Wake in Flight

Wade Goodall’s story charts the arc of post-millennium surfing. One of the iconic Y2K aerial whiz kids, Goodall made his name in the water with an off-kilter, creative energy. He surfed fast, loose, and fun. The 2005 feature film Passion Pop—named after his signature off-the-lip shove-it and a bottle of cheap, headache-inducing wine—captured the sizzle of an era when contracts stretched as long as the boardshorts. His follow-up project, Creative Destruction, helped pioneer the web-clip blog format that shaped surf media for years.

But then came the surf industry’s great reckoning. Budgets were reviewed. Belts were tightened. And as contracts dried up, Goodall’s body broke down. In 2011, at age 25, he pulled into a small backhand barrel a few bays down from Angourie. The lip bucked his board back with unnatural force, whipping it under his leg. His tibia and fibula shattered instantly. It was a compound fracture, like something out of a bad kung fu movie. Two years later, he managed to break his femur at a spot not 1,000 feet from where he’d had his original stack.

For a high-flying freesurfer whose livelihood depended on functioning shock absorbers, the injuries could have ended his career outright. Around the same time—just as he and his partner welcomed their firstborn to the world—he parted ways with Billabong, his sponsor since he was 11. Goodall suddenly found himself with two crook legs and a young family to support. “It was an up-and-down period, that’s for sure,” laughs the notoriously understated Queenslander. “For a while there, I really wasn’t sure, direction-wise, where I was going.”

A third leg break in 2015, just after signing with Vans, threatened to derail the show entirely. Momentum slowly returned, however. Vans gave him the stability and time to focus on creative outlets: art, design, film. In 2020, he released Pentacoastal with director Shane Fletcher, a moody love letter to the Australian landscape—and one of the best surf films of the past decade. It reintroduced Goodall as a mature, deliberate version of himself: still stylish, still inventive, arguably surfing better than ever.

Today, Goodall is a father of two and nudging 40. He’s still surfing for Vans, holding his own with the stacked Rage crew, and exploring new pursuits wherever curiosity—or necessity—leads. The volume’s lower than in those heady Passion Pop days, but the rhythm remains.

NK Give us a bit of an introduction to Wade Goodall: where you grew up, how you started surfing, who your influences were.

WG I grew up in Lake Conjola, on the South Coast of New South Wales, but only really started surfing once we moved to Caloundra on the Sunshine Coast. I just fell in love with it. There are a lot of great surfers from that area, so it’s a good place to push each other and have fun. 

NK Who were some of your influences there, in and out of the water?

WG A big mentor was David Scard. He taught me about big-wave surfing and would take me when I was young to experience that. He worked at G-Land for a long time. When I was about 14, Dad would take me on trips there, and we’d hang out. Those first experiences, riding big boards for the first time, were eye-opening—seeing what he and some of the other guys were doing. And then that carried into later years with guys like Laurie Towner and Dylan Longbottom. That bug never leaves you. As you get older and start traveling, you make the most of those kinds of waves when they come around. 

NK It’s funny you mention big-wave surfers as inspiration, because, for a generation of Australians like me, you were so well known for your small-wave wizardry.

WG Yeah, I loved doing tricks when I was little. That was the only thing you could do on the Sunshine Coast when the waves were so piss weak. I’d think, “How am I going to make this wave fun?” That’s why I did it, and that’s how I surf to this day. Whatever wave is there, I’m just trying to make it as fun as possible.

NK We can’t talk about those early days without mentioning the Passion Pop. You were late teens or early twenties at that stage. What do you remember about that time?

WG Like I said, I was just doing things for fun. The waves I grew up surfing were pretty forgiving, and you could try anything. At that point, I was just exploring whatever I could do on a surfboard, and then a few things took off, like that move, and people noticed. I used to watch guys like Ratboy [Jason Collins], Joe Crimo, Nathan and Christian Fletcher in the American airshow series. I was obsessed. So I was just following in their footsteps. With that move—basically a pop shove-it—someone said, “You gotta name that!” My mate Dean Brady said, “It’s called the Passion Pop, because you drink so much of it!” Basically, it’s a cheap bottle of wine we used to drink because we were poor kids hanging out in the park. So that’s how it came about. I didn’t even name it. Dean did, and it just stuck.

NK And how do you feel looking back at it?

WG When you look back at anything you do, it’s not embarrassing, but it’s cringey in a way. It’s such a nonsensical maneuver for a surfboard, and not really functional. But if you take off on a 2-foot wave with a soft little wall, that was the funnest thing I could think of doing. Just a time and place, you know?

NK After the era of long-form surf movies, you were one of the first to transition to web clips. How did you get involved with Creative Destruction? Did you sense web content would replace DVDs and VHS, or was it just organic?

WG Creative Destruction was fun because it felt like a new direction. I was watching what Dane [Reynolds] and Dion [Agius] were doing, and it looked super fun. Billabong gave me and director Jake Donlen of Runamuk Visuals a lot of freedom to experiment. We’d put things out, then ask the audience what they wanted us to do next. The project ranged from surfing with Metallica in Costa Rica to visiting an orphanage in Mexico [to take the kids surfing]. It was fun to document, and a nice change from the part-based movies I’d been in. It also sparked my interest in producing and directing. From then on, I tried to keep a heavy hand in whatever I was making—keeping it personal.

