Surf Nation

Loose in the Juice: Bodysurfing Awakens the Senses

By Sam Bleakley

Cool blue peaks turned white hot at full tide, sets held taut by a stiff offshore. Heavy foam pulverised the shore-break. A snapped stick seemed imminent, so I switched board for body, left my log on the beach and swam into the closeouts. No carving cutbacks, no criss-cross, just straight lines. In the fading light the faces went green and greasy and I slipped under the curtain into the dread silence of a barrel. Spat up the shore I fumbled home, memories stained deep green. “I’d forgotten about the pure stoke of bodysurfing,” I said to my wife Sandy, draining nostrils and clearing crispy ears. It felt good to be intoxicated with saline – to remember the simplest act of surfing - but it was nothing compared to a bodysurfing session Tigger Newling had enjoyed.

Mike Newell, Women and Surfing: The Evidence

So cool, it's better than even the most well-founded (male) argument about women in sport. Check it out.

Mike Newell is Innocent: The Evidence

A reader - possibly male - alerts me to this wonderful video, all the way from Brazil. Perhaps the Luton Town manager has a point, after all?

Charlie Don't Surf. And Nor Does Mike Newell

Poor old Mike Newell. There he is, trying to prosper in a man’s world, and along comes a woman. Amy Rayner, the femme fatale in question, refused to award a penalty in Luton Town’s home clash on Saturday against Queens Park Rangers. “She should not be there,” railed Luton manager Newell, following assistant referee Rayner’s decision that QPR defender Marcus Bignot’s clash with Luton’s Carlos Edwards was innocent. Moreover, if such a view made Newell a sexist, so what, for, as he delicately put it, “I am a sexist.” It was difficult, on hearing all this, to suppress a chuckle, not least because I am a QPR fan, but then, as I turned the pages of a certain well-known international surfing magazine, the question of sexism among the waves suddenly loomed large. For there, staring out at a perfect, empty and reeling right-hand reef break miles from anywhere, was that staple of the surfing magazine, the stunning blonde female wearing nothing but a thong bikini.

The Oahu Seven (2)

They’re back. A couple of weeks ago I wrote about the Oahu Seven, a group of groms about to set off on the trip of a lifetime. Thanks to the efforts of surfing coach and North-East surfer Joel Gray, the seven – some of Britain’s top juniors – would spend two weeks surfing on Oahu’s North Shore. This, for the uninitiated, is the scene of surfing’s Holy Grail. Breaks such as Pipeline, Off the Wall, Waimea and Sunset not only represent a surfer’s proving ground, they define surfing, making for a mecca that is vicariously enjoyed the world over thanks to surfing magazines (not an issue of which, it seems, can function without a shot of North Shore paradise), or, for the truly committed, experienced first-hand over several seasons. Gray’s initiative meant that the pilgrimage many surfers feel compelled to undertake one day came at a very tender age for seven lucky home-grown talents. So, how did they get on?

Making Widows with Adrian

By Daniel Crockett

Creating a custom surfboard is a specialised and personal practice. The board, from inception to completion, is also an individual. It reflects the methods adopted by the shaper, and the intricacies of his craft. This story charts the construction of a WidowMaker from blank to glassed and ridden article, but first, a bit of history. Dave Parmenter developed the WidowMaker from the Terry Fitzgerald "Drifta" shapes of the late 1970s and early 80s. Fitz was taking his cue from Mark Richards' twin-fin supremacy and the recently devised Simon Anderson three-fin. The boards were characterised by a larger back fin and two smaller side fins. Utilising the benefits of the thruster - which made for critical manoeuvres and ease of turn - and the single fin, with its irresistible invitation to draw open lines and trim with momentum - the WidowMaker seemed to combine the best of both worlds.

Surf Nazis Must Die

In 1987, Troma Studios released one of the worst films of all time, Surf Nazis Must Die. The plot, if that is what it can be called, is that California has suffered a massive earthquake, leaving the state in chaos. Groups of surfers fight for supremacy on post-apocalypse beaches which resemble industrial wastelands rather than anything close to oceanic paradise. One gang is known as "The Samurai Surfers," while another is "The Designer Wave." By far the most terrifying, though, is the Surf Nazis, a group led by Adolf, the “Fuhrer of the New Beach." Adolf takes uncompromising umbrage at anyone stupid enough to paddle out into breaks that the Surf Nazis have established as their own. As befits a Troma film, there are various random acts of violence and mayhem until, for no apparent reason, a black oil well worker named Leroy is killed by Adolf and his comrades while jogging on the beach. However, Leroy’s mother vows revenge, breaks out of her retirement home and arms herself with sufficient firepower to wreak her own apocalypse on the Surf Nazis.

Carlos Burle: Hero or Fool?

By Andy Cox

Every surfer knows the feeling. Watching the surf peel off the beach or reef in front of you, board clamped firmly under your arm, asking yourself whether you should go, or whether you should stay. For the novice, the quandary may surface the first time you consider moving beyond the foaming waves of the inside to ride an unbroken swell. For Mr Average (if any surfer can be described as average) the dilemma is likely to be felt when the waves start to break above head height. For Carlos Burle, a man who has towed in at Jaws, Teahupoo and who won an event at Todos Santos when he took the drop down the face of a wave measuring almost 70ft, it comes at a point way beyond the reach of most of us.