoon was looking like providing some of these conditions.


Tom, Adam, a French skitswad named Yanbert and I fanged down to the coast through a plethora of turns and windy roads, before peering over the edge of a sheer cliff at a violent, powerful and muddled ocean. Amongst the various lines of junky swell, rock ledges and 8ft closeouts we could barely make out the shape of Rileys. Tom convinced us to trek down to the wave. For a man scared of heights it was worse than any horror movie. Before even making it to the rock jump you had to negotiate a treacherous, mud track inches from the sheer cliff, before navigating electric fences, dangerous moss-covered rocks, and tip toe across inches of crumbling icy rock that was overhanging an inlet where the biggest of swells would smash underfoot and cover you with sea spray. All the while wearing mudcovered Wellies that for us Aussie dudes made simply walking in a straight line a difficult task. Once in the lineup the swells quickly began to sort themselves out and throw out some heaving pits. A couple of the local standups and Cornish/turned Lahinch local ledge Steph Sterjowski joined us on their ski and some serious good times were going down. Hugh Galloway was threading through some serious Tow bombs on his stick and all the fellas were stroking into their

fair share of ledgey pits. The swell continued to rise and Green made his debut on the towrope as Hugo flung him into a bomb. I tried to follow suit and wasn’t so lucky. Being hurled into two of the most insane situations I have ever encountered, I was lucky that two fins and my board were the only casualties. Being no expert at towing I was whipped into a couple of caverns that would have to be the heaviest waves I have ridden, before succumbing to a violent “foamy-don’t-go-me”

closeout and wayward ski chop on consecutive waves. After flopping my rattled little body up onto the safety of the rock ledge amongst 4ft of white water, navigating safely in the dark back to the car we were surprised to see Morgan shaking his head at what he had just seen. Having just endured a grueling 24 hours in transit, his first few hours in Ireland had been spent somehow following Tom’s intricate and precise instructions to the wave. After managing not to get lost, he got his first look at the ocean. A couple of hundred feet beneath

him, perfect waves unloaded on the shelf but he had absolutely no way of knowing how to reach them. With the swell set to continue to rise and clean up for the next day, anticipation was high. We woke early the next day to freezing conditions and retraced our steps back down to Rileys only to find the swell a little too straight. We made the dash over to the Cliffs of Moher to check what the infamous Aileens was doing. Breaking at the bottom of sheer 700ft cliffs this perfect right can only be reached by scaling a winding goat track. For Morgan it was a wild introduction, as this was to be his first surf in the country. Our French mate Yann was also pumped to be surfing it for the first time. We later discovered he had been coming to the place for seven years and never scored The Cliffs, we were running like God himself. Once again my fear of heights kicked in and my legs were jelly. The steep gradient of the track, combined with its slippery surface and gusty offshore winds made conditions treacherous and the threat of falling and being severely injured was very real. When paddling out next to the sheer cliff and stretching your neck over lines of swell to see the tops of mountainous 10ft pits, it’s easy to see why the entrance to


the line up has been described as paddling into a surf movie. This was one of the most memorable sessions of my life and guys like Ferg, Dan Sterjowski, Tom Lowe and Tommy G were showing why they are regarded as the best at the spot. The vibes were good, the waves were amazing and by the time I had made it back to relative safety at the top of the cliff I was quietly stoked in the fact I probably would never have to work my back tits down that godforsaken goat track again. Little did I know less than a week later I would once again be standing atop of that fateful piece of rock again, staring down at what I can only describe as the biggest waves I had seen in years. An all star cast had arrived in town, with the best surfers from Ireland, England, France, Aussie ledge Dave Winchester and famed waterman and “Koost Kat” Andy Lawrence all showing up for what was being dubbed as the biggest and cleanest swell of the season. As luck would have it the night before in the town of Lahinch there were two banging parties celebrating some chicks birthdays at pubs across the road

from each other on the main street. There were beers, good times and babes abounding but most managed to pull themselves away from temptation right as the “three pint buzz” was taking hold and still be up for the early. Once in the water it was clear that shit was about to get real. The waves had risen from the last session and so had the level

of riding. Winny and Jack Johns were going absolutely skitz, snaring some tubes that would make most normal men question their sanity. This day was definitely one I didn’t mind spending the majority watching from the channel, as some of the tubes and beatings were beyond anything I had ever seen. While I was used to surfing some pretty intense ledges

on the South coast, open ocean pits of doom ain’t something you get to experience every day. If this wasn’t enough, the next morning we were back down at Rileys. The waves were pumping and while it was definitely the most congested lineup of the trip, the vibes were once again through the roof as everyone took turns and had a good time. Winny and Jack were killing it again, while Tommy G stole the show with an excellent display of how to dominate cold water pits. As the tide dropped we fanged through the winding roads and sleepy countryside in search of some ramps. We were lucky to happen upon exactly what we were looking for. Jack was smashing out sick reverses with almost metronome like precision off the warping end bowl, while Winny did the single biggest jump I’d ever seen off a three-foot wave. Even the travelling amateurs managed a few nice ramps, while Morgs got self-proclaimed wave of the day as he paddled in with a take off roll to full length of the reef pit.


