“Oh man, did you see (reader: choose any decent right pointbreak) the other day?! It looked just like J-Bay!”
“ Yeah, well I was just up at (reader: choose any decent left pointbreak), and it was like J-Bay in reverse!”

Right.

Many of us have heard this conversation somewhere before. Some of us are guilty of having being in it. For a weird reason, many surfers at some point want to try and compare their local pointbreak, when at it’s best, to J-Bay. I’ve done it, I’ll admit. And not wanting to do it anymore, to be able to see whether or not it was in it’s own universe, I needed to see just how good the wave is firsthand, no matter how much it sucked to drop 2 grand on airfare on my credit card.

So after having spent a ton of not-my-money on the flight, I opted to hole up at one of the many affordable hostels in the town of Jeffrey’s Bay itself. I found a great little place called the Ubuntu Lodge a few blocks back from the surf, where I basically stayed for 3 weeks straight. The first morning I awoke and heard a few of the other guests getting ready for a dawn patrol. A new swell was rumored to be hitting, and so I too jumped on the bandwagon, gulped some coffee and got suited up. As I made my way down the street that runs towards the beach, one of the realities of South African life hit home. On many street corners were groups of between 5 and 10 black South Africans, waiting for work, desperately looking for some kind of temporary employment.

South Africa still has a lot of problems to contend with, and this was a stark example of one such issue. Apartheid was only resolved less than two decades back, and in many ways it’s the black Africans that still find themselves on the short end of the stick. Millions of them live in what are dubbed “townships”, sprawling shantytowns that in some cases lay adjacent or at least very nearby the major, proper towns where the money and, largely speaking, white people are. HIV and AIDS are still big concerns amongst black South Africans with huge numbers being infected. Race relations are still dubious between some of the older whites and blacks, even though the younger white crowd, having grown up towards the end of – or after – Apartheid, tends to get on much better with blacks. And crime, given the dire economic situation among large segments of the black population, plagues the social situation in general, with Johannesburg being one of the most dangerous cities in the world for various types of crime.

And yet, as I strolled down the street for a surf, quite a few of the black South Africans, carrying heavy burdens on their shoulders, still flashed big smiles and friendly hand gestures and seemed stoked at least with what they had and were happy to emanate some good vibes to some weird white dude with a surfboard and sporting a creepy skin-tight rubber wetsuit. Which was something that, understandably, some of the older, core J-Bay locals aren’t so keen to do given their wave’s status as “The World’s Best Pointbreak,” a moniker that lures surfers from around the world to the occasional ire of some of them.

I felt out the lineup for a few days, just getting scraps and sort of sitting inside and away from the main local scene. A few decent swells came and went during my time there, but one day of relentless sets had yet to arrive. I took a few days off from the area and explored the nearby countryside a little, venturing as far as Cape Town to the west, a city with one of the most stunning, mountainous backdrops of any I’ve ever seen. The drive was comprised of incredibly beautiful, bucolic farmland, impressive mountains, and a wild array of wildlife both of the land-locked and sea-bound varieties, like Whales and Dolphins and Lions and Elephants all living in a relatively close proximity to each other in the diverse landscape of Southern South Africa.

I returned to J-Bay for the final five days of my trip. The first four were great for sipping local brews on the warm sunny beaches, but not so hot for surfing as the flatness continued. Of course when it rains it pours, and so on my final day where I’d have to go rent a car and drive to the airport an hour and a half away for an early afternoon flight, the swell began to absolutely pump. Seemingly endless sets rifled down the point, some connecting all the way through the bay’s hardest to beat sections. I just sat inside, patiently, until the local crew was battling their way back up the point against the current after long rides, and then snuck up into the main peak of a part of the wave called Supertubes. About three or four times in a row this worked as a new 6-8 foot set would follow on the heels of the one carrying the local crew far down the point. And each time these sets got a little bigger until finally I caught one right at the peak that took me straight through Supers, all the way past the second section, a ride of around a minute. It had to be my last wave as time was running short and I had to get to the airport immediately. My last wave of the trip was my best wave, and as I made my way over the vicious lava rock bottom lining the shore to walk back up the point, all I could do was grin with the knowledge that I’d finally made it to the mecca of pointbreaks, one I knew right then and there was in league of its own.

In looking back from a surf-travel perspective, I’m really not too sure why Argentina called, or why I answered the call and bought the airfare to Buenos Aires. After all, I think one of the reasons you don’t hear too much about the surf in Argentina is because there might not be all that much of it. Storms in the South Atlantic seem to always churn their way towards South Africa, leaving Argentine coastlines swell-free for long periods throughout the year. I just thought that maybe I’d luck out. And at least I’d heard that the large country had lots to do and see, should I get totally skunked.

So shortly after arriving in Buenos Aires, wanting more long-transit torture for some sick reason, I boarded a 20 hour bus ride Northwards, to a little corner of land bordered by Brazil, Paraguay, and Argentina, where the lush tropical setting retains one of the world’s more naturally stunning and beautiful sites. The Iguazu Falls were created millions of years back, and after the passing of eons, humans were offered a glimpse at the majestic waterfall system, which stretches 100 meters tall and one kilometer wide. The falls are a rough facsimile of the famed Niagara in New York in terms of height and the volume of water constantly pouring over the sides.

After 20 more hours by bus back from the same route I took to get to Iguazu, I arrive in the pulsating heart of the frantic Buenos Aires, and holed up for a few days before setting off to resume the search. With tango exhibitions in the streets by day, and wild parties by night, it’s constant-fiesta sort of atmosphere makes it definitely among the livelier of the world’s big cities. But there’s no surf in Buenos Aires, and so before too long it was back to the road. After another long bus ride, maybe 8 hours south of Buenos Aires, I arrived in a lazy pueblo bordered by the capricious South Atlantic out to the east. A South Atlantic whom, it would soon turn out, was willing and ready to cooperate.

