THE SURFTIME JOURNAL

SURFTIME THE JOURNAL

THE POWER ISSUE

CAUGHT INSIDE # 126

As you can see by our cover, this issue is all about the power of surfing. The power of top flight surfers, the power of dreams, the power of children, the power of women, the power of art, the power of travel, the power of love and as always, the power of Indonesia. Because that is what Surftime has always been about. To put our own face on our own surfing. To speak in context from the inside out, from the Indonesian point of view. And to not leave it to the foreign visiting press to tell us who we are. Even now, in Rio Waida, we have a contender on the WCT and that‘s not something that just any countries can say. In this issue, yes, Indonesian pride is running through its veins and if you read closely enough and really spend some time with the extraordinary images from the best photographers in the world, then you too will smell the blood. Our blood. Pumping as sure as the waves. In this issue we take you into many worlds. One being the Mentawai, the crown surfing jewel of the planet where we get inside the head of a surf guide and his very personal journey through the power of love. We spend a day at Keramas, the best righthander on Bali, where we visit with the eclectic crew that makes the place one of the most powerful spots in the surfing world. Gene Kreyd, Bali’s surf artist-in-residence is entering a new phase of his work and man, oh man, has he

given us some color. Check out his mini portfolio for a mind blowing vision of the waves we ride and of course his famed skull portrait. “I painted that imagining that the skull was actually thinking about surfing”. Wow. In another story, we visit with Mason Ho, who shares with us one of the most powerful experiences in his life. The day he dropped into the giant wave at Waimea Bay that would have won him the 2016 Eddie Aikau Invitational. But with a nagging injury, he only made it halfway down the face on his big gun before ejecting off into oblivion. Still, knowing Mason, he came up laughing, and paddled back out for more. And of course we have the results of our Grom Photo Contest, meant to inspire our next generation to learn how to work with professional Photographers. The results range from exhilarating to adorable. But it is clear evidence that the next generation is coming on. So we ask you to regard this issue, to take it all in, with the power of surfing on your mind. The power of Indonesian surfing. Because the truth behind all the aspects of Indonesian surfing it is growing in strength. And together, we will prevail.

-Matt George, Editor-in-Chief

Cover photo: Currently number 16 on the World Championship Tour, Rio Waida is growing in power and strength and so far is odds-on for rookie of the year. With the hopes of Indonesia squarely on his shoulders, the man from Jimbaran is both exceeding expectations and serving as an example of the success that comes when you combine hard discipline with powerful dreams. Photography by Liquid Barrel.

Nothing to be fooled with, the more powerful breaks of the Mentawai can crush bone and foam. Yet the absolute predictability of their perfection make it easier to make a game plan in the line-up. The Surf Guide, out alone in a pre-dawn session before the guests awake, going for the next one, living the dream as a living.

Photography by Liquid Barrel

Pulau Karangmajat, Mentawai Islands, January, 2023, 1610hrs

The surf guide stands on the foredeck coiling the dripping lines, keeping his mind busy. He has to. She is close. Ashore not more than quarter mile away at the surf camp. He shakes his thoughts loose of her for the thousandth time. It’s over and he knows it. Still, the thoughts cycle back. Her hair, that laugh, the weird trip to India, her silky skin. She was supposed to go home after the breakup, said they were living his Mentawai dreams, not her dreams. She was supposed to go home to her dreams. Yet here she still was. And rumor had it she was gonna stay, work for the surf camp. He winces at the thought, hissing through his teeth. Ach, man, not good, not good. He unwinds and coils the same line for a second time. Fool! He stops and looks toward shore, toward the surf camp. She is there. He’s half a mind to swim in and have it out. Again.

He had been in the Mentawai as a surf guide on a million different boats for a decade now. Though he wouldn’t say it himself, he was the best there was. Knowing the islands and the waves and conditions and the languages and the secret ways of the Mentawai that still possess great mystery. He lived out in the islands on a small catamaran, only making the crossing on the ferry to the mainland when absolutely necessary. Supplies, electronics, boat parts, booze. Even though he was dry, six months into a vow not to touch the stuff for a year. It had been a good idea and he was three kilos lighter now and much more nimble in the surf. The boat he was currently serving on was a real beauty. A forty six foot luxury Cat. The owner, a big Hollywood producer apparently,

had saved up for it all his life and was now sailing it himself around the world, taking friends and family aboard in different ports. The producer had been dreaming of a Mentawai trip all his life and now he was here having sailed his vessel the long way around all the way from France. The surf guide respected this and so went the extra mile to keep things ship shape, help the crew, step to it. There were two crew on board, a skipper and a first mate, old friends that used be, of all things, professional razor scooter riders. Then there were the brothers, sixties, former pro surfers, journalists and filmmakers. They had the stories that kept the dinners lively. The voyage had been perfect so far. Luck had it that everybody got along, dinners were filled with wonder and laughter. And the waves had been perfect for this group. The shoulder season in the Mentawai. Most the fleet dry-docked in January. Thailand, Sibolga, Jakarta, Singapore. This time of year could be rainy and overcast and wild out in the Mentawai, but also dependably mild with smaller, manageable swell and empty surf and none of the crowds and the boat wars of the high season. The surf guide had been putting this group on the best of the northern sector and everyone seemed fulfilled. He always looked for the signs of the disgruntled, and couldn’t see any here. At least there was that to make things easier on him.