That afternoon as a perfect sunset descended over county Clare it was hard not the think that the orange glow was a direct result of all the stoke from the local surf community. That night Lahinch town mayor Johnny Ryan-Smith organized a full on bro sesh for the boys, as twenty Irish, English and Aussie dudes were treated to a lock in at a local pub. The stories and props nearly flowed as quickly as the beers, as dudes like Winny and Koosty mixed and with Irish and English surf dudes and the likes of English Rock star Ben Howard. It was a surreal and memorable experience. Coming from Australia it was rad to see this kind of mutual respect and genuine stoke for others when they saw each other score a cracker. Without Tom Gillespie there is no way we would have had such an amazing trip and I believe it would have been unlikely for us to score even a couple of good sessions without his guidance. His close friendship with dudes like Hugh and Ferg are perfect examples of the relationships between bodyboarders and surfers in Ireland. He points to these kind of friendships as a divisive factor in “eliminating the bullshit rivalry you see in other parts of the world.”

He also points to the guys who pioneered the coastline like Ferg and Mickey Smith, and their open mindedness, eclectic talent and love of riding waves as major reasons why this kind of thinking is fostered in Ireland. Coming back to Australia and being greeted with 2ft summer slop, punctuated by the occasional Blackrock session with forty of your best mates, it is easy to find myself thinking about how special it is in the water over there. I get a little jealous as I think about Fergs’ answer when asked if they can maintain the good relationships and vibes in the water. “I think the ocean will always keep most people fairly grounded in the long run. Fame and glory can go to people’s heads but the waves will soon sort that out. The guys doing it for the right reasons will always be there and they should hopefully always set the vibe. It’s up to the guys starting to ride heavier waves to watch listen and learn and carry on that friendly vibe that is good for everyone in the long run”. It is this kind of shit that will stay with me and maybe I can try and take this attitude into my next quest for some sea-crow insiders at Blackrock


TWELVE MONTHS IN TASSIE


Henry Smith about to scoop under a blue slug.


BEST SWELL? The best swell in 2012 for me would have been an East Coast swell in winter, where an undisclosed right hand slab produced epic pits and air bowls for a whole week. It was one of those swells where you get up at the crack of dawn, cringe at how cold it is, surf pumping waves all day, get roasted by the sun, eat, go to sleep and do it all over again the next day. That was by far the most sun-whacked I’ve ever been, things were starting to get weird at the tail end of the swell and it was a relief when the ocean went flat to recover from our sore limbs and scorched skin.



BEST LOCAL? Harley Ward really stepped it up in 2012. Every session he’s always a standout rider, catching 10x as many waves than anyone else and it certainly shows in his riding. Flowing his lines so well and hitting solid sections, it might be something to do with his hypersensitivity towards fruit or being an undercover psycho. Either way I’m amped to see what Harley can do in 2013!






BEST BLOW IN? I’ll have to give this title to a guy from Canberra. He’s an enigma who randomly makes the journey down to Shippies every now and then. He wears a silver Gath Helmet and has adopted the nickname “The Silver Bullet”. The massive Shippies day in May 2012 affectionately named “May Day”. It’s still twilight,

I can see a set walling up around the corner as I’m weaving through the bushes at warp speed frothing to get a first glimpse and as I do I see a sparkle of silver taking off on a perfect 6ft wedge running into a 10ft+ end bowl. He was out there solo before anyone else in the dark riding 8-15ft waves.


BEST TOW IN? To tell ya the truth, I can’t recall any tows from 2012. Ya pussy.


BEST BABE? She cooks me warm bread for the mornings and I arrive home to epic dinners after surfing all day, froths out when the boys stay for days on end when the waves are pumping. Thanks Mum!