Rising early the next morning, I went for the 6-block stroll out towards the sea. I was floored upon arriving at the shore. Peering out atop a dune I gazed at 4 miles of beachbreak peaks, offshore, sunny, clean as can be, 4-6 foot, and not a single soul in the water. Down the coast I spotted a series of strange metallic lumps rising from the sand near the water’s edge, and went to check it out. A shipwreck, almost buried and soon to be forgotten as the earth and water devoured her remaining iron spires and barbs. A symbolic cross had been placed atop the wreckage, also rotting and on the verge of full decay. And just offshore the peaks continued to funnel in, perfect a-frames, with not a soul around but me.

I surfed for two and a half hours, as the swell kept pumping, the winds stayed offshore, the sky remained sunny and the air hot, and I was scoring pretty hard, just like that, in some weird locale where it seemed like the whole set was created for me only.

I got word from the hostal owner I was staying in of another, more intact shipwreck down the way a bit further, and went to go check it out. You can see it from miles away as you approach. It dominated the surrounding landscape. PESUARSA II she read in fading letters, as every inch of her once grand self was slipping into the recycling hands of time, simply waiting for more abuse from the elements. And it just happened that on this day, with the swell now coming to a peak, she served another purpose, although maybe just for me. With no other surfers around for miles, here I was gawking at this huge, dramatic, hulking shipwreck, as perfect 5 foot barrels peeled off her side, everything glowing in the late afternoon sun, the waves immaculate, the shipwreck accommodating, and me simply out of my head with elation, again. Happy and exhausted, I went to bed early, hoping to awake the following morning and see more of the same. But at dawn it was pancake flat. So was the next day. With just a week left in the trip, I decided to check out some of the sights I’d read about down south.

At hour 23 of the longest bus ride I’d ever been on, one replete with the constant cacophony of the bus’ single overhead TV screen showing b-rate American cinema, the bus lurched to a stop. I was within stone’s throw of the Moreno Glacier, which spreads out as an immense ice sheet some 30 kilometers long, 3 across, and 200 meters tall, heaving off chunks of itself with ear-shattering, thunderous cracks every ten minutes or so, giant chunks of ice succumbing to gravity and plummeting earthward, splashing and creating mini-tsunamis in the lake below.
Things were winding down in Argentina, and the time had come to move on. Maybe it all came down to a hunch that I’d get some fun waves, and I did. For one day out of 3 weeks, I got surf. More than the fun beachie a-frames and shipwreck peelers, what Argentina gave me a glimpse of was a staggering variety of sights and sounds, from natural wonders to the madness of Buenos Aires nightlife. So if you’re thinking of going, be sure to go with an open mind for what the country offers in full, and the surf - if you can get some in Argentina – will just be icing on the cake.

For many surf photographers, trying to get that quintessential through-the-barrel water shot is another weird obsession for a group of people, yours truly included, that doesn’t lack in tweaky pursuits and character traits. While I can’t speak for the trials and tribulations of other surf photographers, I encountered plenty of difficulties trying to get the aforementioned photo, with constant ice-cream headaches from swimming in Central California being the least of them. I shot film in the water for 3 years before moving more or less completely digital, so 36 frames is all I got. Timing is everything, and often I’d wait 2 days to get the roll back from the lab, only to find something just a little off on the best shot. Which means that I’d basically be throwing away $17. One time a piece of sand must have sawed through the o-ring, so as I swam out to the lineup and looked inside the housing, saw it flooded, the camera soaked, the housing worthless. And then there’s the worry over big fish, always somewhere in the back of my head.

I just kept telling myself that the odds were very slim, that I had a better chance of perishing in a car-crash on the way to go surf or shoot than I did of being cleft in twain by Whitey. Shark attacks are super-rare on the California coast, so why would it happen to me? Yet still, all the local beaches had signs on them reporting confirmed sightings of a great big fish seen cruising the local lineups and coming within not-so-safe distances of scared-senseless surfers. And this was a bummer because I was eager to resume a water-photo project from the previous winter, one demanding my presence in the ocean before sunrise and just before sunset, or in other words, prime feeding time for big old pissed off sharp toothed carnivorous fish.

After a week, the warnings were lifted and the temptation became too great. I’d experimented the previous fall with a lot of slower shutter speeds for water shots, as a way to try and throw something of a change-up on the iconic surfer’s P.O.V. type of photo. After a few successful  - though rather freezing offshore central California mornings – I became hooked on the formula and the results. I showed a few people prints of photos from the shoots, and they’d ask when I’d started painting. I got huge kicks out of producing images that sort of straddled, in a weird way, the photo/painting threshold.

If I had a few frames of film left when the sun came up – or during the rare offshore afternoon – I’d bring the shutter back up to a speed to properly stop the action, and was able to luck into a few good ones with that formula as well.

The unfortunate thing about last winter was that all I had was a sort of hole-ridden 4/3, which really sucked upon first entering the water. So I bit the bullet and purchased a 6/5/4 wetty with a built-in hood, and just for good measure would chuck over a 1-mil long-sleeve rashguard. I felt like Ralphie’s little brother from The Christmas Story – horribly overdressed and unable to really move – but damn did that outfit keep me toasty. And so with a warm and snug 7/6/5 I’d make for the water in the brisk offshore Central California dawn.

I’d say over the course of the project, I shot 45 rolls of film, or 1620 frames. And though about 1600 wound up in the trash, I’m just stoked for being able to share with you some of the keepers.(Check the WAVES gallery in the PORTFOLIO section for a glimpse at some of the shots described above.)

I’d never been angrier at physics in all my life. Maybe 200 yards into a half mile uphill stretch over a section of the Malibu hills on a mountain-bike, with 50 pounds of photo gear being towed behind on a trailer, with lungs burning and sweat pouring, with the hot sun beating down, with PCH traffic whizzing by within feet of me at 60 MPH, the top of the hill I essentially crawled towards appeared in the distance like some kind of sweet oasis where all things good in the world must surely dwell. The ocean off to the right looked cool and inviting, and the adjacent beach a symbol of relaxation. I’d be there in twenty minutes or so, just as soon as my personal training session with gravity, damn you gravity, would come to a close. But at least I kept noticing, as I’d experienced on the first 100 miles and 3 days of the trip thus far, that all these things – pain pulsing, pavement whirring, sea air wafting, birds chirping, cars honking, wind blowing – just seemed more palpable than they’d be if locked in the confines of a car.

