"Charge those charging chargeables," says the Mavs Charging Charger.
But what does it mean to "Charge?"
Big wave comes.
Your deeply felt risk-avoidance mechanism clicks-in and warns you to "get the fuck out of the way!"
But the developing surfer in you insists on throwing caution to the wind. You throw yourself into the path of impending doom.
You focus your consentration, rid your mind of hesitation and *charge* full-bore into the wave, heedless of consequence.
Charging gets you waves. Charging ushers improvement. Charging separates the great from the rest.
Another case in point:
Your at a house party.
Shit is hopping. Good vibes, good music, beautiful women, good times.
You're hanging with a few friends when you suddenly make brief eye contact with a breathtaking lass across the room. Just a fleeting connection but it sends your heart-rate skyrocketing. You start sweating a little. A few minutes later you check her out again and, damn! she is that fine. An hour passes and you've had one more eye-contact exchange with her but nothing major. At this point you've worked yourself up into an internal frenzy but on the surface you're still cool, calm and collected. You told your pal about her and he agrees that she's the bees knees. The party is just starting to wind down and you know that, if you're going to do something, you had better do it soon. Time to nut up. Time to charge it. So you just gather yourself together, casually walk across the room. You give off the soft good vibe and say, "Hey, how is it going?"
anybody have any examples of Charging?
Shawn McNabb photos from allaboutsurf.com
photo from wavescape
vertically-challenged wavelets this morning.
No takers through the north-end as of 7am.
Good day for the log or fish.
Not too windy.
some art from fecalface.com
By 21 years of age Max had won the WCT tour three times and was breaking new musical ground with every session. His Trumpuba, or "True-ba" as fans started to call it, allowed him to comprehensively channel his grandiose musical vision. Max began playing with a poet and spoken-word artist named Bhomal. Bhomal grew up in the Congo and came from a long lineage of medicine men. He incorporated African polyrhythms and verbalized versions of the African talking drum into his performances. Bhomal interspersed poetic melodies with improvised jazz-like scat. He also had a knack for hypnotism.
During one of their first jams together at Max's farm near Davenport, CA, a few friends sat on a couch and listened. Max and Bhomal immediately locked into a syncopated, seething, building, drone-heavy groove. The communication between the two of them was more intimate than either had ever experienced. And they noticed something else too. When they mutually thought to raise the musical energy, the friends who were listening began to dance with greater and greater vigor. When Max and Bhomal shifted the music to a more evil and menacing sound, the friends snarled, growled and looked angrily at one another. When Max and Bhomal shifted to the happy/friendly mixolydian mode, the friends immediately began to smile and hug each other and leap around joyously. It was as if the friends personified each and every musical vibration.
After the jam Max and Bhomal spoke with their friends about what happened. "The music just lifted me up and took me away." "It was as if my entire outlook got taken over by the feelings of the music." "I think this new drug we took called Rosetta is really really good!"
"Wait.. wait... wait a minute," said Max. "What new drug, what are you talking about?"
Max's friend Emily explained, "Well, my father is a biochemist at Berkeley. He's been researching chemicals that induce empathetic reactions. Over the last 10 years he thinks that he's narrowed down a drug that heightens the user's emotional sensitivity to artistic expression. He can't explain exactly how it works, but when you take it, you're absolutely overwhelmed by the majesty of art, whether it's the fine-arts, dance, music, or even the art of nature, such as cloud formations, ant hills and cactus. My dad calls it Rosetta because it translates the primal language of art into visceral experience."
"It sounds like other hallucinogens"
"Well.. the difference is that you never lose control. You can always snap back to sober normalcy whenever you want. But if you relax your superego and let yourself flow, the Rosetta takes you deeper and further than I've ever experienced. Before you and Bhomal jammed, however, I'd never really gotten too far out there with the stuff, but something in the music that you were playing sent me to another plane altogether. The music sent me way out to the outer cosmos of existence."
Check out the niceness interview with Matt Warshaw
Check out the J.O.C.'s T-shirt company
After a few years dominating the ASP tour, Max turned most of his attention back to music. While travelling around the globe on the contest circuit he continued to play his trumpet and wow audiences all over the world. But there was a particular sound he heard in his head that he hadn't yet been able to reproduce through all the effects and processors hooked up to his horn. Something deeper and more profound. A Kiwi friend of his was a metallurgist and instrument maker on the South Island who specialized in making custom horns. Max went down there for a few weeks and together they spent hours and hours in the workshop. Max wanted something with both a resonant, base-heavy tone and a sharp, exact soprano punchiness. He wanted to cover a greater tonal range than he'd been able to with just the trumpet. What they came up with was really two horns in one. A miniature tuba interlaced with a trumpet. Six finger buttons, three controlling each horn. Two bells, one large and one small. A split mouthpiece, so that Max could blow into both horns at the same time, or just one or the other. Max was psyching! He immediately drove down to a little cabin he knew about near a secluded point break on the south island and spent 2 months learning the "trumpuba" and giving his mouth rests by scoring empty sessions in the overhead pointbreak surf.
A few months later Max went on tour with the trumpuba. A power trio with an electronica-based jazz dummer and a 6-string fretless bass virtuoso. The music was absolutely brilliant. The music was out of this world. Max was still using a labyrinth of effects on his sound and the results were a tone never heard before. Huge audiences packed the smaller theaters the band chose to play. As the musicians launched into one improvisational exploration after another, the audience would close their eyes and let their minds drift. The sound of Max's trumpuba would lead them on cathartic journeys through fantastic mystical realms. Some people would scream out in extasy as they experienced overwhelming waves of sonic euphoria. Others would just raise their fists in the air in a state of perpetual, hard-rocking triumph. Looking over the crowd Max would see smiles of appreciation. He saw sweaty, happy people, grooving and swooning to the music. He just let the music flow right through him. He never questioned where it came from, it was just there, on the forefront of his mind, waiting to be expressed. With the trumpuba he could finally achieve the full, rich, complex tonal pallate he had always imagined. Looking out over the sea of smiling, dancing people he smiled too, caught up in the moment.
As Max hit his late teens, his musical and surfing progression began to explode. He qualified for the WCT at age 16 and burned through the tour, winning at all the gnarly locations and taking home the title by a longshot. At Teahupoo he buried Slater in the final, catching what many haved called, "the most grotesque wave of all time." For the final day of the contest a huge southern-hemi groundswell marched up from New Zealand and sent seismic vibrations throughout the island. Competitors awoke with stomach-churning butterflies as monstrous waves unleashed booming eruptions of aquatic doom on the spiny, shallow reef. From their beds in town each could hear the haunting, cacophonous cracks of set-waves on reef. All but Max were a bit nervous. Max had been born with some strange genetic quirk which bypassed the body's normal fight-or-flight reflex and turned thoughts of fear to those of calm.