THE WHITE POINTER The tale of how a boy became a bloke. Words by DECLAN MCMULLEN Photos by Ryan Mattick

People in regional Australia clearly dig erecting oversized monuments to pay homage to the exports and attractions that made their towns great. Coffs Harbour was renowned for getting involved in a sheet ton of bananas, so they knocked up the Big Banana there. While in Woombye in Queensland they were heavily backing their pineapple crops, so they built an idol in worship to their sweet, fruity deity. Ballina has a massive prawn, Tassie a mutant penguin, and the local hellmen in Darwin decided they needed to throw down some props to their favourite brew with a gigantic VB can. However on the South Coast of NSW the closest we have is a monumental effigy of local skitswad and unlikely celebrity James “Koot Dog” Cayley, adorning the wall of a prominent bodyboarding store - “The Big Bloke”. To many seasoned bodyboarders, Koots is the antithesis of what they aspired to be growing up. Rejecting the flowing techniques of dudes like Hardy that were the shiz during our youth, Koots has risen to the higher echelons of his sport with a wanton disregard for mind, body and aesthetics, both in and out of the water. Before he became a renowned “bloke” who beguiled chicks and dudes alike, with his happy-go-lucky attitude and distorted physique, he was a gangly, awkward boy in a man’s body. A boy, who at the tender age of 18, had broken up with the love of his life, lost all of his money getting off his teats at the local ale houses, and sliced off half his finger while hungover at his day job as an apprentice mechanic.


“The reality of the situation was he would soon need delicate microsurgery on his pinky.”

Not wanting to disappoint the boss, he continued slaving away thinking a mere Band-Aid would be all the medical attention he required. The reality of the situation was he would soon need delicate microsurgery on his pinky. The recovery involved his little digit being penetrated by a slender metal rod and encased by an expensive and delicate fiberglass casing. Not to mention an extended period out of the salt. For most normal humans, this would have served as a warning sign to slow down and take a spell on the sidelines. It merely spurred Koots on in his quest to lose his mind. With time off work and a bountiful compensation payout in his bank, Koots went even more skits on the local nightlife. It wasn’t long before he defied strict medical orders and decided it was time to get his tits involved in a comeback. As luck would have it, his return was made at a notorious South Coast left that was breaking heavily at every inch of six foot. Early in the session Koots was digging it, with his disturbingly

large pinky finger aimed sturdily off the nose of his board towards the exit of some massive tubes. This fluorescent white case acted as a beacon of Koots’ stupidity, as even a minor slip up in such heavy waves could have rendered his finger without movement for the rest of his life. This lack of commonsense was clearly ridiculous for everyone present, particularly Maddog who was quick to dub Koots “The White Pointer” and had us all screaming it hysterically each time he took off. In typical Koots fashion, his ambition soon exceeded his ability, as he took off on a low tide bomb of doom. He dropped face first over the ledge, executed a trademark nose-dive and began his descent over the falls into oblivion. When at last he beached himself rather comically on the nearby rocks, it became clear that he had emerged without his board, fins, rashie and of course, his beloved white pointer. Bleeding, in shock and at a very real risk of losing movement in his finger for the rest of his life,

Koots stumbled to shore and was tended to (clumsily at best) by Mattick’s terrified 15-year-old girlfriend. Being the only one with a license at the time, Koots then had no option but to drive himself to the hospital where they provided a makeshift splint for his finger and advised he get involved in a specialist ASAP. Koots then did what he does best and raced the 77.6 kilometers from Nowra hospital to the specialist in Wollongong in under 45 minutes. They were able to secure his finger, but not before smashing him with a verbal tirade for defying doctors’ orders in the reckless and foolhardy way that now makes Koots a superstar of our sport. As a typical denouement to any Koots tale, he was down at the pub later that night, sipping on a Coopers and regaling anyone who would listen with a characteristically distorted version of the tale. The tale of The White Pointer. The tale of how a boy became a bloke.


Ensayo de foto

By

J os h

Ta b o n e













N I C K BANNEHR

P O RT FOLIO




This is Simon Thornton at home in Tahiti. We surfed Teahupoo with less than 10 guys out this day and it was the first session we had after stepping off the plane. This is probably one of the last frames you can actually see him before that gigantic white foam-ball swallows him up.


I witnessed some of the most incredible lighting I have ever shot on this afternoon. The waves weren’t amazing by any means, but with the winds staying good until late in the afternoon I had to hang around to see if anything went down. Amaury and Magno had just driven across the country with Pence and were hanging on the South Coast, which was cool to get a chance to see the international guys surf down there. This is Amaury Lavernhe at Nuggan.



Cade Sharpe somewhere in South Australia. I shot this pulled back angle after hours spent swimming around looking and feeling like a human lure. I’m not really sure of this man’s identity. You could say he was taking advantage of the array of novelty waves south of Sydney this day. I love how you can see Dav standing on the inside in knee-deep water.