The whole thing was the brainchild of Leucadia-based surfer Chris Del Moro, who dropped the idea on me when I ran into him at a surf shop in Cardiff. The idea was a human-powered surf trip, a 300 mile “Bike and Slide” as he called it, starting roughly near Point Concepcion and ending in San Diego. As he imparted all the logistics to me – all the gear he had set up for us to use, all the friends he had lined up along the way – it seemed like a no-brainer. Traversing across the entire SoCal coastline on bikes for 10 days surfing and shooting photos would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The fact that it was Friday and we would begin the ride in 3 days didn’t deter me, even though in the back of my mind I knew I’d be hurting as I hadn’t ridden a bike for any more than 15 miles in one stretch, well, ever.

We began on Halloween, myself and Chris accompanied by Dan and Keith Malloy. The day began at a fickle righthand pointbreak near Santa Barbara, one that I checked a lot during my days at UCSB but never got that good. Yet as we awoke from the nearby campsite, we strolled down to the water’s edge and laid eyes on a good omen for the trip: clean, waist high, perfect-for-longboarding south swell lines rolling through on a consistent basis. And as we’d heard it was the beginning of a fresh Southern Hemi, we grabbed a short surf and decided to begin leg one towards spots south offering a more open window for south swells.

The first 3 miles or so allowed us to cruise down a coastal bike path, flanked on one side by sweet smelling sage and the Pacific on the other. If only things could have stayed so good. The trail dumped us out onto Highway 101, with pebble-spitting Big-Rigs flying by on one side and sporadic roadkill dumped periodically on the other. 10 miles later and a new world to peddle through morphs into being: the campus of UCSB, my old stomping grounds. All the familiar sights came back into play as we cruised along: The Thunderdome, Storke Tower, all the pretty lady undergrads cruising around on bikes. We invented a non-verbal ratings game with our bike bells, four dings for the prettiest women, one ding for those, um, not so much.

Soon it was South Goleta, and before long The Mesa approached, as did our first hill of the trip. After reaching the “summit” of a 300 foot hill, a nice long coast down the other side took us through downtown, past the poshiness of State Street, and soon the uber-poshiness of Montecito, tall sweet smelling Eucalyptus everywhere, and then Carp, and just before sundown we bombed down the hillside leading to Rincon, and were within striking distance of the Pitas Point base camp after day 1. We all reached the house and just sort of keeled over, plans for Halloween festivities no longer possible as it was hard to really walk anywhere. I was glad I wasn’t the only one all gimped-out after a 50-mile ride on mountain bikes.

And so on the next day, with stiff thighs but ready for more, we set off again, and the satisfying blur of the nice little peddle down the coast would again commence: the electrifying Ventura sunrise that morning and the pumping C-Street south swell; the trek down the iconic PCH past Hueneme and on towards more head-high south swell at Leo Carrillo; camping at Leo and getting drunk with the crew and the following groggy bike ride up the aforementioned brutal Malibu hillside; still more head high south swell at Malibu and the dangerous bike journey at night on the PCH through to Santa Monica, where He-Man Keith Malloy would depart the journey and World-Traveller Jesse Faen would begin to roll; the rollerbladers whizzing by and the tweakers strewn about everywhere on the cushy, paved beach paths of Venice, Manhattan, and south towards more massive hills near Palos Verdes; forever southward towards Long Beach harbor, and bright, sunny Newport with, you guessed it, a perfect south/north swell combo on a bright and glassy afternoon, and a night throwing back beers with Alex Knost and CJ Nelson and a few other eclectic cats currently in charge of the Traditional longboarding scene; south to Laguna, more hills, more beautiful views of the Pacific from the hills; Dana Point blurs into San Clemente, where the iconoclastic and forever-stoked Warren Smith gave us a place to stay; and then we get permission to bike through Camp Pendleton, though it was a little weird in a post 9/11 world that my anonymous bag full of metal and glass wasn’t scrutinized in the least by the security guard; and as the bizarre stretch featuring Abrams tanks and Camoflouged Humvees and helicopters and miles and miles of empty SoCal flora, came to a close, we at last arrived in Oceanside, Carlsbad, Leucadia, 10 days and 300 miles later.

And really what it all came down to, what made the trip memorable, were the intangible things I could just notice while riding a bike, not locked in the confines of a car. Just as much as the great surf, or the cool new friends met along the way, it was the feel of the air on my cheeks, the hydraulic grunts of the passing semi, the occasional butterfly flitting to and fro ahead of me, that one weird cloud up ahead drenched in a sky of otherwise complete blue. And it was the pain of that damned Malibu hill. And when I made it to the top and the pain went away, it was just the pure and simple childlike stoke of having arrived on top of the world on a bicycle.

From the infinite reaches of Mexico 1, another big-rig birthed from the horizon and started racing towards us. You become immune to the vague threats of these metallic desert beasts after awhile. They simply tend to pass with a violent rush of car-rattling wind, a minor annoyance and disturbance, and not too much else. But this one seemed a bit too close to the spray-painted center divide.

As the highway-hogging trucker flew past, our friends in the lead vehicle had no choice but to veer over to avoid the errant Semi. But the right wheel of their trailer soon found itself mingling with the poorly designed shoulder.

Their attempt at merging back into one-ness with the highway failed, as they over-corrected the steering wheel just a tad too much. The trailer bounded back awkwardly onto the road, and started into a fit of hydraulic convulsions, on one wheel only, then the other, until finally physics caved in altogether and the trailer flipped on its side going 100 kmp/h down Baja’s narrow desert conduit. Then it flipped completely on its top. Sparks blew out from both sides at a horrifying rate; surfboard foam-dust and boardbag particles spewed forth from the shrieking wreckage. The three of us in the follow car yelped incoherent obscenities as we slammed on the brakes and prepared for collision . . .

Just before all this madness ensued, the desert atmosphere had been glowing in the late afternoon’s solar departure: endless fields of towering cactus danced beneath the lessening desert heat; distant mountains took on advancing shades of purple and magenta; a full moon floated off to the east, taking on more radical hues of electric light as the eve unfolded. And just preceding this, our small crew had fortuitously stumbled upon a decent, uncrowded, head high righthand pointbreak, somewhere in the southern reaches of the desert coastal wilderness. The trip had gone off without a hitch to this point. And then the time came to pay a few dues . . .