During the final with Slates, barely any of the waves were paddleable. Gigantic, four-story set waves sucked the low-tide reef dry and then churned and raged along. Backless, frightening, heavy heavy heavy groundswell lurchers. Midway through the heat the horizon darkened and a monstrous set loomed. To the shock and concern of all in the channel, Max started sprint-paddling deeper and deeper. Even Slater couldn't believe what he saw and yelled at Max, "It's suicide man, get out of there!" Max let the first and second waves of the set pass under him. The sonic pulse emitted by those waves hitting the reef rattled wine bottles on the other side of island. On the third wave Max spun and went. At first the wave just looked like a girthy mound of liquid power... But as it began getting tripped up by the reef, the thing sucked out like some alien life-form. All of a sudden a quadruple-overhead, absolutely-backless, low-tide, Teahupoo hell-wave gathered on itself. Quick little Max flicked-in over the ledge like some-sort-of waterbug. Seconds later he was deeper than the deepest of deep. Deeper than anyone had gone before. The thickest lip in the history of lips threw out horizontal and gulped Max into a true cathedral barrel. A cavernous, crystalline, spiritual place of God. He instictively sang out in a high C and the sound echoed through the chamber and even out into the peanut gallery in the channel. The sound bent and shifted with the air-currents of the barrel and sounded to the folks in the channel like the voice some divine aquatic being. Ten seconds later, just as it looked like Max was going to get clamped shut by the end-section he got spat out at mach 30 and then rose up, hit the lip, and launched into a triple-flipping double-twisted varial, which he landed softly. He then kicked out into the awestruck crowd.
Slates interview from ESM
SPEAKS OUT ON EVERYTHING (EXCEPT KELLY SLATER)
By Matt Pruett
It's been almost four years since we last picked the brain of the greatest surfer to ever play the game. And past experience has shown us here at ESM that when you have an athlete from the home team making a title run--particularly Kelly Slater, who's chasing his record seventh world championship--it's best to save the mundane, "How-does-it-feel" interviews until the deal's sealed. But few surfers have been on the WCT longer than Slates, and even fewer have witnessed as many changes within the league itself and East Coasters' place in it, so we felt a midsummer Q&A with the Champ was in order. And to avoid any potentially jinxing situations, we restrained our questioning to ask Kelly to comment on everything... except himself.
ESM: You jumped on tour halfway through 1991, and needless to say, things are a lot different now with the ASP than they were then. Is this "Dream Tour" everything you hoped for back in the days of three-to-the-beach in less-than-ideal locales?
KS: Yes and no. With anything you're trying to help evolve, there's change that needs to occur. I'm pretty satisfied with where it's at, but a few things need to be implemented to ensure that it's always progressing. That comes from making mistakes and learning what's happening with the way the whole tour's structured. There are a lot of issues on the table now. The size of the tour is a pretty interesting one. Having 48 guys in every event, at this point I'm not sure that makes sense logistically. I think we may need to trim that down a little, maybe to 32 or 24, to capitalize on the best surfers doing the best surfing and having an arena for them to do just that. I'm not sure every guy on tour feels that way, but in the end that might be something that'll be good for surfing. And there's obviously inflation in the world, so prizemoney should increase along with it. Surfing's a professional sport so that's a realistic request. Also, there are a couple spots on tour that aren't the best for us.
ESM: Like Japan, for instance?
KS: Well, if you scheduled Japan at the right time with the right waiting period, it would fall in the time space of the European leg. If you had a mobile event in Japan, it could be an unbelievable contest. But we haven't quite gotten things figured out enough to where we can have a mobile webcast. So we have to try and push the technology we're working with. The webcast has allowed us to go to spots where before we were worried about getting people to the beach. There's always things you want to achieve, but I think we have a pretty solid tour for the most part.
ESM: How has the ASP's new and improved judging criteria of rewarding points for "flow" as well as "variety of repertoire" affected certain surfers' approach to competition?
KS: Those are just words. Nothing's really changed. The judging's been as unpredictable as ever this year. But there's good and bad with everything, though. You can buy great stock and it'll go down, y'know? It's just a learning process. For instance, at Reunion, I personally felt the waves were getting judged, not the surfing. Some guys would rip outside, but the waves wouldn't connect to the inside bowl, so they couldn't get over a 7.0 even if they surfed it like a 9.0. Situations weren't like that with everyone, because Mick (Fanning) won the event, but the results showed that there was a little bit of a struggle going on with us trying to figure it out. The top five seeds didn't even make it to 5th-place.
ESM: Speaking of top seeds, what can you say about the Hobgoods' remarkable ascension over the past couple seasons?
KS: I can't say enough good things about the Hobgoods. They're the classiest guys on tour, in my opinion. First and foremost, they're great people. They're friends with everybody, they're progressive, they've got open minds and at the same time, they've got great beliefs that guide them. Then to top it all off, they just charge. For two brothers to be in the top-10 in the whole world is pretty amazing. At this point, both have a realistic shot at winning a title. I think there's probably been more of that expectation put on Bruce and Andy (Irons), but I personally don't think Bruce has a shot at the title. He has the surfing talent, but even with him being one of the top pros, there's a lot of things that need to go with it. The Hobgoods have everything it takes--big waves, small waves, rights, lefts, hollow, mushy, competitive skills... They're just well-rounded, and they've really done their homework. I think we should all be really proud of those guys.
ESM: CJ's obviously one hungry competitor. Now, with the birth of his first child, do you think he'll be even hungrier? You can probably relate, seeing as you had your daughter while on tour?
KS: Yeah, but it was different for me. I wasn't with my daughter's mother. CJ's in a happily married situation, and I'm sure they were expecting to have a child. You can never figure those things out, though. Everyone was thinking that was going to be really good for Joel Parkinson's surfing and he's not doing so good for his standards. But there's always a chance that having a child might give more meaning to CJ's life, and more of his energy will go in that direction. It won't necessarily push his surfing, but it'll push him to be closer to his family and have more time at home. But I think he's balanced enough where he can handle all that really well. He seems to know what's important, and he can adapt to the situation really well. Maybe it will make him hungrier to have a big college fund for his kid...
ESM: He seems to be on a personal mission to validate his '01 title after that year was cut short due to 9-11.
KS: But hey, if Andy had won the title that year, he'd be a four-time world champ right now. Would that be blemished? No. A world title's a world title. I gotta tell ya, if the tour ended right now, I'd be stoked to win the title [laughs]... I wouldn't be complaining. The thing about CJ and Damien is they both wanna go out there and just kick everyone's asses. They're not gonna hold back for anyone. They go full-bore when you're competing against them and then when the gloves are off and the heat's over, they're smiling whether they win or lose. They're able to leave it in the water and that's a breath of fresh air.
