"Some turns are rare and getting rarer in the era of lightweight, disposable designs," Derek Hynd wrote of the vanishing art of the committed bottom turn in TSJ issue 22.1. Even on his friction-free crafts, Hynd still manages to commit to a few Barry Kanaiaupuni-inspired hooks off the bottom, noting that "B.K. could never plot a soul arch when a FOBT was in order." Photo: Pete Frieden/A-frame
Hello. And welcome to the Cacimba Café. I’m your server, Fernando, and today we’re offering our house special: the Waterberg Wedge, with an optional side of locally-grown, free-range peak-jockey Victor Ribas, tossed in mint greens, and served over a bed of sand churned in-house. Of all our cuts and varieties of wedge, it is by far our most popular and modestly priced. Enjoy. Photo: Pete Frieden
If "Surfers Paradise" and "Surf City" were ever accurate descriptors of their respective locales, they're growing misnomers as the sand in places like Australia's Gold Coast becomes an essential commodity for continued development. Still, when the fall-time deluge of cyclones push swells into the points and beaches, there are still more than a few sand-packed paths for the choosing. Photo: Andrew Shield
Airline flights compared and booked and measured against company policy and oversized baggage fees. Calls about text messages and emails about swell charts delivered to personal computers. Models, "the charts," approximations of the real thing. Men standing over coffins. Guns stacked in bags. Boyhood fantasies and larger-than-human projections resized to your handheld device. All of it forgetten between churning water and a pack of neoprene-laden men. All of it absurd when leaning into the bowl, blinded by an east breeze. Dan Malloy, thoughtless and pure kinetic energy at Mavericks. Photo: Frank Quirarte
Paul Has strains through a warm mucus of sand and salt, dilating the North Shore's walls to maximum capacity, straining toward the light for a fresh glimpse at the world outside. Photo: Foley/A-Frame
As seen in our print feature, Chris Klopf has a kink for the Future Primitive—new surfing on old equipment. That retro jive. So he invites the scene's vivid citizenry to his stretch of beach, and they burn through some memory cards and some beers.
Here, Knost jams the brakes for a connection with Klopf on the shoulder. For more from Klopf's extra credit gallery of moments from this past winter, click here.
Early season in Hawaii used to be a sneaky time of year. Sneaky swells, sneaky sessions. "Back in the day" October was the calm before the storm on the North Shore. But the coconut wireless has since been high-graded to wifi, and now not a ripple trickles through without somebody posting it on Facebook or typing cryptic tweets on their smartphone. The drama of "opening day at Jaws" was well scrutinized almost before Shane Dorian even pulled into what he's since called the best wave of his life. On Oahu, Pipeline awoke and moved some sand around and the outer reefs hinted at what could be this El Nino-fueled winter. But there's solace in knowing that even with all of the hype and hoopla surrounding every pulse that steams down from the North Pacific, just dodging shorebreak is enough to keep you on your toes. Photo: Bernie Baker
Locked and loaded during the shoot of Keith Malloy's film "Come Hell or High Water." If you haven't taken the time, plant your belly on the couch and take it in, you'll be a true believer in the beauty of whomp by the time the credits roll. Photo: Chris Burkard
Proud father: "5:30 a.m. Newport Beach, CA, two days ago before the crowd! Check out how close he is to the beach...two feet of water! Ahhhhh, to be young and foolish again, huh? The rider........Cooper Jack McCoy." Photo: Jack McCoy
Before there were the Mentawais, the Bintang-fueled boat trips. Before Bali became Waikiki with bemos, there was a time in the glorious saga that is Indonesian surf history in which G-Land reigned supreme. As surfers we've uncovered a lot of perfect waves since those early days in the jungle with the tigers and the tree house and what not. And while time always rush forward like an incoming tide, some things remain fantastically the same. Dave Thomas, G-Land camp photographer, hell surfer, father of one. Photo: Mike Findlay
One typically sees Puerto Escondido front lit, big, blue and barrelling. But playing with light, color, contrast, saturation and grain's a photographers delight, as evidence by this moody bomb. Same wave we've seen a thousand times, different look. Photo: Luciano Hinkle
It was a slow, boring summer until a trio of chubascos lined up and turned the West Coast on. Finally, the doldrums were broken, there was sunny reason to go to the beach. The water temp's bumped up again, and while the storm activity has dwindled, hope has been restored. Photo: Jon Steele
What a difference some offshore wind can make. Take a stormy sea and turn it into a beautiful, dreamy environment that stirs the surfers imagination. It may not be perfection defined, but it does kind of make you want to get on an airplane and go somewhere. Asturias, Northern Spain. Photo: Elmo Hernandez
Pick a peak and win. Last week in Maine was better than a game of Wack-A-Mole. It hasn't been the best summer back east, hot and lake-like is how it was described by a friend of ours in Jersey, but to be sure, there have been moments. Photo: Michael Kew
John John Florence and Kolohe Andino are the poster children for cash-infused grommethood. Both came up in the spotlight, one at Pipeline the other at Trestles. Two different styles, two different approaches to surfing, but one conjoined path, driven by their mutual towheaded marketablity. Ask either of them an they'll tell you how much they like and appreciate the other, but to be sure, like any good rivalry, a competitive fire burns between the two. With a breakout season on the ASP tour, so far Florence owns Andino, but considering neither of them are old enough to grow much more than peach fuzz in their respective chins, the drama is just now beginning to unfold. Photo: Tom Servais