The surf guide finished up with the lines and looked around for something, anything else to do. He could smell the roasting garlic coming from the galley. Maybe he would go help with lunch. He looked toward shore again knowing he had to stop doing that. It made him think of home. South Africa. An ocean and a lifetime away. A hard country filled with hard work and a hard, strong people.

Lest we forget. Surftime Editor-in-Chief Matt George, surveying the damage at the Macaroni resort the day after the 2010 Tsunami. Though the Mentawai may seem like a amusement park of perfect waves, bear in mind that devastation and death is only an earthquake away. Photography by Josh Symon

Access to the Mentawai has never been easier and families are taking full advantage of it. No longer are the line ups only for grown-ups. Pete Matthews, threading through the grid and headed for the checkered flag on the Rifles straightaway, showing the kids how it’s done. Photography by Kandui Resort.

Clockwise from top left:

The siren’s call.

Photography by Liquid Barrel

Christie Carter in deep

Photography by Liquid Barrel

The Kandui Resort child tribe

Photography by Matt George

Land camp nocturnal visitor

Photography by Mike McDonnell

Lunch

Photography by Matt George

His people. Cultured and true and tough and sharp as a broken seashell. He thought of home often, knew who he was, still had the strong accent. But the guiding was both a choice and a good living, he was proud to be inside the tropical surf dream. He didn’t own a pair of sandals, rarely wore a shirt, didn’t need them. And he loved his surfing, and he was enlightened, knew his job, giving waves to the guests, and as a former pro photographer, shooting them when he felt like dusting off his old talents. He always kept his mind busy, learning everything about his trade, navigation, boat handling, every knot on earth. Currently, along with his abstinence, he had been reading philosophy in his downtime. Particularly the tenets of the pre-Columbian Toltecs. He was doing his best to put them into practice. He recited them now. Be Impeccable With Your Word. Don’t Take Anything Personally. Don’t Make Assumptions. Always Do Your Best. One had to challenge the mind in his line of work. After all, one could only dream so much.

He connected a hose and grabbed a long handled brush and began scrubbing the mud off the anchor chain. It didn’t really need to be done, but the tenets were with him and so was she, not a quarter mile away. Dammit, how they haunt. Don’t take anything personally, goddammit, be impeccable with your word, the thing is already settled, what are you going to do? Remind her she was supposed to go home? She’s all grown up and not yours anymore. She’s flown. It’s over. He straightens up, shakes loose again, turns off the hose, stows the brush, looks out to sea. The owner of the boat is the only surfer in the line-up. To hell with lunch. The surf guide grabs his swims fins and goes over the side in an explosion of gin clear bubbles. He thinks, The ocean swallows the wrongs of people.

The surf guide swims strongly for the line-up, almost punishing himself, reciting Always Do Your Best, over and over to the rhythm of his strokes. He deeply believed bodysurfing could heal any woe. Certainly postpone it. The crystal clear waters and the perfectly shaped waves called him out into the line-ups without his board from time to time. For him it was the same pull that made him seek out and stand behind waterfalls. A moving picture of moving water moving utterly before your

very eyes. For him the waves of the Mentawai at swim level came at him like running cheetah, perfect in their economy of movement, sure of their result. And he knew this sight, seen running cheetah by the score back home. The spinning cylinders of the Mentawai dream filled him with elation. He found himself like this, teasing its perfection, ducking under the guillotine lip at the last possible moment, avoiding the blade of the lip by millimeters, feeling the drag and pull of each wave, slipping into a miraculous union. Despite the power and the chaos, he was safe from human foibles and desire here. Underwater, it was like standing next to a stampede and watching the bulls thunder by. Knowing only surfers like he could get to this place and see this and play with it, understand it. Knowing that photos and films of surfing from underwater could never capture the sounds and sensations that came to him immersed. The tug of power, the muffled roar of the impact, the wind chime of the reef stirring in the passing turbulence, the hiss of surfboard fins as they streak by, their contrails left on the concave face, the dangerous pleasure of air held deep your in your lungs. And that is when it came to him. He was swimming on the other side of the mirror, swimming in the very molten blood of the planet. Playing within the original source of human life, heedless among moving cylinders of water so perfect that it was like being in a glass blowing factory, with he inside the glass. It was a type of home for him, an understanding of why he left all common responsibility behind in South Africa. The surf guide surfaces, a great breath, a snort of the nose. The ocean gone calm. He floats and breathes and looks toward shore for long moments and she comes flooding back, his mind a sponge for the memories, the desires. She is there. Not a quarter mile away. The desire and the heat and the disaster waiting still. Waiting again. He struggles with the urge to swim to shore. To her. To the hell of confusion and doubts and yearning. Be impeccable with your word.

The surf guide turns to the sea. A large set of waves approach. He swims out to meet them. He swims out and dives under the first. Diving toward peace, toward forgiveness. Swimming out, not in.

It’s over. Be impeccable with your word.

The earliest know photograph of Lance’s right, shot by discoverer Lance Knight himself from a canoe with a disposable film camera. It became the shot heard ‘round the world. Photography by Lance Knight

With the pressure on, with every session resembling a WCT heat, you can depend on Bronson Meidy to make it to the podium.