ESM: On the other end of the spectrum, Shea's having a rough time getting back on track since his 2004 sit-out due to injury, and he just missed Reunion Island, too. Next to you, Shea's been on tour longer than any other East Coaster, but he's in a dangerous position. What's it gonna take for him to get on safe ground?
KS: The number one key in Shea's life right now is circulation. He needs to get blood into that knee and get that thing healthy. But you never know with those things. I was just talking to a friend of mine who was a top ballerina. She hurt her foot and it caused her to resign from ballet. And she actually said it made her life more complete and set her in a different direction that she needed to go. Shea obviously has a career-threatening injury. He might've gotten back on it too early and if that's so, it's gonna be more frustrating than the injury in the first place. Hey, it makes us all proud to have another East Coaster on tour, but I'd rather see him healthy than struggling. Risking his physical body just to try to make it back on tour, it's not really worth it. They're just contests.
ESM: And Cory? Consistency isn't his strong suit, but he has these flashes of brilliance and, as evident last year, he performs really well when the pressure's on. Do you see him as a legitimate threat?
KS: I don't see Cory going for a world title, but he's always the guy who can make the top-10 or the top-5. He can win pretty much any event. He's had really good results in big left barrels, and he's done well on the Gold Coast. He proves he can go both ways. That doesn't make him gay, though... [laughs]. But seriously, I know that if I see him on my side of the draw, I'm like, "OK, when will I end up against Cory?" Because you expect that he'll beat the guy he's against.
ESM: After the Hobgoods and the Lopezes, with the odd WQS hope like Gabe Kling and Ben Bourgeois thrown in, there isn't any young East Coaster making a lot of noise internationally. Is there anyone you see as having even a remote chance at making the Show? Dylan Graves? Adam Wickwire?
KS: I haven't spent that much time with Dylan in a couple years, so that remains to be seen. Wickwire has a lot of talent, but the general consensus is he has some growing to do, just opening up his mind a little bit. You'd know better than me, because I'm not home so much, but... hey, you want a good quote?
KS: During the finals at Restaurants, CJ looks over at me and goes, "I wouldn't want to be a grom from the East Coast right now." I asked him why and he said, "That's a lot to live up to, man." In other words, he was kinda beefing us up a bit, because we're doing really good right now. But CJ's a very humble guy, and basically we both wanna do everything we can to inspire the local kids, but for us to be sitting in that heat together and be two of the top-rated surfers in the world is pretty crazy. We want that to filter back home, so we'll just have to see. I'll tell you what, though, there's always been those hyped guys who don't end up coming through. David Eggers was a classic case. Matt Archbold, too, Nicky Wood, Jason Buttonshaw... There's so many surfers who've been pegged as the young hot guy. Then you got someone like Dane Reynolds, who hasn't done much competitively, but has the talent and the approach, and he's not scared. I have no doubt that Dane's gonna get himself on tour and do really well. He'll probably struggle a little bit with the 'QS, but when he gets on the 'CT, he'll just blow up. But there'll be some guys that will come out of the East Coast that no one's looking at right now. I don't think people were looking at Cory Lopez when he was 18 and saying, "Oh, he's gonna light the world on fire." But he got on tour and started blowing people away, taking off on crazy waves, and people were like, "Wait, this guy's from the Gulf Coast of Florida!?!" A good topic of conversation with the Hobgoods and Lopezes might be getting back and having a camp, to take some of these young guys under our wing to see if we could help in some way. Because I know when I was a kid, I had a pretty strong support group with Matt Kechele and Bruce Walker.
ESM: How about the Fuel Channel televising ASP contests? How's that going to help the sport's credibility?
KS: We've never had any credibility from our TV shows and we've never had good time slots. I think it's long overdue to have something like the Fuel Channel. I'm offering up some ideas about the shows. I think our contests shouldn't just be shown as contests but turned into a movie--like a surf film set to music and portraying it in that way--make it more entertaining by including other things like the lifestyles of the surfers. Maybe follow a guy who's struggling and barely making it on tour. Because there's some really interesting stories with some of the lower-rated guys.
ESM: Now for some random questions: tow-at surfing--blowing up or overblown?
KS: I'm open to it. I'm not live or die either way, but I went down to Spanish House with Kech recently and I wouldn't even have wanted to go surfing. It was just closed-out crap but you could tow and get big airs and have a good time. I even ended up breaking a board.
ESM: Waveparks in the U.S. featuring legitimate waves in size and form--distant future or pipe dream?
KS: I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that's the future. At some point, it will be a realistic venture for surfing. I haven't seen the models for this one (Orlando Surfpark), but I know that there're things in the works that are gonna revolutionize pool surfing.
ESM: Given your celebrity status: if there were a surf contest open to only mainstream stars (actors, musicians, etc.) who do you think would win it, excluding Jack Johnson, of course?
KS: That's a tough one. I'll say Tony Hawk. Gimme a month with Tony and I'll train him to where he'd be doing airs. Maybe Tony, Perry Farrell and G-Love battling it out...
ESM: What surfer on tour do you have the most respect for today, and for what reason?
KS: Danny Wills. He's a great all-around guy and a tremendous surfer. He's probably got one of the most pleasant styles of any surfer to ever walk the Earth. Danny's a really good family guy, too. I was hanging out with him in Reunion, and he's telling me how much he misses having his wife and kids with him. That's really refreshing because we see a lot of ***** on this tour, man. I've seen some stuff over the years that has caused me not to respect guys I would've respected otherwise, and that's a shame. But there's always gonna be people who influence others in a positive way, and Danny's that guy.
ESM: What's one place on Earth that you've never surfed, but are dying to?
KS: I'd love to just get on a boat and go through the Philippines during typhoon season. There's over 1000 islands, and imagine the surf that's hitting there on different days. You'd have to do a lot of adventuring, and you'd probably need a helicopter or a sea plane, but that would be unbelievable. There's also this island called Diego Garcia, which is a marine base for America in the middle of the Indian Ocean, and I bet it doesn't get under five-feet all year long. I think it's consistently bigger than Hawaii because it's right in the middle of all these storm systems. Then I look at all these dots of islands... Micronesia, the west coast of Africa, the northern side of Europe... The safari idea never ends in my brain. I always said I wish there were ten of me so I could be in ten different places.
ESM: What's your reaction to the decision to hold the Summer X-Games surfing competition at Puerto Escondido? And after two years of beating the west coast on their home turf, do you think the East Coast team has an advantage there, looking at our team roster?
KS: I think not only do we have a mental advantage, but we have a surfing advantage over the west coast team when it comes to big surf.
ESM: Looking at that famous sequence of you in Tahiti following your win, we have to ask--does a beer taste better in the barrel?
KS: You know what? I wouldn't have cared if that thing was full of saltwater. That victory tasted so good.