. . . As our collective heartbeat bounded nearly out of our chest with fear, the flipped over, sparking trailer began to lose some speed, as friction and gravity took over the situation. Finally it came to a rest, upside down, at the bottom of a blind hill we had just crossed over. Freaked our of our skulls but uninjured, we stared slack-jawed for a moment at the carnage. I ran to the top of the hill over which speeding cars were soon headed, to warn them of the looming wreckage. Then I grabbed my camera, not about to depart without the quintessential shady-baja photo.

Later that evening, we sat down to dinner in an anonymous desert pueblo, damaged but functional trailer parked outside. Words were few, beers were plenty. Then one of my friends broke the silence with something that just about sums up the whole surf travel obsession.
“The shit we go through to get good waves,” she dryly remarked, lips returning immediately afterwards to the calming effect of a second Negro Modelo.

JK): You seem to have always had a fairly open mind when it comes to surfboard shapes and designs. What range of boards do you have in your working quiver these days?

BY): I’ve got a fair range in my working quiver. For the bigger waves I ride a triple stringer, kind of (Joey) Cabell-inspired outline longboard. Really heavy. Probably the heaviest board I own. Designed for hopefully driving through sections, hopefully in a barrel, and getting around lumpy bigger sections on the bigger days and stuff like that. I also ride a 6’8” single fin, which a friend of mine made down the road here, and its incredible because you can put absolutely all your pressure into it, and the thing just doesn’t slip under any circumstance, which for a single fin – and just, I mean he’s lived that ear, and he knows what holds. He shaped in Byron around the early 70’s with dad, and he’s got the 6’8” rounded pin singlefin that feels good.
I also ride a little thing I just call a pod. It’s like 6 foot long, and its almost a double ender. All my boards, every single board I ever ride is very very subtle in their bottom shape, I guess because my dad had me growing up and trying to understand the flat bottom, and a V-bottom, and the difference between them. I know that people get really great projection out of concaves and stuff, but with my style I just don’t stay in the water properly, not how I want to. So I’ve always stuck to the more traditional, or more subtle kind of stuff. Just works for the way I surf.

JK):You were the two time world longboard champ, and most recently just a couple years back. In the past few years, pro longboarding has lost a lot of steam in terms of being a possibly lucrative career path. How has this whole event affected you?

BY): I stopped competing at the end of 2003. Prior to the last event, I called my sponsors and said ‘I’ve come in 10th and there’s not much chance of me doing that great. I’m not enjoying it at all, and I find it’s a complete contrast to the way I want to live my life. This will be the last event I do. So I’m ringing now on the premise that, win, lose or draw, you know, you’ve backed me personally and I’ve been amazed by the fact that I’m still sponsored as a surfer, and it’s fantastic.’ Surfing competitively wasn’t in me for a long time, and I was doing it as a career. I never considered it a sport. I consider it an artform and something . . . um (pauses), something too hard to describe. As I’m sure you do too, because we’re both surfers, and I feel tremendously lucky every day that I get to do this. I’m of the belief that companies are opening their minds to all aspects of surfing, whatever that entails. Kneeboarding, bodysurfing, longboarding, shortboarding, shmorgasboarding – it doesn’t matter. I think that as a whole we are one, and my honest opinion is that the ocean is our primary concern as people that are very much a part of the sea. That group goes beyond surfers. That goes to people in the waterways all around the world, and . . . you know, there’s a very long list. Our primary concern is our ocean, so that our children and their children can enjoy what we’ve been lucky to. I’ve definitely deviated from your original question, as I have a tendency to do (laughs).
With that, I am saddened by the fact that there isn’t longboard competition because it is a continuation of a history, a very colorful and beautiful history. A lot of individuals. Prior to Tom Blake and the fin and the foam surfboard, you know, there were toothpicks, and before that, Polynesian times obviously. But, longboarding is a very, very, very important part of what surfing is. And there’s a lot of kids that surf beautifully on longboards that I believe companies – I don’t care if you’re a surf company or in the technology world – I just believe that surfing and artistic flair on longboards is a beautiful thing to watch, And I think that kids should be given that opportunity to carry on with that tradition. And if it’s competitively, I think they deserve that chance.

JK):Music has become a large part of your life in the past few years. How did this aspect of your life really get going for you?

BY):Music was always there while traveling. I think surfers, probably every human being – music’s in everything: melody and rhythm and pulse is in everything we do, be it talking, walking, washing dishes. But for me, the acoustic sounds of Dylan, early Rolling Stones, The Band, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, you know, driving up and down the coast with my dad, that stuff really stuck with me. And at about seventeen, I just started playing some basic tunes. And about six years ago, someone who I was deeply and heavily in love with – I thought she was gonna be the one, for the rest of my life, like a soul mate and a partner – didn’t work out. And I went to my guitar and melodies just started coming and they haven’t stopped. It’s been amazing how they come consistently, and it takes up so much of my life. It really does. I’m so passionate about it because I really see it as a vehicle for change, for me as an individual, for my friends and family, and for my water angel friends. I know there’s definitely times when I’m coming up with stuff that’s beyond me, and I know that it is me. It’s also a lot of other people, and that’s what I find so fascinating about sound. I enjoy trying to be a wordsmith, but am not claiming I am. But I’m definitely a singer songwriter that really, really feels that there is a reason why I’m doing it.

JK):You’ve incorporated yoga and meditation into your daily routine. Do the benefits of these cross over into your surfing?

BY): Yeah. I think the benefits of meditation and yoga most definitely, 100% carry through. That connection – or detachment – that I have with meditation, I try and have that come through with the people I meet, with everything I do. I try and relate to that which is us, which is we, which is all is one. It’s so large. The world’s population, every tree, every bird, every cell within our own individual bodies – are one. It’s a big thing, and with that, that’s why I need to surf freely without inhibition, and I need to tap into the fact that everyone is beautiful in every way. Everyone has love to give. Even if there’s anger in someone . . . that may be sad, but it’s also just the fact that they’re gonna get through that, they’re gonna grow out of that, and it’s gonna be all about love. That’s why playing an instrument and meditation and surfing feel like a pretty awesome three. Definitely in my life I feel as though they’re three things that can help me completely be me, and be with everything hopefully.