Despite the glaring differences of life of on each side of the river, for the faithful locals, the song remains the same.

Photography by Pete Frieden

When the President of the Asian Surf Cooperative paddles out, the line-up parts out of respect for what the ASC has achieved over the long years. Tipi Jabrik, ripping into his forties, taking what is his due.

The twins seem to have the uncanny knack of always showing up for the best conditions of the day. For so long, the only way to tell these identical twins apart is by the sponsors stickers on the nose of their boards. Still, their story unfolds as individuals, evidenced here by their very different approaches to the same Keramas section. Blerong with his thigh burning carve and Tonjo with his hyperspeed layback. One can not help but wonder what it would be like to share your very being with another,. They both have shared the same womb, and now share the spotlight at Bali’s best righthander. Is it possible to share a dream? It certainly looks like it here.

A stalwart performer on any day, Betet Merta seems as much a part of Keramas as the waves themselves. Surfing each wave as if it were his last, Betet’s surfing resembles a Samurai in battle, slashing his way through the multitude with a singing blade. That’s the thing about Keramas, the older crew gets due respect and so it becomes the scene where they can really turn up the heat. A man on fire, Betet Merta’s scorching slashbacks are more then just a maneuver, they serve as an ambitious goal for the young.

Clockwise: On any Sunday Keramas is both a family playground and a firing line. 1. The family Studer showing up with very personal equipment and the right vibe. 2. Not surprising, our young ladies are establishing growing presence in the line-up. 3. Lempog Jackson, ultimate local, showing why he remains at the top of the heap. Even Rio gives him all the room he needs. 4. “I am so lucky to have Keramas on my island”, Rio Waida says, “It is a perfect training ground for the WCT”. He’s certainly made that point.

Our venerable master, the evergreen Rizal Tandjung, has surfed this wave since before it was on the map. And today, every time he paddles out, he still throws the kind of spray that inspires both envy and admiration from all. Long may he, and Keramas, live.

LOVE STORY MASON HO’S WILD RIDE

Having mastered the art of social media, Mason Ho’s love affair with his surfboards hurtles on unchecked. One need only watch his five minute surfboard appreciation sign-offs at the end of his clips, which border on the sensual, to find evidence of this. Photography

by Rory Pringle

One of the great storytellers in his native pidgin slang, Mason Ho is a master of his own making. Adam Crawford, Ian Crane and Pete Matthews listen in on the latest. Photography by Matt George

“For years now I don’t think a single wave of mine has gone unphotographed” Says Mason, “I know it looks like a lotta fun, but eets kine hawd works!”. Mason and his trusty filmer Rory Pringle getting to work Sumbawa. Photography by Pete Frieden

LOVE STORY

Perched right on the point at Sunset Beach on the North Shore of O’ahu, the day comes early to the house where Mason Ho lives. With a legend of a father, a top female surfer and surfing’s most popular streamer all under one roof, the sound of wax scraping across surfboards can be heard before the first cock crows. And although many days pass in the same pattern for this famed family, this day is different. Because the bay is breaking. Waimea Bay. And the Eddie Aikau invitational is on and father and son are expected in the line-up. With father Michael one of the only contestants who had a close relationship with Eddie, the expectations from father Mike and son Mason are soaring. Michael knows his son is playing hurt, Mason is suffering from a deep groin injury that could cast a shadow over his day. But ever irrepressible, Mason is up and at ‘em, fixing his double leash to his ten foot spear. The rumble of the biggest waves out on the reef at Sunset Beach make the plates rattle in the cupboard and now and then and during the even larger ones, father and son shoot each other nervous smiles. Honor is potentially ahead. The greatest honor in Hawaiian surfing, a win at the Eddie. Both Mike and Mason are contenders, father and son, an extraordinary set of circumstances that the whole island loves to watch unfold. The eastern horizon is just blushing pink as they load their giant guns on to the roof of the station wagon. One board each. Do or die. Coco waves from the balcony, calls good luck. Good luck Daddy! Mason’ injury is so bad he needs to lay down in the back as his old man turns the key in the ignition and the day really begins.

The Kam highway is jammed, of course, seems the whole island has come out to watch. Knowing the berms and puddles that can be handled on the side of the road, Mike makes it to the bay as if he’s had a police escort. The large crowd is milling around and everybody is both awestruck and plenty nervous about the conditions, spectators and surfers alike. Every giant gun on the North Shore has been slid out of the rafters and from under houses and they tower over everyone like totem poles in every color of the rainbow. One can read the entire history of big wave surfing in them, from early battle scarred models to modern nitro burning boards.

A set of black mountains approach the bay and at first a silence falls. Then the hoots and the hollers erupt as the gargantuan set of waves rear up and start feathering, then the whole crowd goes nuts as the waves, all four of them, stack up and close out the bay. The lifeguards gulp and gawk and laugh and start up their jet skis. The sound of the skis mixing with the roar of the surf, adding to the menace and intent of the day. Mason Ho has heard all this from the back of the car and he clambers out to see things for himself. His father has wrestled their boards off the top of the car and has them laid out like giant marlin in the grass of the parking lot. Their boards look comically big, like oversized surfboard sculptures, but both Mike and Mason know they are going to need every inch of them.