I saw some of the biggest waves I’ve seen out there earlier on this morning, with Moot [Matt Young] and Chap [Michael Chapple] taking turns on the rope and DM [Damien Martin] doing stupid things trying to paddle. I took a chance and shot this at 17mm off the back of a ski to try and capture something different. This is Grahame Miller at Eddies.

The charts aligned for Boxy this day with guys flocking from south of Sydney all the way up to Port Macquarie, however the waves never really got that great with low light and variable winds. The one thing that is consistently amazing about the place is the mountainous landscape. I tried to capture it with a 50mm to render as close to the human eye perspective as possible. This is Sam Bennett at Box Beach.


This was a pretty standard day at Shark Island with really nice greens and yellows coming through in the water. TP [Toby Player] was getting a heap of waves this day along with Benny and Lester. This would have to be up there with one of my favourite shots from around home. Tightness in a barrel shot is really underrated I think.



This was one of the deepest barrels I’ve ever seen ridden. I don’t think the angle of the photo can really put into perspective how deep he is here but I thought he had no chance of making it. The next thing I know he pops out in the channel unscathed and with a grin from ear to ear. One of the best days of waves I’ve ever had on one of the rawest coastlines I’ve travelled. This is Matt Young at Lunas.



State Of Play


NSW: Ivan Pulic.

QLD: Joe Clarke.

SA: Lance Hurford.

Hometown: Wollongong. Local: North Reef. Crew: James Kates, Robbie Sheehy. Eatery: Chickos. Watering hole: North Gong. State Titles are: Great! And on my to do list. The King: Ben Player.

Hometown: Nobby’s Beach. Local: D’Bah. Crew: Prior, Nudgie, Chriddy, Gornall, Putty, Riggaz, Jacob Hein. Eatery: Ja Ja Cafe. Watering hole: Beer Garden/ Elsewhere. State Titles are: I heard there’s going to be prize money! Keen! The King: Nick Gornall.

Hometown: Port Elliot. Local: Knights Beach. Crew: Andrew Topley, Karl Morgan, Dylan Beach, Jasper Ashmore, Jack Thomas, Charlie Mason. Eatery: Port Elliot Bakery – Cheese and Veg Pastie. Watering hole: Steam Exchange Micro Brewery State Titles are: Non-existent since 2011. The King: Mike Honeybone.

Hometown: Phillip Island. Local: Smith’s Beach. Crew: Mc Shane and Sandy Ryan. Eatery: Smith’s Shop. Watering hole: Le Disko. State Titles are: Always won by Boggy. The King: Adam Morrison (Boggy).

Hometown: Margaret River. Local: Gas Bay. Crew: Ryan Hardy, Lee Szczepanski, Conrad Burton. Eatery: The Local IGA. Watering hole: Settlers Tavern. State Titles are: I wouldn’t know, I’ve only been a bridesmaid. The King: Will always be Ryan Hardy.

VIC: James Page.

WA: Ben Veitch.

Hometown: Bellerive. Local: Rebounds. Crew: Charles Ward, Mat Tildesley, Cam Green, Sam Thomas and Jeremy Faulds. Eatery: Magic Curries, Ye Old South Arm Store. Watering hole: Mobius. State Titles are: Super fun when everyone gets involved. The King: Jeremy Faulds.

TAS: Harley Ward.


MOTHER L O A D


Jarrod McCann / George Humphreys


Mitch Pearson / Shaun Pyne


Mitch Pearson / Shaun Pyne

Sam Venn / Shaun Pyne


Ben Hall / Lance Hurford



Charlie Holt / Josh Tabone



Dahn Colman / George Humphreys

Dahn Colman / George Humphreys


Dahn Colman / Lewy Finnegan


Jeff Levingston / Joe Clarke



Jeff Levingston / Liam O’Toole


Sam Bromwich / Ryan Hardy


Sam Bromwich / Adam Leuhman



Steve Wall / Dallas Singer



Sam Venn / Dan Worsley


Steve Wall / Winston McCall


Nathan Henshaw / James Nymeyer




Marc Ashdown / Sam Bennett

Nathan Henshaw

Nathan Henshaw / Simon Bell


Matt Brockie / Luke Morgan



Josh Tabone / Damian King



Russell Quinn / Daniel Beddingfield


Russell Quinn / Sam Cuthbert

Reece Dobbin / Luke Morgan


Jason Corroto / JP Slupik (liquidvisionphotography.com)

Nick Gornall / Ben Bettridge


Jem Creswell / Chris James

Jem Creswell / Ewan Donnachie


Mitch Pearson / Jose Marquina


Nathan Henshaw / James Nymeyer



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