JK):Most surfers are aware that there’s a strong heritage running through the Young family. How has Nat’s knowledge of surfing and his abilities in the water helped you become the caliber of surfer that you are today?

BY): I believe that I’m experimenting, more refining ideas with fin flex and other aspects of board designs and layouts of every aspect, be it volume through every individual inch, finding where it’s slightly out, and slightly in from my way of surfing. Partly it’s because I’m really passionate about the artform that is riding waves, and another part is that I’m 50% of my father. Although, you know, I feel like I’m a part of everyone, blood-wise. With that, I believe that with delving into those areas, hopefully you can turn people onto those areas. I believe that’s what George and Bob and my dad did. Their experimentations created huge changes, and I think it’s a re-evolution to a degree when you look at the surfing world, where it’s been, and where it’s going.
It’s hard to say, what minority is, what majority is, its probably pretty inconsequential when looking at the big picture. But I definitely believe that I have been lucky to see that fact that my father figure is so knowledgeable within surfing, and his community. And I’ve met so many different characters. Dora, god bless him, and like Chris Brock down the road, and Alby Falzon with Morning of the Earth, Wayne Lynch – so many people. With that, I’ve always felt that I’m older than I actually am, and I like that. That’s the way I like to be. Cause my dad, he’s one of my best friends, and I am, to a degree, older than I actually am.

JK):With all the success you’ve had in surfing and music, is there any kind of creed or philosophy that helps keep a level head, or that helps in staying focused on the bigger picture?

BY): I had dinner with a friend last night. She was saying how ‘you can’t deny the fact that looks are everything in this day in age. Everything revolves around that.’ I said ‘no – I completely disagree.’ I think we look the way we look because that’s what we were given. With that, I think it’s all eternal, and it radiates out. And yeah, it’s a media infiltrated world, but I flat out disagree with that.
That could be one example of the fact that I try at all times to think clearly and live in the moment and the moment being beautiful at every point in time. There’s some things in life I don’t understand, like a friend’s child passing away, not long ago, at a way-too-young age. There’s things that I don’t understand in this world. But I do know that love is cultivated, it spreads, and it always wins, and is the end result that is everything. People may say ‘that sounds like Byron Bay hippie bullshit’. But it isn’t, because love’s the end result, and that’s all we got. And that, ultimately, is gonna save our planet.

JK): Any big plans in the near term with your music, or your surfing, or just with your life in general?

BY):My main plan is to continue on the path of being. I was having the same kind of conversation last night. I think everything unfolds for a reason.
I’m really looking forward to my next album. As an independent artist, it’s been very, very small time, which on that side of me I like. Then on the other side of the coin I’d like to be getting into being one with more people. With that, ultimately, my voice is your voice is my family’s is your family’s is all our friends’ voice. Especially when it comes down to the fact that we’re all thinking the same – for me, I can honestly say we’re all thinking the same because everyone I meet thinks the same. Rose colored glasses, or what have you, but that’s the way I’m living, and that’s the way it’s coming to me and I’m just gonna continue on the same path and follow through with the very utmost of my abilities from my heart, daily, and loving it.

There’s probably no more perfect place in the world for Josh Beckett than Central California. The 34 year-old Morro Bay resident and lifelong surfer not only has access to the region’s consistent surf, but as winemaker of world-renowned Peachy Canyon Winery, the land itself provides Beckett with the means to make a good living. And sometimes the surf and winelands intertwine for Josh in interesting ways. I recently caught up with Beckett, who gave me a little time in between duties at Peachy Canyon while also planning the release of his and brother Jake’s new wine label, Chronic Cellars.

JK: So you’ve lived on the central coast more or less your whole life.

JB: Born in Oceanside, but moved to Paso Robles in 1982. Grew up there. I graduated down at San Diego State with a degree in English. Didn’t want to do the wine thing. Growing up with the wine thing it was like ‘I gotta make my own path’.

JK: Because your dad had started Peachy Canyon winery, right?

JB: Yeah, my dad started Peachy Canyon. My parents both said, “We really like this. Let’s gamble. Let’s build our own little winery.” They started Peachy Canyon in 1987. Then in 1992 one of our wines was top 100 in the world in Wine Spectator magazine. That’s what really got the ball rolling.
I got a call from my dad saying, “Hey, we’re kind of shorthanded at the winery, can you come help us out?” So I said “Alright . . . one harvest.” Then one thing led to another, and then it was a year into it, another year into it, another, and now 10 years later, I’ve just stuck with it.

JK: So it was a gradual thing?

JB: Very gradual. I learned from the bottom up. I did extension courses through UC Davis and Cal Poly, Viticulture and Eunology. And I stayed open-minded always, never thinking that I had the answers. There’s more questions when it comes to wine than answers. As long as I keep that in mind then the wine can only get better, and the vineyards can only get better.

JK: After you moved back up here after school, were you excited for the potential of being able to have both the wine and surf?

JB: At first I didn’t think I would stay. And it wasn’t because of the surf that I wouldn’t stay, it was because I didn’t think I wanted to do wine yet. But then as time evolved, I was stoked about the wine, and I love the beach. I definitely am blessed that I can work in wine and still be able to keep surfing. They go great together, but I can’t do just wine. Once you’re hooked, it’s just a part of you so much. The wine is as well, but I think the two just go hand in hand.

JK: Your life with Peachy Canyon is a huge part of who and what you are, but you’re also a surfer. Is there ever a crossover of the two?

JB: Like when I’m going out to vineyards, and I know a particular grower, and I know year after year he’s going to be be a staple, solid farmer, and I know his locations and how consistent they are and what they’re capable of. Kind of like surfing anywhere in Estero Bay - you know there’s going to be waves. We’re on the central coast and we have our wind issues or whatever, but I can go out front here to the beach and get wet and get it done.
Or there are vineyards you have to search out, and it might be a gamble, you might have to pay more; like how with surfing you have to pay the price to drive a little further. It’s gonna take a little bit longer, it’s gonna take more time out of your day, you never know what you’re getting in for, but you know it could be really worth it, and it’s a price you pay to get that quality of a wave.