Mason and Mike man up and heft their boards and head over

to the competitors area where a safety briefing is taking place. Every big wave hot shot in the world is there, only half listening, knowing the drill, knowing that if you get in trouble at the bay that the Jet ski becomes the greatest invention mankind has ever produced. Keeping his spirits high, Mason finds himself next to Clyde Aikau, who could take the air out of a stadium with his aura of nobility. After all, not only is he related to the king who used to rule this bay, but this whole thing is in honor of his fallen older brother. Keeping it light, Mason turns to Clyde and makes a nervous joke about the size of the waves. Clyde does not laugh, he only turns his gaze on Mason wordlessly. Mason shrinks a bit, but holds his ground. This is when Clyde let’s him have it. Telling him that the day is no joke, and that Mason better get his head right and get it right quick or Clyde was going to get it right for him. Mason listens and takes it and turns his eyes toward the surf as another close-out set rumbles through the bay.

Paddling out in his heat Mason knows that with his injury he doesn’t have much more than two waves in him. He has one plan. Find the one wave no one else wanted and go for it. Reaching the line-up he and the whole crowd sweep up and over another close-out set. Having reset his mind on the day, Mason is doing his best to just stay cool and move with the rhythm of the giant waves. No hurry now, he thinks, just breath it in. Twenty minutes later and with no waves ridden and his injury flaring up, Mason’s patience cracks and he paddles deep and inside of everybody. What the hell, he thinks, maybe the swell has peaked. He finds out forty seconds later how wrong he is. The horizon goes black, the biggest set of the day approaches. An absolutely inhuman set of waves. Mason starts scratching out to get over them. But just then he sees one man turn around and start paddling for the first one. Their eyes meet. It’s Clyde Aikau. Mason knows why Clyde is paddling for the first one, it’s going the be the cleanest one and the bay is going to be a maelstrom after it passes. Mason keeps paddling out, but for some reason he cannot keep his eyes off Clyde. And this is when Clyde stops paddling and sits up on his board and looks directly at Mason. Mason stops paddling and sits up on his board too. And Clyde nods at Mason and Mason spins his big board around and starts paddling for the wave everyone else is trying to get over. Taking off late, it’s more like the wave catches Mason than the other way around. Dropping in is like jumping out of a airplane. Mason fights his way halfway down the face and the whole crowd is screaming, this could be a winning wave. And that is the moment Mason hits some chop from a rescue ski and goes flying off into oblivion and prepares to die.

Ten minutes later Mason is back outside the break, rattled and wary. His eyes meet Clyde’s again. A moment. Then Clyde smiles one of his rare smiles and nods his head. And in that moment, right there, Mason Ho looks outside for another bomb, falling in love with Waimea Bay all over again.

1

ST PLACE: GIRLS DIVISION

Ziggy Mackenzie, 14yrs

Photography by Liquid Barrel

1 ST PLACE: BOYS DIVISION

Darma Wisesa, 10yrs

Photography by Putu Juliartha

The Great Grom Photo Comp

Here They Come

When Surftime announced our Grom photo comp, we had no idea what we unleashed. The actual idea was to inspire our under 16yr old surfers to get out there and start working with photographers just like the pro’s. An effort to start grooming our next generation of stars and develop their awareness of the discipline and hard work it takes to suceed as a surfer. The challenge was issued and they delivered. With hundreds of submissions coming in, we could not possibly print them all. But what we have assembled here is what we feel is the best representation of all the efforts that were put into this project. Of course, it is our hope that we have established a standard for our young guns, and that they continue to strive and continue to submit their photos as Surftime supports their growth in the surfing Community. Our message is that if you can dream it you can do it. And that’s the truth. Bring it on, you mighty mites, bring it on.

HONORABLE MENTION:

Kalani Ryan, 13yrs

Photography by Kandui Resort

HONORABLE MENTION:

Aditya Somiya, 12yrs

Photography by Putu Juliartha

HONORABLE MENTION:

Alessandro Dotti, 6yrs

HONORABLE MENTION:

Georgie May, 16yrs

HONORABLE MENTION:

Jayden Wilcoxen, 10yrs

Photography by Kandui Resort

Photography by Lakey Grom

Photography by Lucky Lakey

HONORABLE MENTION:

Theo Radcliffe, 15yrs

HONORABLE MENTION:

Kahea Ishiki, 14yrs

Photography by Dreamland

Photography by Lakey Grom

HONORABLE MENTION:

Monster Chong, 8yrs

HONORABLE MENTION:

Paris Nalendra, 12yrs

Photography by Putu Juliarta

Photography by Dad

THE SHORT HISTORY OF BALI SURFING

Bali, Circa 2005, surfer inspired tourist construction is the heartbeat of the island.

Bali, Circa 1900, Tri Hita Karana.

Bali, Circa 1984, the surfer invasion is in full swing.

Bali, Circa 2023, despite best efforts by numerous concerns, most surfers can only ask “how did we let this happen?”

The dictionary definition of a wanderer is one who travels around aimlessly with no purpose, but in my life long wandering around the planet I was always on a mission surfing and creating art. These are wonders of the world and in essence, they are one and the same. And I have dedicated my life to finding them. I have been riding the best waves and photographing them and then painting the energy of the experience in a way that no one has done before. I have been doing this for over 40 years. I was destined to be a discoverer, an explorer and a pathfinder.