NK Moving into the 2010s, you faced injuries, a major sponsor change, and starting a family. How’d you navigate that period?

WG All up, I broke my leg three times. The first two happened while I was parting ways with Billabong, and then, just as I was feeling good and back on track, I broke it again. On land, I was happy and content. We’d just had my daughter, Violet. But that was scary too—you suddenly have to provide. I didn’t know what would happen. At the time, I was riding Vans just for shoes, and luckily Scott Sisamis and Nolan Hall got to know me and believed in me. They signed me, and I credit Vans, Scott, and Nolan for rebirthing my career. They gave me so much freedom. In hindsight, that period was actually good for me because it changed the way I surfed. I used to punish myself on a wave, but after my injuries, I couldn’t surf like that. I slowed down and rebuilt my fundamentals from the ground up every time. Rebuilding gave me longevity—or maybe it stopped me, I don’t know. I wonder what I could’ve done without the injuries, or if they brought me to a place where I just surf differently.

NK You’ve said before you don’t want  to overdo projects or push something beyond its natural life. But, at the end of the day, you’re still on a payroll. Do you ever feel like you have to sing for your supper? How do you balance that?

WG It’s like any creative pursuit: You get a block, or you burn out and need to rest. It’s about finding new ways to do stuff. Pentacoastal was a huge project for me. When I pitched it and Vans greenlit it, it was the first time I had directed and produced on my own. I brought Shane Fletcher on board because I highly regard his cinematography and filmmaking, and he was an amazing partner. But the creative control was 100 percent mine. I put everything I had into that film. I even tried animation—painting frames for eight months to get the intro and outro scenes. That’s just how I’ve always done things. I believed I could pull it off. In the end, it worked, and I was proud. But you put so much into a film, financially and mentally, and you’re away from family. You want to rest, but then something new pops up. Later, I was lucky to jump on what Harry [Bryant] and Dave [Fox] were doing with Motel Hell, but I took a back seat. They’re creative geniuses. Seeing them work was inspiring. Same with Creed [McTaggart], Noa [Deane], and Toby Cregan on Rage—they keep me excited. It’s about surrounding yourself with good people willing to try new things.

NK It’s interesting you mention Motel Hell. I feel like both films have a similar aesthetic and show a different side of Australia. You’ve mentioned being influenced by movies like Wake in Fright [the 1971 Australian New Wave/Ozploitation thriller set in the Outback]. What was it about that era that inspired you?

WG That whole Ozploitation era embodied everything I see when I travel and surf in Australia. This place is unbelievably beautiful and rich, but also really scary. The agoraphobia, the eeriness of the Outback—it all played big parts of those films. Visually and emotionally, that genre is so cool. A mix of semi-comedy and semi-horror, which to me embodies everything about Australia. I tried to bring that into a surf film without overdoing it. It was about mood and atmosphere rather than going too far.

NK It must have been weird releasing Pentacoastal at the height of COVID—being showered in praise by the surf world for this movie but then being stuck at home with no way to tour it.

WG We got to do one premiere in Hawaii, which went really well. But then, yeah, COVID happened, and our world tour had to be shelved. That was a massive bummer, not getting to travel around and share the experience with people, as it’s such a big part of surf films, I reckon. But, at the same time, it also meant we had a whole lot of eyeballs on it—people had nothing else to do! And when we had the online premiere, we also organized for pizzas to get delivered to crew all around the world. So people were putting the movie on and having pizza rock up at their house, which was pretty cool.

You have to mix it up, feel different things. Conditions change, so you’re not going to surf the same way every day. Through my injuries and experimenting with shaping, I’ve learned to have fun in all sorts of conditions.

NK I see you’ve been doing a bit of shaping recently.

WG Yeah, I’ve always done it here and there, to keep the process in my mind. It’s important to understand your actual tool. Recently, I’ve had the opportunity to work with Chris Brock, which has been really fun. His shaping is honestly under-acknowledged. Chris is a legend, and his board design is incredible once you ride one. The way his bottom contours roll and feel on a big board is pretty special—it’s a feeling I’d never experienced before. It’s addictive, for sure.

NK Tell me about a board you’ve shaped.

WG My most recent is a 7’4″ thruster. I almost blew it with the rocker, and it’s far from perfect, but it goes really well. It’s so different from what I’ve ridden my whole life. I still ride for Channel Islands and love their shortboards, but you can’t ride the same thing every day. You have to mix it up, feel different things. Conditions change, so you’re not going to surf the same way every day. Through my injuries and experimenting with shaping, I’ve learned to have fun in all sorts of conditions. That’s kept me from ever losing my love for surfing.

NK Do you ever think about life after surfing? Where do you see yourself going?

WG I actually just did a film course last year. I want to keep making surf films for as long as possible. That’s my life, and I’ve reached a level where it’s enjoyable, fun, and I’m capable of it. But I roll with it. You don’t know what’s in store, and when your livelihood depends on a sponsor, a lot is out of your control. I’m not lazy, and I always try to over-deliver. I’ll keep doing that until I’m no longer sponsored, and I’ll keep surfing every day. I’m always exploring other avenues so that, in the future, I don’t regret not learning other skills and seeing how they can connect. My motivation is for my family to be happy and have a roof over their heads. That’s why I do everything.