drift, perspectives in surfing

You get no points for saying you thought Slater would have his own clothing label. Everyone figured that. What is surprising is the time it’s taken to announce something and the (slightly) lack lustre way in which he’s done it.
Once it was clear that his departure from Quiksilver, after 23 years, wasn’t an April fools joke we all assumed that he would have a new decal on the nose of his board heading into the Bells event if not, then obviously by the Rio. But nothing…
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The Quiksilver Pro has always been an exasperating event. With a capricious Atlantic that can offer bloody violence or sublime perfection on any given day it has become a pivotal event in the modern title run. Here’s where Slater always falters and Fanning, for one, goes for the throat before the 11 times champ can rally at Pipe.
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Tavarua and J-Bay are too exotic. Chopes is just too mental. Lower Trestles however is just perfect. A sublime peak splitting left and right across a pebble bottom so flawlessly that about a million people fight for a wave every set. And to those who can find a wave it is a watery skate park drenched in SoCal sunshine.
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With the success of the Australia event, the Ocean Film Festival heads to the UK this month. Premiering in Cornwall this week the organisers will then take it the length of the UK over the next two months. They aim to bring the ‘most amazing ocean films from both above and below the surface’ and in the process support Project Aware, Surfers Against Sewage and the Marine Conservation Society.
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Who’s your Daddy? Time travelling across Europe in an Austin Cambridge.

Bored of travel? Want something more this summer? Why not try a little time travel?

All it took was a journal and some old photographs, next thing I’m in fifty-year-old car bound for Syria and Jordan, guided only by the heavy typeset of my mother’s diary from 1967. Mum kept a record of their journey across Europe in the Summer of Love, as they trundled through a continent struggling to get back on its feet after the war.
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ASP from J Bay

Even the legend that is Tom Curren thought the Goofies were going to go all the way but the South Atlantic had other plans.

Wilko blazed through ten-foot sets and on any other day, against any other surfer he would have been in the final, but the southern oceans were too much for backhand surfing.
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Another lay day at the ASP J Bay Open and we could all do with a breather. The ocean has no favourites we know that. Why yesterday you ripped but today you suck is a wonderful, infuriating mystery. At this year’s event it seems even the pros are getting a taste, too.
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Twenty four hours is not enough. In fact it was less than that because we had to be in Bloemfontein for tea. A tragedy and a crime.

South Africa is unfairly blessed with perfect surf. From the frigid perfection of Cape Town to Surf City SA of urban Durban or for those who wish it the angry behemoths of Dungeons, a contender for monster suicide death wave in any given year. Even its neighbours are gifted. To its left are the tropical rights of Mozambique and to its right the nippy lefts of Namibia.

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