JK: Seems like both these parts of your life have really gratifying aspects to them.

JB: Definitely. When I have winemaker friends that put out a good bottle of wine and it gets good ratings, I’m stoked for them, and it makes me get even more excited, because I know Paso Robles is capable of it. Like when I see a crazy photo of somebody at one of the local beaches, I’m like, ‘Ah, there are still good waves around here.” And when I see a good winemaker get a killer rating out of Paso, I’m like “Alright! This is doable here.”

For his fortieth birthday, Tom Wegener knew of no better way to celebrate than to fill his van with some boards, his kids, a lovely wife, and bee line for the perfect points of nearby Noosa Heads. Wegener’s recent visit to the Bishop Museum in Oahu had provided this skilled shaper the impetus to handcraft some ancient replicas for the occasion: a 16- foot Olo, and an inch-thick, 12-foot long, finless plank known as an Alaia. The goal for the day was to ride the regal Olo; the Alaia was brought along as something of an afterthought.

“It was kind of sloppy and onshore,” recalls Wegener of the day, “and you couldn’t really ride the Olo. Jacob Stuth was riding the Alaia, and it was drawing a really beautiful line across the waves. Really clean. It was just very graceful.”

A few months would pass before Tom, who’d long since switched from shaping boards out of foam and fiberglass to the super-durable and functional Paulownia wood, would have another experience with the Alaia design. He and seven year-old son Finley headed for the beach, the latter proceeding to immediately paddle out on a smaller version of the Alaia that Tom had just shaped. The result, admits one of longboard surfing’s main renaissance men, was truly remarkable.

“He caught this little reform, and it doubled up and broke,” says Tom, “and I just saw his little head accelerate about twenty feet in one second across the wave. I went ‘Oh my god, there’s something here we’ve been missing!’”

From that day forward, Wegener has dedicated his existence to refining, shaping, and riding this long lost craft of the most ancient of surfing’s elders. And for Tom, who was beginning to grow a touch bored with traditional longboarding, the Alaia epiphany couldn’t have come any sooner. It’s presented a fresh take on surfing for a guy who’s been hanging ten across perfect pointbreaks since the early 1980’s. But with the freshness, a whole new learning curve has been put into play that he both contends with and relishes in.

“It’s a challenging way of surfing,” says Tom, speaking of the planks whose absence of a fin and maximum thickness of about one inch make them so different from standard surfcraft. “It’s so challenging that just to get to your feet and ride across a wave is like a big success. Your timing, your paddling, everything’s gotta be perfect. But you get the feeling like you just conquered Waimea Bay after you’ve done it. I mean really, it’s a rush.”

But Wegener, and Alaia apprentice Jacob Stuth, will be the first to explain that behind the challenge lies a world of function. In other words, the Alaia isn’t just a novelty piece. It’s a legitimate surfcraft that open-minded surfers should look to add to their quiver.

“I have so many different boards,” says Stuth, a Noosa local who, like Wegener, is no slouch on a mal. “and constantly I’m coming back to the Alaias. A big part of it is the speed. The essence of these boards is that there’s minimal drag and maximum trim.”

And the proof is in the pudding, because just watching these boards being ridden speaks volumes to their function. A practiced Alaia rider like these two, once standing and in trim, can achieve a much higher line on the wave face than a regular board, and with that high line does come the burst of speed. The board sans fin, its total lack of rocker, and a pre-surf application of linseed oil on the bottom of the board all assist in this propulsion. Once the board blasts across the face and goes out onto the shoulder, the normal result is the lala, or controlled sliding, style of surfing unique to the Alaia.

“You’re going down the wave,” explains Wegener, “and the wave gets really steep. You come up high and are right in the steep face and slide sideways. Your tail will drift out towards shore, and then slowly you put your weight on the tail again and then your nose comes around and you kind of climb up the wave again and then take off like a rocket. You’re really working your rails and your balance, to break free, regain control, then climb again. It’s just the nicest feeling.”

Wegener has also been enthralled with the prone-position version of the Alaia. Nowadays, he’s often spotted laying on this shorter version of the finless Paulownia plank, streaking across tiny waves at top speeds, with a genuinely childlike, ear to ear grin extending happily across his visage.

“I’ve ridden boogie boards,” says Tom, “and they speed up fast and then they slow down, where with the Alaia it just keeps going. They have inertia, and so much more surface area, that you can traverse across an open ocean swell so much further than a boogie board. I haven’t really experimented with the (prone) Alaia in bigger waves, but if it’s under shoulder high it will just go so much faster. So I’d say in smaller waves it’s a much better, faster board.”

Where these experiments with the Alaias will lead remains a mystery to Wegener and Stuth. Both the equipment, and the skills the duo have on it, are likely still in their infancies. All they know is that it’s a fun, fresh outlet by which they can tap into the essential stoke of surfing.
“I won’t say it’s better than carving off the bottom on a tri fin and going up and smashing the lip,” concludes Wegener, “but I will say that, to me, it’s just as much fun.”

Airplanes, especially the ones that hold you hostage for long periods of time, are nothing short of incubators for all sorts of nasty bugs needing homes in the recesses of one’s body before being eradicated by the immune system. I’m no physician, and so what I say on the matter is dubious, but I’m a fairly healthy guy and have gotten absolutely annihilated by bugs a few times on long flights, and am quite sad to report that the only mile high club I belong to is the one where I go to puke in the airplane bathroom, not the other club where, well, you know . . .

Early last June, I received a call from a friend named Dean, asking if I’d want to take part in a surf trip. The original photographer had backed out for personal reasons, and so Dean was keen to get me on board. I had a part time job at a winery in Paso Robles I explained to him, along with some other stuff going on. But the part time job and the other stuff was immediately tossed aside when he told me that the trip would be paid for and that I’d be shooting with WCT surfers Kai Otton and Luke Stedman in an almost completely unexplored region of South America where, should there be swell, we’d be greeted by a variety of different wave setups that I wouldn’t want to miss.