This is how I was raised and how I lived my life. It’s in my blood.

I discovered surfing in Monterey California before it was considered cool by the mainstream. It was the “anti-thing to do”. Surfers were looked down upon by society and even the small group of surfers that lived in the area were, in the beginning, very territorial and hos-

Portrait, Art and Words by

Gene Kreyd

tile to me. I was not a “local”. Being persistent I learned to surf and became the first Russian surfer on the planet and the first Russian to surf many countries. I remember watching a movie called “Totally Committed” that showed surfing in Bali and right there and then decided to go. So in 1985 I came to surf Uluwatu, Padang Padang and Grajagan. Bali was not very well known then, surfing was not in vogue and many years would pass before Russians would hear of it.

That first trip was a journey of discovery that led to countless more adventures throughout Indonesia and the world. It completely changed the course of my life. Three days after arriving in Bali I went to Grajagan. I got fantastic waves and had many unforgettable experiences. The very first night a leopard came into my tree hut. That just does not happen living in Russia or the USA.

After returning to America I felt as if the carpet had been ripped out from under my feet.

So I continued traveling the world making Bali my home base. It’s a completely different world now since my first trip to Indonesia. Instagram influencers, insta surf instructors, selfies, surf schools, the list goes on.

Surfing became “cool” and now there are millions of wannabe surfers. But I still prefer traveling off the beaten path loving the spirit of adventure and discovery.

This is the essence of my art.

I get true satisfaction from finding my own way in life and art and sharing the stoke of that by bringing beauty to the world through my photos and paintings. To inspire and awaken people to their greatest potential is why I do art.

So if the wanderer’s journey is the destination, lets redefine the dictionary definition. I hope you are encouraged to be a wanderer wherever you go and in whatever you do and live the life you love.

The Dream Wanderer

Grajagan Mentawai

Magic Island

IMPACT: HOW THE YAMAHA WAVERUNNER CHANGED THE WAY WE SURF

By Sam George

“Oh, it’s had a humungous affect on the progression of surfing over the past 30 years. No question. ”

This from Frank Quirarte, the renowned surf photographer and heavy water safety expert from Half Moon Bay, California who, having recently returned from an epic strike mission to Cortes Bank, definitely knows what he’s talking about. What Quirarte is pointing to as having the single most significant influence on surfing over the past few decades is the Yamaha Waverunner

Peahi, Teahupo’o, Aussie slabs, Mullaghmore, Cortes Bank, Uluwatu, Nazarè and of course every surf contest on earth, including the Padang Padang Cup, all are now tackled at size with a hand on the throttle. And in each case completely redefining the parameters of what is considered to be rideable surf. Then there’s the paradigm shift when it comes to safety, with the introduction of precise teamwork and coordinated rescue protocol.

First, some super-condensed Yamaha Waverunner surfing history: Early 1980s: Veteran waterman Flippy Hoffman begins using a PWC (personal water craft) to explore and ride North Shore outer reefs.

1987: Herbie Fletcher, now using a souped-up PWC, tows young South African pro Martin Potter into a Second Reef Pipeline beast. 1988: Suitably inspired, legendary Island surfers and Hawaiian Water Patrol founders Brian Keaulana and Terry Ahue adapt new Yamaha Waverunners for lifeguarding duties, eventually adding the rescue sled.

1993: Having previously been towing into giant waves at Peahi with inflatable boats, Laird Hamilton is given a new Yamaha Waverunner. The light bulb goes on. And techniques are developed that are still in use with today’s elite.

Today, the three-seat Yamaha Waverunner like the one Frank Quirarte piloted at Cortes Bank, weighs in at a light 754 pounds. And with a super-charged four-cylinder, four-stroke vortex high output Yamaha marine engine and double impeller intake, it generates almost 2,000 pounds of thrust. And the difference isn’t confined to the power plant. Another key improvement wasn’t about going forward, but backward.“A big game changer was putting the reverse lever on the handlebars,” says Quirarte. “All the new Waverunners have that now, which is a big deal when doing rescues. So when it comes to modern surfing, Yamaha Waverunners are here to stay”.

Today, the Rip Curl Cup at Padang Padang would not even exist without the Yamaha Waverunner.

Despite the pressures that come with great business responsibility, James Hendy remains, at heart, a family man and a surfer, in that order.

Photography by Holden Trinka

By Holden Trnka

It was a perfect opportunity to make a green bubble, test electric vehicles zones and road congestion solutions.

On the Bukit:

Surfing is on the government’s radar as a sport now with Rio Waida competing in the Olympics and making the CT. Like every country, Indonesia wants to have the best athletes. How amazing would it be if they’d take the next step to honor Indonesia’s best loved waves, turn the Bukit peninsula into a World Surfing Reserve. If you go anywhere else in Indonesia or around the world, you quickly realize how incredible the Bukit is. It’s insane how many quality waves there are between Uluwatu and Jimbaran Bay. If you found this stretch anywhere else in the world you’d think it was the best surf spot on the planet. It would be perfect if someone could just turn this area into a giant Marine nature reserve & green zone.