Indian Ocean photos from surfermag.com
Couple a smallish dribblers out there this morning.
Heard that yesterday evening was great. bummed to miss that.
Thought that the goodness would carry over to the morn.. but..ummm..
A few little bumps came through.
If you're good at finding the elusive power pockets and backdooring shore-dumpy nothings then you could score.
Folks... Slater is breaking away!!
Slates is the friggin man and my all-time fave. PSYCHED!!!
He beat AI in the final by scoring a 9.5 at the buzzer.
That's his third victory of the season.
Mundaka is cancelled..
next is Japan, then Trestles, then Hossegor, then Brazil, then Pipe.
anything can happen but Slates is looking good.
1 Kelly Slater USA 5342
2 Andy Irons HAW 4596
3 Trent Munro AUS 4286
4 Mick Fanning AUS 4230
5 Joel Parkinson AUS 3732
6 Fredrick Patacchia Jr HAW 3628
7 Phillip MacDonald AUS 3599
8 Cory Lopez USA 3575
9 C.J. Hobgood USA 3546
10 Nathan Hedge AUS
gvibe sent this is from Spain:
I guess the most poignant experience on this trip was running with the bulls in Pamplona. It was easily the dumbest and most exhilarating thing I've ever done. You know when you see those big wave riders about to get gnashed up by mammoth walls of whitewater and the gaping jaw of a churning barrel? That's about what it felt like, but only for about a minute as the pack of 1200 pound bulls charged by at 30 mph.
Spain is such a rad country, one that I could easily live in if I had a spare liver. Each of the nine daily bull runs of the Saint Fermine Festival is preceded with such complete and total debauchery that New Orleans Mardi Gras looks like a Walton style family picnic.
While most party goers are clad in some form of white garb and blood red accessories, there's dancing, drinking, yelling, stumbling, slurring, and good revelry had by all. I decided to keep some level of sobriety to maintain my reflexes (as if they would have helped).
As the morning twilight eked it's way through the sky, large trucks blasting soapy water at fire hose pressures cleared the streets of trash, beer, and revelers. The police began cordoning off the route with wood fences and the hard core runners were all that remained on center stage.
There were so many characters there it was ridiculous. From the locals armed with newspapers, ready to gain their glory by getting as close to the bulls as possible and smacking them on the butt to the American expats that had been running the race for thirty+ years.
A pair of girls from California ambled up, Sangria heavy on their breath, "Can we run with you?" I told them they might be hampered by their flip-flops, "Oh, we plan on taking those off." She caught my glance downward at the speckled shards of glass lodged in the cobblestone, "Maybe we'll sit this one out."
When the clock on the plaza's church clicked 7:45AM, a voice on the loudspeaker absurdly laid out the rules of running in three languages:
1. Do not run.
2. If you must run, be careful.
3. If you fall, do not get up, cover your head, and wait until someone signals you to stand up.
4. Have fun.
As the surrealism continued, someone mentioned that Dennis Rodman ran a couple days before. Old people, little children, folks of all types poured out onto the balconies to witness the spectacle. A bachelor party to my left shouted one more cheer as they downed a tequila shot.
At 8, the church bells rang through the streets and a hush came over the crowd of tens of thousands. A lone rocket shot up in the air and the runners, now feeling like bull bait took off down the streets.
I had only run 100 feet before I heard a low rumble. Looking back the crowd had parted biblically and out shot 6 confused and angry broncos full charge, and in a split second that felt forever, I locked glares with one in particular, and I thought, "Oh, shit, I'm gonna be the jackass on the front page of CNN," but luckily it chose to stay with the herd, blowing by about 5 yards feet to my right. I breathed a sigh of relief only to hear a second rocket go off. My heart shot out of my chest as I saw the crowd part once again. The man next to me noticed my bug eyes because he said, "Manzitos. Calm cows, to round up straggling bulls." Several people were injured, mostly crowd related. The next day 4 people were gored.
Yesterday, as I sat by myself in the ocean in Portugal, surfing 8 foot glassy waves on shallow shallow reef break, I pondered my predicament. My friends had paddled in, a mysterious fog suddenly engulfed everything, the shore disappeared, and waves were breaking unexpectedly with low visibility like mortar fire around me. As one cracked down on my back, flushed the air out of my lungs, and almost ragdolled me along the reef, a split second of panic shot through my brain. Then I smiled, remembering that it was nothing like being in the path of 6 1200 pound trains charging down the street and desperately searching for a target.
Born in the Basque country of a Cuban jazz guitarist father and a Norwegian gymnast mother, Max had a preternatural way about him from the beginning. At 5 years of age he was playing Bach Fugues on the piano by memory. At age 7 he was creating his own complex musical compositions. At 9, Max's ocean-loving father started the boy surfing. During his first session he stood up on his dad's longboard and promptly walked out to the nose and stuck 5 toes over. By the time he reached 12, Max was a bona fide prodigy in both music and surfing. Each summer he'd go on tour with his father's jazz quintet and play the piano. He also began playing the trumpet. Driving from gig to gig in the van they'd listen to all the masters. Mingus, Monk, Miles, Bird, Joe Pass, Burrell, Ella, Coltrane, Wes Montgomery, Ornette Coleman, Don Cherry, Mahavishnu, etc. Max would amaze the band by creating these beautiful interpretations of what they were listening to on his trumpet, right in the van. Souring, bizarre, elegant phrasings. Leaps into the experimental. When they'd ask Max where he came up with that music, he'd just shrug and explain that he was just playing what he heard in his head. By the end of the first summer tour, at the age of 12, Max was the buzz of the European jazz circuit.
Back in school near Mundaka, Max would spend a lot of time at the local beachbreak with his friends. After only a few seasons on a shortboard he was carving gigantic turns and pulling into deep barrels. Max felt a deep affinity for the waves and always seemed to be at the right place at the right time. One fall day it was macking and he and his father drove over to Mundaka to watch the pro contest. Max brought his surf stuff just in case. He had won a few local contests already but had never watched the pros. The point was pumping. Thick, gnarly barrels churned and fired down the line. Surfers were getting hurt left and right. The surf kept building and building until eventually they called off the contest toward the end of the day. Max loved crazy waves. The burlier the wave, the calmer he became. His abilities seemed to compound as conditions turned ballistic. His dad nudged that maybe he should paddle out. A few minutes later Max dropped into a profound wave. Amidst a thick pack of pros he somehow slipped into a groping, pounding double-up leviathan. He faded way way back into the barrel while cameras of the surf-world media snapped like mad. Deeper and deeper he faded. Then to the surprise of all Max saw what others didn't see, a weird gurgle-ramp in the wave. He instinctively steered up through this ramp and completed a tight, fluid barrel-roll way back in this gruesome Mundaka pit. He landed it smoothly, then accelerated and got spit out in a blaze of glory.