Yet last June there was something of a mega-flu bug swarming to and fro throughout South America during their winter season. And so as I arrived in an airport at the foot of the Andes Mountains, fresh off a 10-hour flight next to the window unable to move due to the larger passengers situated closer to the aisle, I felt just a touch like I was dying. We drove many hours to the south where Dean has a house, and I proceeded to crash, the illness pinning me to the bed. Shortly thereafter, at the height of my perception that my head would soon explode like some grisly scene from Aliens, in march Otton and Stedman, fresh off an 8 hour drive from the airport, stoked to finally be at Dean- o’s, and the stoke shone through in a fantastic and typical-Aussie display of laughter and shit-talking and general excitedness that I would have loved normally but that made my head feel like a veritable Hindenberg given my poor state of mind and body. I came down to meet the boys. Both had just made the quarterfinals at the Teahupoo WCT contest in Tahiti. Both were stoked out of their minds. Both were loud and happy and positive and wanted to rock out. Both made me feel like my head was about to pop. Good thing the swell wasn’t scheduled to arrive until the next day. Back to bed.

I would awake the next day feeling both in the mood to shoot and spaz out with my new friends, but it was just a bummer to mentally miss everything on the long drive down the coast the previous day: the world’s driest desert is here, as is one of the planet’s most productive wine regions; it hosts the towering and majestic Andes Mountains along the length of nearly the whole country; and it’s home to some of the largest remaining ice fields and glaciers on the globe.
And the nation’s social and political history is just as fascinating and varied as its terrain. In the last half century it has seen some wild times, like when its democratically elected socialist president Salvador Allende was overthrown by the CIA-backed dictator Augusto Pinochet, and the nation has dealt with the social and political effects of the coup ever since. Many of the wealthy and conservative preferred the coup, while those left-leaning saw it as nothing short of illegal and barbaric as several thousand Allende supporters “disappeared” in the mid 70’s, many tortured in a downtown soccer stadium that the Pinochet regime used as a makeshift interrogation and torture center.

Many younger folks in the country, including surfers, are fans of Americans and American pop-culture and have treated me with respect when I’ve been down there, but it should come as no surprise that given the U.S.’s role in helping promote a military dictatorship while thwarting democratic processes, that some in the nation view gringos with a suspicious eye.

Dean is a guy for whom a devotion to scoring great surf is paramount to many things in life. Yet he’s a respectful guy, and so when he chose a place in which to build a home, he chose an area that would ruffle the least feathers as possible, an area so remote and so south of the typical surf regions of the country that, when I awoke from my sickened slumber, was shocked to go for a drive and see flawless surf setups, many of them, and not a soul in the water at most. When we did rock up at a spot that had a small pod of 2 or 3 locals, they all seemed to know my friend, and shared waves and smiles and were stoked on the fact that some new people had come to share in their general solitude. It should be noted that some local, native surfers here want to keep Gringos out – especially it seems in the more crowded central and northern regions - based at least in part on the shady role Americans have had in the country in the past. Fair enough. Yet others, like this one mellow pod in particular, and several others I’ve come across in other parts of the country, couldn’t care less about our presence, and in fact embraced it. An interesting country indeed.

“Oh, frick! Look, mate!” exclaims Otton as he jumps from the passenger seat of the rental 4WD and runs toward the beach. He calls Stedman “Frick”, as in he’s a frickin’ steady surfer. He doesn’t call him Steady, or Steds, but Frick.
“Frick! Let’s go, let’s go. Did you see that Wedge, mate?” asks Kai.
“Oh no way! This beachie looks more Hossegor than Hossegor!” replies Frick.
Dean-o just stares and laughs. All three suit up on a cold, cloudy, glassy day somewhere in South America, and run toward the massive A-frames freight-training forward in symmetrical though chaotic fashion until lurching over shallow sandbars and exploding in impressive displays of whitewater oblivion. I wanted no part of it, but for a couple guys who just happen to be among the best big-gnarly-gut-wrenching-wave chargers in the world, it was child’s play. Kai got the biggest and best waves, and also took a fantastic wipeout, not making it under the ledge on a double overhead bomb and getting pitched straight into the sand after freefalling some 15 feet. He came up laughing and smiling and hooting and screaming and, even with part of his board’s tail crushed in from just eating sand, paddled right back out for more punishment.
And as the wind flipped and it began to drizzle, I packed up and walked back to the car to wait for the boys, content as well to get to be a part of such a cool adventure, and to do so with new friends in a complex, interesting, and highly contrasting new culture. And at least with the immune system having just rebooted, I probably wouldn’t be getting the flu again any time too soon.

JK): So you were a longtime resident of the Gold Coast here in Australia. A few years back, you picked up and moved an hour south of the hustle and bustle of the Goldie. What’s changed for you?

DR): When I left the Gold Coast, there were a lot of things going on at the same time, that make it difficult when looking back to pinpoint exactly what was responsible for doing what change. At that time I was turning twenty-one. I just moved out of home into the first home that I had bought, being fortunate enough to buy a really cheap little, kind of cockroach box in the back hills of Burleigh. As a nineteen year old it was just crazy to be able to do that so young. So that was pretty trippy. So I moved into my own house, met Hannah, who was the first proper girlfriend relationship in my whole life. Throughout all my teenage years I was traveling too much, uninterested, and basically crap when it came to girls. So here I was, falling crazily in love with her, moving out of home, turning 21, stopping competition at the exact same time I met Hannah. I moved down here, and that was that.
Going back to your question of what’s changed, it’s so much that I’m like a totally different person. At that time I was partying heaps, just before I left the Goldie, and I came down here and stopped drinking excessively, partying excessively, going out at all – stopped completely – because I only ever went out to find girls.
When I left the Goldie I was all about external things, doing things, going places, going out, meeting people, doing stuff all the time. Then, over the course of the last five years of not being there, doing that sort of thing, it’s just gotten deeper and deeper to the point where, like now, my life’s not crazy busy. There needs to be a balance in my life of stillness and nothingness, and busy-ness. Activity and inactivity. And I don’t put money, fame, all those other things above, or below, stillness, and freedom in space and time. To be able to just chill, relax, do yoga, sit quietly, peacefully . . . Those kinds of things to me are equal: not more or less than having plenty of money in the bank and going on wonderful adventures overseas, and all that kind of thing.