On the future of surfing:

I think things go in cycles, and surfing has definitely gotten to a peak. After Covid, everyone who was a weekend warrior realized that they should be surfing more. I feel like surfing’s at a total saturation point, but it’s still going to grow. I think etiquette has gone out the window, so many surfers have never even heard of that word. I’m just really stoked that I’ve been doing it for 40 years already. The rad thing is, we’re sitting at Uluwatu, one of the most crowded surf spots on the planet, but you can still get sneaky, uncrowded sessions out here. I think that’s it, the guys who really want it will still get their waves. And the learners will have great fun because everyone is doing it with them. Sometimes I paddle out at Ulus and there’s more girls than guys, which really changes the atmosphere. It’s epic. Women are quickly becoming equal in Surfing and will play a huge part of the future of the sport. Did you see what happened when 15 year old Erin Brooks got given the Wild card in the Padang Cup last year? It’s happening.

On what surfing means to him:

How do I say this without sounding cheesy? Surfing has shaped my entire life, from growing up feeling lucky to have the ocean on my doorstep, to every step of my life, surfing has defined who I am. The reason I work for a surfing company is because I’m passionate about surfing. It comes naturally to me, they say do a job which involves what you love and I was lucky enough to have the opportunities presented and I just grabbed them. I still get super stoked on Surfing and I’m still as keen as I was when I started when I was 10 years old.

I hate to be thought of as just a businessman. I’m a surfer. And if there is a better place to be a surfer than in Bali then for the life of me, I can’t think of one.

Perhaps it is his pioneering environmental work with England’s Surfers Against Sewage that inspires him to seek a less traveled path. James Hendy, out on the edge in Asu, showing a commitment to surfing that goes far beyond the boardroom. Photography by Rip Curl

Eli Olsen. Backdoor Pipeline, Hawaii, 1640hrs.

R.I.P. 1993 World Champion Derek Ho, Pipeline, Hawaii, 0910hrs.

Surf photography is not a sport. And yet it is only the results that count. Photographer Damea Dorsey knows this one inside out. As far as he is concerned, if his photographs aren’t good enough, he’s not close enough. But when he says this he not talking about being physically close, but emotionally close to the subject matter. His is a style that reflects a depth of emotion, not just a depth of field. Like most photographers, his is a world that trusts photographs far above words. And when he finds the circumstantial light that he seeks, he brings something into existence that did not exist before.

In this portfolio, Damea’s goal was to show what it feels like to observe consequential surfing from a swimmers perspective. Not a paddlers perspective, but the perspective of being up to your chin the the medium that makes the surfing possible. A committed, immersive experience. Informed with inspiration, not information. It is the difference between looking at a picture for a minute and never thinking of it again or seeing it for an instant and thinking about it the rest of your life.

Damea Dorsey’s photography seeks answers to things. And it is the man behind the lens that always gets the answers first. Because no camera made a great photo any more than a keyboard wrote a great novel. And as many photos are being taken in this modern digital age, there remains a truth in Damea’s photography that will always be present. That he is taking photographs that understand what surfing means to us.

Eli Olsen, Backdoor Pipeline, Hawaii,1703hrs.

Seth Moniz, Backdoor Pipeline, Hawaii, 1056hrs.

CHEYNE HORAN’S RAINBOW BRIDGE

Surfer Magazine, USA, 1986

Coolangatta Airport, Queensland, Australia

I could smell Cheyne before I could see him. I turned from the baggage carousel and there he stood at 5’10”. Barefoot, sweatpants, no shirt, carrying a burn¬ing stick of cherrywood incense. We laughed and embraced. And I am no weakling, but the physical power and girth of the muscle on Cheyne’s upper body was

staggering. Had I not held my breath, he would have sprung three of my ribs. We loaded my boards into his car and took off, headed south out of the Gold Coast of Queensland toward a place called Goonengerry in New South Wales. We caught up on some memories, some glory days. South Africa, Brazil, early Stubbies contests at Burleigh Heads, Bells Beach, and an odd little excursion that straight-edge Dave Parmenter once took us on out to

An excerpt from IN DEEP: The collected Surf writing of Matt George, Di Angelo Publishing, 500 pages, Out May 2023

Rottnest Island, off West¬ern Australia. I think Cheyne was on acid for that one. That or mushrooms. I do remember Cheyne brought a box of organic carrots for lunch. Headed for Goonengerry now, I was jet lagged from the thirteenhour flight from San Francisco. Cheyne offered me some rainwater he had collected in an old bicycle bottle. He said the water was filled with energy from falling through the atmosphere. He said it would help my jet lag. I drank deeply. It was warm and tasted like water from an old bike bottle, but at that point, I was a believer.

Slowly, carefully, Cheyne drove his souped-up Holden coupe through the south end of the Queensland’s Gold Coast, notorious for cops seeking scofflaws fleeing across the border into New South Wales. Cheyne seemed at peace with everything, not talking much, passing the cherrywood incense under his nose now and then. It wasn’t until we crossed the border into New South Wales that Dr. Jekyll showed up. Cheyne threw the incense out the window. He had some room to move now as the roads became rural once over Tweed river bridge. He told me we would take the back way to Byron Bay, it was faster. Cheyne floored it, driving like a jailbreak parolee. Hunched over the wheel, he buried the needle. Gravel roads, mind you. Where when it comes to a bend in the road the emergency break becomes more important than the steering wheel. Things got real quiet between us. He was intent as the back roads spun below us on ball bearings. On one long straightaway, I had the white-knuck¬led composure to ask what he felt about the public’s opinion that his time as a world champ contender was over. I had to shout the question. Trying to slow him down.