Four years later Max began woodshedding with his trumpet like a man possessed. Over the last few years he had developed a unique sound. Using a plethora of effects and sounds processing equipment, Max's trumpet tone now evoked majestic, ethereal, transcendent beauty. He could also, however, freak the living daylights out of his audience with horrid, tweaked, morbid voices of death. Not only was the jazz world taking notice, but the entire musical universe embraced him as a legend in the making.
To be continued.
... and the surfing's easy.
Come winter I'll be pining for mornings like this.
Small, inconsequential, fun.
Empty, glassy-ish, dry-hair paddle out.
Squirty little shoulder-high A-frames.
Seek out the power pockets and wedge yourself in there.
No skull-crunching lips of lead.
Easy breezy surfing.
With just a tad more girth the waves this morning would've been dynamite.
Good for a log or a chunky fish.
Grey and chilly at the beach.
Pods of dolphins swimming by.
Slates, AI, Parko, Timmy Reyes, Fred P, Macca, Raoni, Knox, Luke Egan all advance at JBay. Fanning, Trent Munro, Cory Lopez, Damian Hobgood, Occy, Taj all go down.
Gulf Coast Hurricane Dennis pic (from gulfster.com via wickedquiver.com)
(photos from www.nesurfari.com)
Toured around and things looked dismal.
Small, dumpy summertime crud.
Sea-surface not too bad.
Thought about bailing.
Get a call from Christian,
"Hey E, let's just go out in front of my house man."
Always stoked to surf with the Brazzo ripper.
Things look dubious but we head out.
Inside sandbar, steep peelers.
Within minutes we realize it's better than it looked.
A few waves bowl and wedge.
Christian works some long rights for multiple lip smacks.
I find a few drops and sections.
Christian takes off on a fat-n-smooth left.
Carves off the bottom.
Accelerates off the bottom.
Speeds vertically up toward the lip.
Fucking WHAAACK!! off the top.
Pumps down the line.. gets tons of speed.
Loooonnnggg floater then rides the wave out.
After 15 minutes of surfing we'd each caught 6 or 7 waves.
Turned out to be a solid session.
Fast, critical inside-grinders on offer.
The Big Issue of Surfer mag has a cool interview with Rabbit. Some interesting stuff about the time in the early 70's when he and Ian Cairns brought the wrath of many Hawaiian heavies for being loud-mouthed, arrogant punks in the water and also for saying "Fuck You" to BK during a contest in Australia. Supposedly Rabbit and Ian had to sequester themselves inside a hotel for 60 days and seriously feared for their lives if they ventured through the North Shore or out to any of the main breaks. Supposedly some of the Da Hui style heavies went out "Rabbit hunting" looking to beat him down. Eddie and Claude Aikau came to the rescue of Ian and Rabbit and held this huge trial/discussion in an effort to difuse the situation. Pretty heavy story.
Also just finished "Helter Skelter." It's the story of the Charles Manson trial. Some freaky shit!! The dude had a little squadron of cutie-pie kill queens hanging on his every whim. Giant orgies, LSD-licked fantasy worlds, "Creepy-Crawly" stealth burglery and murder missions, Old Testement horsemen of the apocalypse type shit. The Manson Family was busy looking for a bottomless pit somewhere near Death Valley where they would await the onslaught of Helter Skelter, allowing the black man to overtake the white man in an all-out race war. The war would be stimulated by Manson and his underlings murdering establishment "pigs" and then pinning those murders on the Black Panthers. At one point during the trial Manson lept up from his seat with a pencil in his hand and lunged at the judge as if to stab him in the neck. It took 10 bailiffs to subdue him.
He's still alive.
It looks like the Mundaka contest is cancelled.
J-bay on hold, swell expected tonight.
Tom posted this the other day. Pretty inspiring.
Not your storybook surf conditions.
Smaller, dumpy and disorganized.
Onshores but not crazy onshores.
No noticeable takers through the north end as of 7:30.
Probably pretty fun once out there.
waist to shoulder high. a few bigger sets.
This weekend witnessed some summertime surf opportunity.
In the days when offshore winds seem a thing of cruel fantasy the weekend's conditions were highly highly doable.
Some kind of groundswell made its presence known yesterday morning.
Overhead sets of walled-up goodness marched through.
Tough to find the corners.
Bagel dropped in and raced down the line on a few.
Mouse in my fucking sock drawer this morning!
Opened it up and saw the little bugger sniffing.
Closed it real fast then contemplated eviction strategy.
Ended up just pulling the drawer out and running outside.
The little biatch leapt out of the drawer as i was exiting my door., fell from 5 ft. in the air onto the floor then scurried right back in the house!!! grrr!!!
No offense to animal lovers, but... that thing is gonna die tonight!
someone wrote asking where he might purchase Barry McGee art. I think they have a few pieces at the new Mollusk surf shop at 46th and Irving. I loved the Barry McGee stuff that used to be on the walls of the Justice League. He has some paintings on the N-Judah stop at Sunset Boulevard too. And also at 7th (6th) and Market on one of the empty store fronts, I always see that one on my bike while riding to work.
Grumpy surf conditions.
Sections for the optimistic.
Twilight Zone fog shroud.
Waves on offer.
How hungry are you?
Tom Servais photo of Cloudbreak
Tangy torrid phlegmy grog.
An evil spirit settles in.
Spacy, aching, feverish funk.
Rise too fast and watch things spin.
Virus, parasites, bacteria goo
Strive for life, they feed off you.
Death fuels life, the eternal rumble.
Mercurial body, makes you humble.
Sam Flores art from fecalface.com
The year is 2300. In the isolated Nicobar islands a thriving community of humans live in relative peace and harmony. The intense global warming of the last 400 years has caused weather patterns to go bananas. Huge low pressure systems now march across the roaring 40s, making storms of the past look like weak, whimpy drizzles. The nuclear catastrophy of 2112 wiped out over two-thirds of the world's population, leaving a relatively sparse smattering of survivors in some of the less populated regions of earth. Since that time humans have regrouped and recivilized in favoroable ways. Population has stabilized and grandiose weapons have been outlawed. Technological acumen is now used to create more leisure time rather then a hightened fury of capitalistic competition. In the last hundred years fine arts and music have flourished. Much focus on sport has also been given, including the wave-riding dance of surfing.
With the heightened global storm activity, the intensity and frequency of ginormo swells has increased greatly. Humans have risen to the occasion and now ride waves that were formerly thought insurmountable. On a tiny Nicobar island lives a kid named Swamo who particularly excells at riding waves. New surfboard technology has emerged, led recently by the brilliant bio-chemical advances of Swamo's dad Dr. Dirth. Dr. Dirth's latest surfboards combine a lightweight titanium alloy with a living biological agent. This agent performs many interesting feats. It's able to redistribute its mass to form to the contours of a wave face. It's able to dynamically grip a rider's feet, making wax and traction pads obsolete. It can dynamically grow or retreat in length/width/breadth depending on the specific wave-riding circumstances. The material can also detect the presence of sharks in the water and zaps them with a mild tranquilizer if they approach. The boards are awesome and Swamo knows how to utilize their power better than anyone.