JK): I’ve heard you mention that surfing is a celebration of life, a way to have fun that shouldn’t be taken too seriously. Can you expand on this?

DR): Well, surfing can also be one of the most challenging things for me in my whole life, easily. I get so excited when I go surfing, to catch waves, so amped and stoked, that to surf with crowds makes it really challenging for me sometimes. Most of the time I will just go to places that aren’t anywhere near as good as somewhere else that’s crowded. But I’ll go there just to have some space. For me that’s a really great learning opportunity and challenge for me to be able to be in the thick of aggressive attitudes, or in the thick of busy-ness in the water and be okay with it. Most of the times I’m not okay with it. Most of the times I just go ‘I can’t handle this!’, and I just split. So it’s a huge challenge for me. I don’t find that kind of frustration anywhere else in my life, other than when I go surfing with crowds and aggressive attitudes and stuff.
So in that way, it’s the most powerful teacher in my life, because it is the source of a crazy amount of joy and stoke, and amazing experiences, and the source of the most challenging lessons, in how to deal with people and attitudes. And how to deal with being out of control of situations, being under a wave and being totally pounded by a wave and realizing you’ve got no control over the situation, and just having to let it go, and just relax. So it’s just a loaded, treasure chest of opportunity in surfing, for me. So it’s an interesting one.
It’s the thing I think I’d really like to let go of most in my life – just being able to deal with other people’s attitudes and not be fazed. Because it’s definitely the source of my greatest frustrations.

JK: Being able to deal with attitudes, whether surfing or on the freeway or anywhere?

DR): That’s the funny thing – it doesn’t translate into any other areas of my life. I don’t really attract bar fights and road rage and all the other stuff that we can encounter on land that much. It’s when I go surf that I encounter funky attitudes and stuff the most. It’s an awesome opportunity to just keep letting go.

JK): So it’s no secret that you have a couple atypical habits. Can you touch on why, or on what needs you fulfill, by fasting and not speaking on Tuesdays?

DR): Activity and Inactivity. Just a balance of both. Just that really. Eating a lot, which, for me, in the past has been a kind of unconscious act, in a way of being comforting, or because I’m bored, or because I’m really looking forward to the taste of something. Rather than an actual physical need for it, there was a kind of unconscious aspect to eating that I think most of us pretty much have, when you look at the foods we eat, the quantity of foods, the quality. So the fasting is just to give my body a rest. I surf a lot and do things, so I eat a lot. But I was feeling like all I did was eat my whole life, and I really didn’t need to eat that much. Just to give my body a break.
The same with not talking. It’s kind of like letting go of the feeling like I had to add my two cents, like when people are talking in a normal conversation, and someone’s sharing a story of theirs and before they’re finished, you’re kind of conspiring your next move, or your story, your contribution to bring the energy of the group or the focus of everyone around you back onto you, getting energy from them, that kind of thing. So I really enjoy letting that go. Just realizing ‘Ah, it’s really not that important. Who gives a shit if I don’t tell that story’. Or just listening to people and going, ‘Yeah? Cool. Great. Nice’, and just actually listening, instead of going “yeah, yeah, yeah,” and saying yes and nodding while thinking about your own story. Just going ‘Oh right. That’s what’s actually going on for you? Have you tried this? How does it feel when you do that?’ and actually listening and being there with someone.
Also, just sending my attention inwards, and just acknowledging my body and all the things that let me go surfing and do all the fun things I do: ‘Wow, thanks calf muscles! You make me bottom turn and walk around and go up and down steps. Thanks, knees! You make me bend and stretch and reach for the skies. Fuck, this is really cool! I’ve got a body and I can do all this stuff! Awesome! Thank you! Really cool!” It sounds kind of weird, but it’s like a turning-in and acknowledging all the things that most of the time I overlook and almost take for granted.
There’s many different things about that day of chilling out that are really enjoyable.

JK): You’ve said that your meditation practices help with so many aspects of your life. How do they help with your day to day?

DR): That experience of no-mind, or even just a really focused mind – like being able to focus on one thing, like your breath, or painting, or music, or surfing, or whatever – is really like a sharpening of the blade of the mind. For me it feels like when I have a space of no-mind, or very focused mind, that when I go back to use it in the logistical way of using it like a tool - to think about things, solve problems, all that kind of stuff – it’s sharp, very sharp in comparison to how it would be when I don’t have those experiences. It goes into every single aspect of life then: making decisions on all levels, challenges, emotions, whatever. It all kind of goes into every experience. That was what I was saying about integration. Rather than just going to sit down to chill and dissolve, you then come back to form and come back to realizing ‘Here I am. Body, work, life, things to do,’ and it’s sharper, energized, and really fresh and in a really focused way. And that feels really, really enjoyable in all experiences. That’s the way it’s used in my life, the way it works, the way it just happens, that’s just the formula that has bubbled up and surfaced in my life. That nothing just goes into every aspect of life.

JK): Is there any sort of philosophy by which you carry about your day-to-day life, any guiding principals that help you keep focus on the bigger picture?

DR): Well there’s lots of those in terms of little quotes, and concepts, and little observations and things. But I don’t really take them seriously. They kind of just come and go, and they’re applicable at times. They feel really applicable and appropriate. But then I kind of let them go and don’t really take them on board as a belief, as a structured rule of my life. Because tomorrow I’m going to be a totally different person from who I am today. Something will happen and I’ll have a different situation at hand. And so it seems to be against the flow of life, for me, to make things rigid in ways of beliefs and rules when life all around me and within me is not rigid. Always changing, always moving. So if anything, my belief is no belief. My rule is no rules. It really doesn’t feel like the flow of life should be obstructed by rules.
But if they are, and they have been in my life, then obviously they happen for some kind of reason, and the universe isn’t stupid – it made it happen. It put enough energy into that moment to make something physical manifest, and something just happens. So there’s a lot of intelligence and a lot of energy that’s gone into that event as well.
I used to hold onto a lot of ideas and beliefs and creeds, from just having a dad and mum who would say things to you, like when you’re told as a kid the rules of life and stuff. But it really feels like a very intelligent force under there that is guiding things that to me feels far more intelligent and all-knowing than my 26 years worth of brain activity.