He sped up.

“Mate, like, I’m twenty-six, right? Twenty-six! A lot of people put me in that era with MR and Shaun Tomson and Rabbit Bartholomew. But when those guys were actually happening, I was still a grommet reading about them at school! I’ve never felt a part of that era, but I feel like I got dragged into it. When everyone saw MR fading out, they figured I had to go with him, since I dueled with him for so long. And I’ve had to handle that. I mean, I can see why MR has faded out; he drinks Coca-Cola and hangs out in a coal mine called Newcastle. I’m into health and fitness and yoga, mate. I reckon I’m in the Tommy Carroll era. TC and I have been competing against each other since day one. I’m not through.”

At that moment, like a bounding boulder about to go over the edge, I was sure Cheyne and I were through. The curve up ahead was too much at this speed. And even if we pulled it, I was convinced the panel van tottering toward us in the opposite direction would finish the job. Cheyne downshifted, threw it into a slide half off the road, arms at ten and two, fought the pull of the boggy shoulder, threw up a six-foot rooster tail of mud and grass, knocked a fence post out of whack, rock¬eted by the van close enough to see the horror on the other driver’s face, and swung it back on track just before the drainage ditch that would have answered any questions I might have about eternity. My heart hadn’t resumed beating before Cheyne shifted up and floored it. “That was heavy, mate, but you always gotta accelerate out of

turns or you lose.” This was the Cheyne I remembered. The boy wonder with the heavy moves.

Goonengerry, New South Wales, Australia

The first night had passed. I had woken up with the dogs. Cheyne’s four bedroom lodge out behind Byron bay was silent and sparse. Big zen pillows, no chairs, no tables. This was a ground living affair. No one was up yet. Cheyne lived here with the friends most of us on the outside had heard so much about. I’d met two of them the night before here on arrival at what Cheyne described as a “four-man commune.” Kerry, early forties, tall, leonine, shirtless, colorful Bali sarong tied daringly low around his slim hips. He told me he didn’t own a shirt. With baleful eyes and curly-haired, graying temples, he resembled a Greek God on a carrot juice diet. He didn’t really fit the description of the evil Svengali he’d been painted as. Next was Brad, said nineteen but probably sixteen. A runaway. A dark, beautiful boy with piercing blue eyes and full, sensuous, henna-outlined lips. The third, whom I hadn’t yet met, Paul, was down in Sydney, doing, well, that was all I was told. That Paul was down in Sydney. It had all been explained to me by Kerry, the languid spokesman of this commune, a place they’d all voted was to be named “Solarfarm.” Where they all four lived together in a “human possibilities stasis.” And that their latest interest lay in the possibilities of ¬manufacturing futuristic, solar habitats. And that the four of them and their six vegetarian dogs, Matilda, Jock, Matey, Astro, Cindy, and Cocker, were a “group of the sun” commit¬ted to changing the world through Kundalini yoga, macrobiotic food, and “global enchantment.” Where they were going to get all the money for this was anyone’s guess. Aside from Cheyne Horan’s dwindling sponsorships and endorsement monies, Brad was too young for welfare checks so Paul “supplemented things around the property” with his. Kerry just took care of the organic gardening and was the “overseer of the political ramifications”.

I was still too jetlagged to ask. I figured we’d get into all that in the morning. So, after a garden meal of organic tofu and wheatgrass cud, I collapsed on the floor, where Cheyne had very thoughtfully made up a place for me. He had actually tucked me in with Bali sarongs. I undressed beneath them after I was encouraged by Kerry to sleep in the nude. That way, he noted, my dreaming Kundalini points would be easier to pierce. So I took everything off and placed them in a bundle next to me. It seemed the courteous thing to do. Kerry really was a charmer. And then the dogs had gathered around me, the stranger with the capitalist’s scent. I hadn’t showered since America. I screwed my eyes shut, as if I was sleepy, letting Cheyne say goodnight. Through my slitted eyes as I feigned sleep, I saw him pause on the porch and look back at me for long moment. Then he looked out into the night’s insect symphony for a full minute. Then he half smiled at the night and moved off into the house.

For more of this story and pre-orders please visit https://www.diangelopublications.com/books/in-deep

SURVIVAL CONNECTION DESIRE ABILITY

Rio Waida, on every wave at Keramas, re-defining what is possible here on his homegrounds.

Photography by Liquid Barrel

SURVIVAL CONNECTION DESIRE ABILITY

Ryuki Waida, Lagundri Bay. Thought not on the same competitive journey as his brother, he still surfs with the intensity of a tiger. And with zero body fat on his frame, it is obvious he takes his training as serious as his older brother.

Photo Liquid Barrel

SURVIVAL CONNECTION DESIRE ABILITY

It’s all about the landing and Bronson Meidy practically has a flight school going on at Keramas. Unbelievably, and to wild cheers from the beach, he made it.