With the increased storm activity, waves that had previously rested dormant most of the time now consistently light up. On Swamo's home island a perfect reef captures consistent double-overhead groundswell and sculpts it into reeling, barrelling, down-the-line perfection. Swamo's typical ride consists of a deep, late, air-dropping takeoff into a growling monster barrel. He generally hides-out behind the curtain for 20 seconds or so and then launches out into a double-flipping no-grab air. Then he likes to do repeated carving 720s then a bunch of switchfoot kickflip airs before getting his inside barrel-time on the gnarly, dry-reef psycho suckout end-section.
somewhere on earth, yesterday
Lindy yesterday evening
beautiful bottom turn by willsy
The last three mornings offered a welcome respite from the dismal lassitude of the summer doldrums. Peaky, shoulder-high, jalopy waves formed-up and peeled-along Saturday, Sunday and today. The fog eels spewed their venom during today's dawnie, but a few hardy (desperate?) souls made the pilgrammage into the drink. Waves seemed to approach in sets of 5 or 6 and would occasionally bowl-up on the inside bar and peel for a spell. I caught two nice ones within the first 15 minutes of my sesh and thought i was gonna score huge.. but.. wave repellent set in soon after and i waited a good 25 minutes for my next ride. Bummersville... also back soreness wasn't my friend.. but.. can't complain after swimming in the pleasurably warm Pacific and catching a few olas. Surfing is fun.
conditions this morning:
Difficult to find the good ones, but they do exist.
Lots of waves coming through.
Went to a Guitarmaggedon show on Friday night at the Elbo room. Some occasionally tight guitar slanging mixed with copious onstage whiskey swilling mixed with general Friday-night revelery resulted in good times.
CCG's photos of Gland
My friend Patrick is helping to throw an art/show party tonight:
Hayes Valley Market, the old grocery store on Hayes @
Laguna which Jamie and I have been helping to turn
into a big, temporary art gallery is celebrating its
grand opening tonight with a FREE party from
The party will feature the music of JONATHAN RICHMAN
among others and a massive wall of 500 charcoal
drawings and 1 huge (75 ft) canvas by fellow North
Panhandler Felix Macnee. there will be snacks and
drinks so come one come all and see what is what with
this new space.
we will be there throughout the night... please pass
the invite on to all friends.. matt gonzales fanatics
take note that this space is owned by (and the use of
(for one year) has been granted by) senor gonzales.
Threadbare times for Yay area surf-powered peoples.
There is a wee bit of windswell flowing toward shore but things haven't been lining up that well at the local beach. Maybe elsewhere along the coast something is channeling it better? Maybe that spot Funnels down in San Mateo county? Maybe Aardvarks tucked up in Marin? That place lit up last summer during the doldrums. Also keep an eye out for Red Vines here in SF. It's kinda hard to find but it offers some protection from the onshores. Watch out for the burly locals who don't take kindly to new faces or flashy surfing. The special secret to attaining their approval is to jam a Red Vine licorice stick into the neck of your wetsuit so it pokes toward the sky. That's why the spot is called Red Vines. Supposedly Old Man Erickson used to surf out there by himself back in the 60s. One day it was pretty flat, with just a few waves every once in a while. He took some Red Vines to munch-on while waiting for waves on his 50lb longboard. While sitting on his board, munching away, waiting for a wave, sure enough ye ol' landlord paid a visit to Old Man Erickson. As Whitey charged, mouth agape and fangs sparkling, Old Man Erickson tossed the pack of Red Vines right in it's mouth. The Man in Grey chomped down hard and swallowed the pack, then stopped its charge, turned around and retreated into the deep blue. Old Man Erickson was psyched! A second later a nice set marched in and he road one all the way through, busting a stylish coffin and then a one-eyed pirate. He named the spot Red Vines and it's been called that ever since.
Red Vines working!
Wake up to birdsong and warm breezes.
butterflies flitter about,
sunbeams shine down.
Smiles and twinkles and comfort and pleasure.
Resplendent natural bounty.
A kiss from a beautiful lover.
Sensuous music wafts through the air.
An easy grace translates through every gesture.
Scorching pain pulses with every breath.
Slowly in, slowly out as internal needles prick and scrape.
Terrifying flashes of death and anger hide in shadowy corners.
Torturous screams plead for mercy.
Globules of seering magma rend and tear.
Slippery, blackened creatures sneer and rasp.
Unicorns fall, burning and bleeding.
Skin drips and teeth shred while scared children hide in the closet.
Hiding from the beast the skulks through the house.
Hiding from the hideousness of reality.
The beast is upon them. It can sense their terror.
The children grip each other in mortal fear.
The beast screeches as it gulps down pet fish and birds downstairs.
The children whimper and squirm.
Quaking footsteps come up the stairs.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
The dank, grotesque smell of death.
The dripping, rank, snarling monster stands in the hallway, outside the bedroom.
With a growling exlamation it explodes into the room, then rips open the closet door.
The children screech in panic.
The demon eyes them down.
Bloody fumes explode from its flared nostrils with every breath.
Then fangs snap, children get eaten and the beast moves on.
Forever seeking the fabled child of gold that will return it to the pathway to lightness.
monotype and sculpture by Alan Magee
Bagel is having an art show tonight
also surf-movie night at the Red Vic tonight! "Stylmasters" and the Blakestah vid will be showing, along with another short or two i think.
Whimpering meadowlarks chafe, dodge and splinter
As the avian shogunate parades through the valley.
Cacophonous booms wake subterranean demons.
"My sweet sweet birdies of the jungle.
Rise up then bow down before me, your pathway to the Gods!"
"Divinely wrought in times of yore,
suckled on the sweet teet of the universal mother.
Rise up NOW and follow me toward oblivion!
Many minds as one we will achieve a higher consciousness.
Your jovial tweets and clucks forever altered into mighty roars of triumphant extacy."
But one scraggly, lopsided pigeon had other plans.
This upstart shogunate needed a lesson learned.
"We'll see of his plans for rule and domination.
My special broth of rat hair and cobweb juice should alter his plans.
Yessss, we'll seee about hissss planssss won't weee..."
Surf Movie night at the red vic tonight and tomorrow.
Tonight is Bali Hi and also an old-school OB flick.
Tomorrow is Blakestah's vid! don't miss it.
Also tomorrow is Bagel's art show, featuring his new masterwork featuring Sir Francis Drake and the Pope meeting a tribe of Indians on China Beach or therabouts. Riveting stuff by our main artist-in-residence Bagel.
