If a patrol boat catches you, you’ll likely find yourself boarded, arrested, and towed to the island’s naval dock for booking. It’s not cheap and it’s not pleasant and it happens every year. This isn’t sneaking into the Ranch, and the result won’t be a hand slap. It’s a naval trespass violation in a Mexican district that made its bones sealing in some of the country’s most dangerous felons: mad bombers, state enemies, transnational organized-crime gangsters.
Night and the Iguana
If you have designs on surfing—or escaping from—a prison island, you’re going to have to pay.
I am by nature a loner and a solitary traveler. So a man on a wave really does mean everything to me and often seems a metaphor for the way I’ve lived my life.
Under The Wave
An interview with Paul Theroux.
After his performance on Huge Monday, Hawk, became a luminary of the transition era. He was easily recognizable, with stereotypical surfer good looks, a well-toned physique, and tousled blond hair. His persona was part matador and part rodeo clown, with a combination of classic style and innovative surfing.
When Sam Hawk migrated to the North Shore from the oil derricks of Huntington Beach, he dragged along a steamer trunk of verve, commitment, and era-defining talent.
Sure, a chip on one’s shoulder can serve as a motivator for people who need to dominate the competitive systems we populate. But in surfing, that chip can drown you.
Essay: Either You Surf Or You Fight
In the face of high art, one surfer finds his humble place.
The photography of Slim Aarons.
The ocean is a powerful presence in Rea’s work: abstract waves that wrap around animal skulls like shrouds, mountainous peaks that threaten to engulf families and bodysurfers and businessmen, tidal surges as destructive as they are alluring that sweep over entire coastlines.
For Gold Coast artist and surfer Joel Rea, the struggle is sublime.
The Screwtape Letters
For over a decade, Joel Tudor has continued to pound a square peg into a round hole. But has the Duct Tape Invitational finally managed to make organized surfing…cool?
In the Hall of the Mountain King
South Africa’s Sunset Reef is ready for a close-up.
He was lean, and sinewy rather than thick-muscled. He was deeply lined and leathery from decades of sun, with bright lizard eyes and a lizard face and long skinny hands, and many of his tattoos were sun-faded and others indistinguishable from bruises.
Surf fiction excerpted from the Under The Wave at Waimea.
Portfolio: Group Show
Eighteen pages of visual surf stimuli from the game’s best photographers.
This issue’s departments section opens with a surf-related totem to Americana: Coastline at Lover’s Point IV, by Japanese painter Hiroshi Nagai.
Salina Cruz locals believe that the port should be built a few miles east in La Ventosa, where it wouldn’t do as much damage to the waves, the ecology, and their livelihoods. But AMLO wants what AMLO wants, and a few local surf guides and environmental groups aren’t going to stop him.
The Rabbit at Risk: Mexico’s El Presidente wants to Elmer Fudd one of Salina Cruz’s prized right-handers.
Breakneck: An ominous logotype leads to near disaster.
Over the next few days, front-lit, green barrels ran nonstop with a ruler’s edge down the reef—school-notebook-drawing-type waves reeling over and over and over again.
Best I Ever Saw
No Hangover: True perfection rides the coattails at Nias.
How-to-fix-your-sled reading recs, five-figure high-fashion wax, the best in post-surfing baked goods, and other assorted sundries dug from the surf sphere and its frontage roads.
John had a knack for surf content. He could write, draw, and shoot photos, and he was acquainted with pretty much all the players in the sport. By year three, the title was solid. By year five, he was buying new office furniture.
Lights Out: A requiem for Surfer magazine.