Photography by Pete Frieden

SURVIVAL CONNECTION DESIRE ABILITY

Meanwhile, over on Nusa Lembongan on easier days, Agus Frimanto is still exploring the limits of small wave performance under the shadow of the crane that still remains in the line-up. Let us never underestimate the abilities of our neighbor island brothers.

Photography by Franciscot Santos

KUTA BEACH SKATE PARK LET THE CHILDREN PLAY

Sometimes dreams take time. But thanks to Afandy Dharma Fairbrother, the Kuta Skateboard community, the Halfway Boardriders Club and the Bupati Badung Government folks, this dream has finally come true. After years of pushing for it, now a well designed skatepark smack dab in the middle of Bali’s most popular beach has sprung up. For Afandy, a self taught skatepark designer who is leading the project, the light bulb went on when the decision to re-develop Kuta Beach was first proposed. “Why not make a very special community place for the kids on the beach,” Afandy proposed, “A healthy, outdoor, fun place for kids to play and grow strong, to get them away from their phones, a place for surf training but also a place for all skaters and all the promotions and events that this park will bring to our beach?” The Bupati bought it and got to work on Afandy’s design right away. A durable, safe and handsome park that does not disrupt the beauty of Kuta Beach, it features something for all skill levels. Bowls, quarter-pipes, rails, benches, everything a skater would want. And with plenty more ambitions ahead. “It is not officially opened and dedicated yet, but the future will bring a clubhouse, a skate shop with rentals, full time monitors that will sweep and keep the park free

of sand and debris for safety, full time security, night lights so we can stay open until 10pm and even a skate school. We will even be implementing a non-profit program for disadvantaged kids where we will be able to teach them and provide all the equipment needed for free. Again, this is more than just another skatepark, this is a community gathering space that we feel will be the pride of Kuta”. Starting out as a kid that had nothing more to skate than a small ledge on the side of the road, Afandy has been dreaming of this since childhood. His begginnings were humble. Like any child with a dream, he became fascinated with skateboard park design believing that someday he would build one himself for he and his friends. By the time he graduated to 3D programs and absorbing everything he could find on Youtube, he began to collect park designs from all over the world. He taught himself how to draw the same way and was soon designing the dream parks of his mind. “It was a lot of fun and it was the aspect of skating I was most interested in. Not just skating, but creating the experience as well. And now that it’s here, on our beach, I cannot wait to see all the good it can do. And I am hoping everyone else will join me in this philosophy”.

Wayan Malana Fairbrother boardsliding into the future. Good times are here again

With innovative programs already in place for disadvantaged kids, including free equipment to use, the Kuta Beach Skatepark will not only provide health benefits to the young, but also promote their youthful dreams. Who knows, we may be looking at a future Rio Waida.

IMPOSSIBLES

Santa Cruz Skateboards Indonesia IG : @santacruzskateboards.id FB : santa cruz skateboards indonesia WA : +6281238371332

Screaming Insignia Cap

Roskopp Face Two Boys Tee

Classic Dot Shest Croptop Tee

Salba Tiger Hoodie

Meek Og Slasher Backpack

Grabke Melting Clocks Mens Tee

Classic Dot Patch Beanie

Classic Dot Lunch Box

THE VISSLA EXPERIENCE

Vissla is a surf lifestyle brand that was founded in 2013 in San Clemente, California. The company is focused on producing high-quality, eco-friendly surf products and apparel for men, women, and kids.

One of the unique features of Vissla is their commitment to sustainability. They use eco-friendly materials such as recycled polyester, and organic cotton to make their products. Vissla’s product line includes a range of wetsuits, boardshorts, t-shirts, jackets, and accessories. The company’s designs are influenced by vintage surf culture and contemporary fashion, resulting in a style that is both classic and modern. Come and see us at our store in Ubud, Jalan monkey forest Ubud Bali, Overall, Vissla is a brand that is dedicated to producing high-quality, eco-friendly surf products while also supporting the surf community and promoting positive change.

RIP CURL AND BILLABONG OPEN SIDE BY SIDE IN BERAWA

It’s not often that two competing brands will open there doors right next to each other, but Rip Curl and Billabong are experimenting with a cooperative location to make sure customers can get everything they need. No matter how brand loyal you are or not, it’s always a good idea to have a choice. Sort of a one stop shopping experience for all the new clothes and surfing and beach equipment one needs in today’s fast paced world. But regardless of how close they are to each other, each store stays true to their own heritage. Both stores feature the individual interior design that we have come to know through the years.

With the latest clothing designs and all the new exciting products from each brand on eye pleasing display. Though both stores maintain their unique philosophies and presentation, it is wildly convenient to check out each at one time. Entering either store is like entering a new world of surf while they maintain the legacy that both brands have built so proudly over the years. They are open now, so go check them out, you are sure to get everything you need, guaranteed.

Jl Pantai Berawa, No.8a, Canggu, Kec. Kuta Utara, Kabupaten, Badung, Bali, 80361

Even with all our technology and the inventions that make modern life so much easier than it once was, it takes just one big natural disaster to wipe all that away and remind us that, here on Earth, we’re still at the mercy of nature.

Kian Martin, facing an Eastside truth. Photography by Liquid Barrel