MWSF photo of an empty, longboardy right we surfed in Mexico.
If you were out of town this weekend and worried about missing good surf, quit your worrying. The WSW onshore wind never stopped blowing from Friday afternoon until right now. All day and all night. Local beaches were hacked and grumpy. I'm sure people scored goodies somewhere, but they weren't easy to find. This morning witnessed frumpy, shoulder-high windslop. Conditions for serious surf-addicts only!
Guitar-fans out there - check out Eddie Hazel, who was the original guitarist for Funkadelic. He's only on the earliest albums, like "Free you mind... and your ass will follow" and "Maggot Brain." The dude lets it soar with power and conviction. Hendrix-ish.
More CCG stories:
For about 1 week now there had been rumors and hype of this really big swell, but you know how swell rumors are. Sometimes they are bullshit, well at least in california. But anyways just as planned we all woke up tuesday morning to see the ocean going nuts, I ***** ***** my pants when i first walked out. There wasnt even really a wave at lakey peak, the waves at the pipe were breaking in the middel of the channel almost to where the peak begins and then No mans was doing the same, It was ***** big. So not one to wait around i grabed my 7'0 and ran down to nungas. I get there to see what appears to be a never ending giant left. I had no idea how big it was, there was no one out yet and nothing to give me a perspective. But there was, as i see a tiny dot come flying across a massive indonesian wall, Right there i realized it was a bit bigger then i thought, paddeling out i almost got swept down to persiscopes, When i got out there i was a bit scared, YOu didnt just turn around and paddel for these waves you had to watch them roll of the top 500 yards of reef. Meaning you were looking at what you had to take of on. But the wave turned out to be somewhat mellow and soft for its size meaning you could start to get comfortable and even start messing around a bit. And i had a great fun session, caught the biggest waves of my life and then the waves would hold that size for nearly 300 yards. what a blast.
But it was the days after this day that would turn into the most memorable sessions of my whole trip, the types of sessions i had been dreaming about. the next day the swell had dropped, but the energy was focousing on the peak. It was scary, real scary. huge lines of swell would form up, condense, contract, expand and then explode. More of a scary session then a good session, but the next day the swell didnt really drop but it cleaned up quite a bit. Meaning it wasnt nearly as scary. It was that afternoon. The winds were blowing light offshore out of the mountains, the tide was coming in, and there were only 5 guys out. It was perfect. the perfect day. I couldnt belive how uncrowded it was, i guess everyone had already snapped there boards or something, it was still pretty ***** big and scary out there but so perfect and beautiful, The wave looks like a cartoon, its so mechanical as it goese of in both directions, a gift from god. My first wave i air drop of the take of barely get to the bottom and then get a throaty barrel of the second section, I was fuckin stoked already, But then the next wave i probaly was handed the biggest asswhooping i have ever recevied, i was a paddel short. Hesitated. offshore wind caught under the nose of my board. I look down and see nothing but air under me as i grabed my rail and pigdoged threw the freefall, when the wave pinned my ass on the reef for an eterinity or at least long enough for me to break into a sweat. alright enough on that, I paddel back out to everyone clapping and laughing, But anyways a few minutes later a large set swings my way, this time i put my head down and paddel like theres a shark behind me or like i dont want to do what i just did, I pull in of the take off into a swirilng dark tube, the wave felt so ***** powerful, i dont think i have ever gone so fast. And then before i come out of that i see the next section throwing already, i grab onto my rail hold on and get blown out the back. The sun is just starting to set, theres only well now theres 10 guys in the water but still thats nothing, theres only 10 guys and they had all already become good friends of mine, the waves are perfect, the waters warm, I start laughing. I had been dreaming about this for about 3 years and here it was, I felt sorta like i acomplished something, i was so stoked. or stocked. The swell didnt really drop for nearly 10 days, and the next 4 evenings turned out to be replicas of the one described above, The small crew of us out there were trading waves, hooting each other onto waves and then givin eachother high fives. It did get a bit more croweded the next few evenings but still mellower, i got more comfortable in and around the tube. Many barrels i got were deepers and longer then the one i described above, but for some reason that one sticks in my mind the best, .
the whole crew of us there at the time was great, the most memorable night a local sumbawa band came to play claimin they had the best guitarr player in all of indo. the aussies said all my beers were on them, apparently drunk grommets are good entertainment. Then some Irish guys took up the stage and started rockin out, well as you can tell from my writing my memory from this night is a bit blank, but i do reamember it was a night to reamember and thats about it.
Alright well in a little bit i will start writing about the rest of sumbawa and then garagagan, and then i will go back and fill in all the gaps,
rough rugged and farking shithouse out there this A.M.
I mean, really pretty bad.
As a born and bred east coast surfer my initial thought upon seeing the beach this morning was, "eh, at least there's a few waves." But.. as a trannie California Surfer my impression was, "holy mackeral it's horrible out there!" I was kinda psyched because i wanted to work through some guitar shit but felt that need-to-surf-if-it's-surfable pang. After seeing the waist-high, wind-ripped, gargly crud i happily returned to my couch for some exploration in the diminished scale.
The diminished scale is pretty weird-sounding. It's a nine-tone scale (including both octaves). Start with the tonic (I'll use C for explanation) then up to the second (D) then to the minor third (Eb) then to the fourth (F) then to the flat 5th (Gb), then to the minor 6th (G#), then to the major 6th (A), then to a major 7th (B) then up to C. It's weird jamming in a scale with no 5th, but also with both major and minor 6ths. You can find some bad-ass intervals and create some eery tension. I'm digging it.
David Lindley plays tonight at the Tongue and Groove. I'm thinking of checking him out.
centralcoastgrom or "CCG" is a legend on the surfermag bb. I think he's 16 yrs old and recently went to indo by himself for 2 months.
(hope he doesn't mind me posting here?)
well i think i will try and write something up now, its 12:30 but i dont really feel like sleeping, actully i havent felt like sleeping the whole time i have been back. The last 2 nights i took sleeping pills and i have sleeping pills tonight but i dont want to take them. I dont want to sleep. Not sure why. so i figured i would try and start on my bb writing assighnment. Be warned, my brain is all over the place meaning this will probaly sound like alot of nonsense and it is. But i should try and write something up. so i will.
Here is my first journal entry from the trip
3/31 LAX airport
My first entry right now i am sitting in the terminal to a new stage of my life, I have just said my goodbyes to my family, and a sad goodbye it was, my little sister was bawling her head of and I can't get her tear soaked face out of my head.
