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While TSJ doesn’t produce “theme” issues, our next edition could be seen as a surf traveler’s wish book. From surprising spins on familiar places—Chile, Bali, Florida—to rarely-visited resources like the Azores and the Bay of Fundy, 23.2 is an exercise in global surf reportage. In the transit lounge, you’ll find the typically vivid assortment of culture, profiles, and wave energy. Strap in.

Page 18
The Ecstasy of Invention | by Tom Morey

The Ecstasy of Invention by Tom Morey

Since our first year of publication in 1992, it has been a matter of habit for us to check in with designer/surfer/jazzman Tom Morey. Besides bringing some profound boom-bap on the snare drum, Mr. Morey pushes the collective “us” to regularly consider that which lives beneath our feet. He worries for our experience: “…board builders have slowly gained an understanding of how sharper trailing edges give a board more speed (although) the idea of convex curves causing suction has never garnered an audience: the perennial focus remains building thinner, lighter, cheaper…whatever will sell.” Mr. Morey has some suggestions for remediation, and you’ll read it here.

Page 24
Romeiros of the Mid-Atlantic | by Beau Flemister

Romeiros of the Mid-Atlantic by Beau Flemister

It’s been there all along. Those rocks and canyons and fog banks and vineyards. The Azores have hidden in plain view, generally regarded as a place of huge swell, treacherous volcanic foreshores, and an inhospitable vibe. A “there be dragons” legend on a chart. But there’s more to it than that. And that “more” is reefs, sandbars, coves, and the sort of conditional options that only islands offer. Some of the East Coast U.S. crew are going so far as claiming the chain as “their Hawaii.” Turns out it’s only fives hours from JFK. Let this be your primer.

Page 34
Priboy, Tovarishch! (Surf, Comrade!) | by Mariah Ernst

Priboy, Tovarishch! (Surf, Comrade!)

Have you heard about the Russians of Bali? Damnedest thing. Rubled-up youth from the motherland have discovered the climate, favorable exchange rate, and 24-hour party platform of everyone’s favorite Hindu paradise. And they’ve found surfing. No one is sure how many Russians have landed, but it isn’t going unnoticed. Not with the way the gals look. Not with the amount of Cyrillic surf school signage. Not with the amount of droning EDM pumping from speaker cones around Kuta. So what does it mean? Mariah Ernst reports.

Page 42
Guerrilla Tactics | by Kohl Christensen and Nathan Fletcher

Guerrilla Tactics

Photographer Dan Russo—every bit as dangerous as the big wave freebooters he chronicles—is always down for a challenge. And while North Shore based, he is all too willing to plunge into ice-bath circumstances far from the Palm Latitudes. He recently found himself in Chile, on the prowl for rumored Virgin Size. He traveled with Nathan Fletcher and Kohl Christensen. In Hawaii, they’re known as chargers. In Australia, they’re known as Hell Men. Most of us just call them Bat Shit, and hope their premiums are paid up. See what they stumbled into—and down the faces of.

Page 54
Room for Two | by Jamie Brisick

Room for Two

This tale of mother and son is unique on a variety of levels. Janet MacPherson was not only one of the original hot gal surfers at Malibu (coming along just after Aggie Bain and her flock), she has maintained a healthy pilot light of stoke since those sepia-tinged days. A deeply experienced Bajera, Janet knows more nooks and crannies in Mexico than any dozen sunburned Pacifico-swillers. That’s how she raised her boy, Sean. Sure, he might own and operate the hippest hotels in Manhattan—including the Jane and the Maritime—but it’s comforting to learn that he has the ballast of surf experience keeping his roots moist.

Page 62
Portfolio: Jack Belli

Portfolio: Jack Belli

Writer (and occasional subject) Devon Howard on this issue’s featured photographer: “The unassuming appearance of this 23-year-old—average height, lean build, clean cut, a skateboarder’s sense of dress, framed by timelessly styled ophthalmic eyewear—may accentuate his surprisingly traditional work ethics, at least to those who don’t know him well. Beneath Jack’s polite and jovial nature is a motivated and creative doer. He’s no blue-faced kid living an uninvolved, self-important life through his phone. Jack is always out there, somewhere, lurking in the cut, making shit happen: Down the beach, up in the rocks, or just out of sight—sniping grade-A images.”

Page 80
Captain Goodvibes | by Tony Edwards

Captain Goodvibes

While the US press birthed the prototype of the surf mag cartoon character—Griffin’s “Murphy”—Australia’s Tracks magazine delivered a version as dirty, scurrilous, and profane as their Cockney-ripped slang. His name was Captain Goodvibes and he was instantly embraced, indeed loved. This flatulent wonderpig became a standard bearer for the National surf consciousness. He got tubed. He rooted incessantly. He “sat on his ring and swilled gin.” He was a dole-bludging, untrustworthy lay-about with nothing on his mind beyond the next drink, the next swell, and the ripest sow he could hustle. Raise your glass to the heavens and oink.

Page 90
Flushed | by Yassine Ouhilal

Flushed

The Bay of Fundy lives in our consciousness as a Jeopardy question, a faint recollection from junior high geography class, a pungent line from a salty limerick. Things have changed. A clever bit of civic engineering has literally opened the floodgates, and the famous tides are once again force-fed right down the goose’s throat. The resulting bore waves are long, regular, and extravagantly strange. The New Brunswick hamlet of Moncton finds itself vying for the title, “Canada’s Surf City.” Whether that’s a blessing or a curse depends on how the resource is managed. TSJ regular Yazzy lays it out for us.

Page 102
Bienvenidos a Miami | by Nick Farago

Bienvenidos a Miami

Cigars! Clubs! Marching powder! Jeb Bush! Endangered German tourists! Reality porn! Who doesn’t have a soft spot for flamingo-dripping, rope chain-swinging Miami? Well, the author, for starters. And he’s from there. Originally. He fled, you see. But remarkably, the absence has led to a fond heart. And bolstered by some vivid photography, he makes a fair case for those rare moments when the shore is graced by hurricane lines. When sand as white as an Andean slope is pounded by bottle-green A-frames. Then there’s that Eva Mendes thing…

Page 112
Journeyman Jones | by Nathan Myers

Journeyman Jones

Raised on the beach at Rocky Point, Mikala Jones departed from his North Shore home by his early 20s to set up a life on Bali. Why leave such idyllic surf roots behind? As it turns out Mikala didn't quite leave. Instead, he decided to live between two surf meccas, working both hemispheres to benefit of his year-round tube-chasing program.