I have a complicated confusing mix of emotions swiriling my brain, i am excited and stoked beyond belief that in 25 hours i will be living my dreams but also it was sad to say goodbye to my familly, really sad. expecially my sis. I hope they are ok without me, i know iam only 16 so i shouldnt have to worry about my family but for some reason i kinda feel like iam the whole opperations backbone.
but now iam just chilin in this lonely quite sleeping terminal, i seem to be in a dream, strange forighn langauges being wispered over the intercom long dark halls and a plane waiting outside, iam am ready to get this thing underway
Watching the asian sunrise, drinking a cup of coffee and listing to bob dylan from the singapore airport, my god what a trippy airport! its like a ***** city in here i tell ya. live music, free internet, hot asian girls, enough shopping to satasfy the most consumer hungry american alive and more people running around then in my hometown. Only about 6 more hours
my 3rd day in bali, yestarday i had my first surf at ulus, ***** unreal wave, it was pumping around 6 foot (DOH) not the easist way to break myself in, after a couple hours i tried to paddel in on the lunar high tide and found myself getting washed half way to padang and having to paddel back out around the break. I was stoked, this place is beautiful I love it. Right now i am staying at the bukit inn and i must say that place truely sucks ass. Yes the rooms are very nice but i dont trust the workers there. Need to get somewhere differnt.
Now the next enterys are me just rambeling on about how stoked i was on the waves, i wont write all that up for you. Just give you a brief sumarazation.
After the first couple days we got a freakish amount of rain, i had moved down to the beach at bingin, the surf was small and blown out, I had no idea were to go or what to do but i knew the surf would be better soon. And soon it was
Heaven! surfed about 7 hours at ulu's today and had the best session of my trip and maybe of my life, the waves just kept getting better and better all day long, around lunch time the crowed thinned out to about 10 guys scattered along the many excellent sessions. ***** stoked! But let me back track a bit, this is my first entery after a bit of time in lombok. Not sure why but i forgot my journal, last monday the brother of a good local friend of mine asked me if i wanted to join him in lombok, not knowing anything about the place I had to say yes but it was hard because i hadnt really scored bali yet and i knew it would be good while i was gone. But waves or no waves it didnt sound like an oppurtunity i wanted to pass up. A good first outter island trip. Well we didnt score deserts so we went over to kuta lombok, fun california style waves but nothing to special, However it was very cool searching around the coast a bit and having fishermen take you to the breaks, and i did get to surf a very fun right all to myself. I am glad i went, and then i came back today and scored in bali, ***** stoked!
I hate night here, i really wish it didnt get dark, there is just to much enery for me to get any sleep, to many ghoast, to many freakish unexplainable noises to much stoke, I just cant sleep, I cant wait tell sunrise because then i can go surf again, its unbelivable how good the waves here are and they seem to be good everyday. I feel like iam livin in a dream. Today was expecially good, and i got the best barrels and waves of my life! I love traveling, just being in some place new and finding my way around kicks ass, But it sure is lonely down here at this beach right now, strangely emptyed. I am the only person staying in this warung and the owners are sleeping at there house, but i kinda like it that way its like i have my very own beach. Still really wish i had a girlfriend down here with me or something, i need a bit of lovin right now. And sanur doesnt help. well doesnt help that much. Its a shame cause i have been meeting some very lovely european girls, but they always seem to be leaving the day i fall in love with them. I guess i am just lucky. I really should get some sleep tonight (I rambel on for a couple more pages in my sleep deprived state, sorta like now)
Alright let me updade. I became pretty good friends with the nephew of the owner of my warung. And he invited me to stay up at his house with his family and this seemed like a pretty good idea. This turned out to be one of the highlights of my trip. The setup was a classic baliness familly compound with anyone that ever ***** anyone living togeather in one big happy community. Made was the only one who spoke fluent english but me and the rest of his family got by on a langauge of smiles and hand gestures. There family became my family. the extended family i never had. It was beautiful, i felt home. the days passed quickly with The waves were so good almost every day, surfed mostly at ulus, scored outside corner one day, got bingin good, but not padang then i would come back and live with the balines. I was flipping out. It was just like how i had dreamed it would be. so ***** stocked ya know?
I am sorry for it has been a long time sense i last wrote, I just dont really know what to say, seeing as how the waves are the same everyday my journal enteries seem to be the same everday. Its a beautiful thing. Luckily right now the surf is bunk, and its a damn good thing to because i am still recovering from that malararia i picked up in lombok. That was the first time on this trip that i questioned if i was really old enough to be doing this alone, I was ***** scared. But i did get threw it. I reamember i sorta felt fluish for a couple days but i wasnt to concerned, one night i decided to sleep back on the beach in the warung. still no one down there but i liked the isolation. Then about 2 in the morning i wake up shiviering cold, then i got colder, and colder and colder and even colder still. It felt like my heart was pumping ice. It was so ***** cold. I would rather have been burning hot then being this cold it was terriable, I was scared shitless to. Then i started to shake and shake uncontralbaly, my mind no longer controled my body as it did whatever it wished, and then my mind fliped of its rocker and i started hallucanating, i thought there was a group of monkeys invading my mozzie net, being comanded my the head monkey (quite possible satan) who stood ontop of my mozzie net. *****! i had to get out of there and get out of there fast. I ran out onto the beach in my undies were to my horro i found the shadows had come to life and were dancing in circles, perhapse performing some evil satanic ritual. I really hoped it didnt involve me, but hey i wasnt cold anymore. Now i was so hot i had smoke coming out of my ears, a welcome relif for half a second and then even worse then the cold. And then i became drenched to the bone in my own sweat. I was so scared. I wanted my mommy i wanted my american doctor, i wanted my bed, my family i wanted someone to tell me i would be alright. I screamed I cried. I prayed. Ok enough of that bullshit now
I just booked my ticker to sumbawa for tomorrow. I cant wait.
Ok so i did recover once i went to the doctor and got medicine, really quite painless.
New places and new waves! the adventure excitment and stoke goese on, this place is even better then bali! way better. But i already miss my baliness familly. But this place is unreal theres like ***** 7 world class waves all within walking distance, iam flipping out. My first session out there I got barreld on my first 4 waves. What a sick wave. holy hell. Everyone staying in the camp right now is so ***** cool, all have become instant friends, and i dont become instant friends with anyone. the good times go on in and out of the water, in the water everyone is hooting eachouter onto wave, everytime i paddel for a wave everyone is yelling "go grommet! go!" its awsome. I wish everyone could experince this i really do. and then at night we all party togeather.
Surfing has got to be the best thing that has ever happend to me, look at these places it has brought me and these people i have gotten to meet. I am such a lucky bastard its not even funny,................
Alright iam going to go to sleep now, tomorrow maybe i will delete this and rewrite it. and then go on with sumbawa and java and then go and fill in all the gaps, cause this is just a sumarazation to give you guys an idea of my itenerary. goodnight
Fanning wins in St Leu
Some schmoe (mwsf photos)
Santa Cruz shredder