Relentless Industry

Paul Naudé seems remarkably relaxed. We’re sitting on his outdoor patio, overlooking the Pacific Ocean at his home in Laguna Beach, a warm breeze blowing gently across the yard. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers—standard uniform for surf industry types. We’re drinking a pinot grigio, which he made himself from grapes growing in his backyard. It’s surprisingly good, despite its odd golden color. He’s been tinkering with the hue, still not sure why it’s coming out darker than it should.

Naudé likes to tinker, and he likes to make things—surfboards, wines, companies. In surfing circles, he’s most commonly known as the hard-driving executive who’s helped build numerous businesses, including Lighting Bolt, Gotcha, Billabong, and, currently, Vissla. Lesser known are his surfing chops. Naudé was a professional surfer in the 70s with a significant North Shore pedigree. He also has a background in media and photography, which stem from his role as a co-founder of the seminal South African surf pub Zigzag, a title that’s still in existence today.

As we chat, my notebook begins to fill up quickly and my hand starts cramping. There’s seemingly endless ground to cover. Naudé has, and still does, maintain a dizzying number of projects at any one time and I struggle to keep up. I’m spared when the sun begins to set and, courtesy of smoke blown over from a growing brush fire in Trabuco Canyon to the east, the sun begins to morph into a fiery red, elliptical orb. “Oh, it’s going to be a special one,” Naudé says enthusiastically, and dashes into the house to grab his camera gear. Two minutes later, he’s set up on the patio with a tripod and 400mm lens, capturing the scene. 

Naudé has always been relentless in a determined, methodical, unwavering way. At age 62, he’s currently the founder and CEO of Stokehouse Unlimited, an umbrella company formally launched in 2013 that includes Vissla, among several other brands. He’s also the long-standing president of the SIMA Environmental Fund and the driving force behind the Waterman’s Ball, the surf industry’s annual environmental fundraiser. He’s part owner of a safari lodge in South Africa, as well as a co-founder of a rhino conservation non-profit. Co-ownership of a destination resort deep in the remote Tuamotu Islands of French Polynesia also falls into his portfolio. “I’m useless if I’m languishing,” he says matter-of-factly about his considerable workload. “I like to keep busy. If it’s not work, then it’s personal projects.”

*

Naudé was born in Durban, South Africa. At age 10, his family moved to a house on the banks of the Nahoon River, East London, near Nahoon Beach. It was there that he caught his first glimpse of surfing. “I was mesmerized by the guys at Nahoon,” he says. “I would just sit there and watch them glide.” 

Eventually, he gathered the courage to ask to borrow a board, but as a skinny grom, he had a difficult time wrestling the heavy, 10-foot planks of the day. It wasn’t until the family moved back to Durban when he was 12, and subsequently to the beachfront at the Bay of Plenty, that his surfing life began
in earnest.

You’d be hard pressed to find a better environment for a young surfer than Durban’s Bay of Plenty during the 1970s. In addition to Naudé, it produced the likes of Shaun and Michael Tomson, Mike Esposito, Bruce Jackson, Mark Price, and Martin Potter, among others. “It was such a great time and place,” recalls Naudé. “The crew, the culture, the surf—everything revolved around the beach.” 

At the time, it was known as one of the best beachbreaks in the world, with a hollow, spinning right that peeled off of an outside sandbank formed by a rock jetty. In addition, there was also a quality lefthander called the Bay Bowl that broke further inside at higher tides. “In the mid 70s,” says 1977 world champion Shaun Tomson, “the Bay of Plenty had one of the best collections of surfers in the world. We were competitive with each other, but we were all great friends—it was a really tight crew. And there was order out there. You waited your turn, and if you didn’t you got smacked, regardless of how good you were. It was like the Knights of the Round Table. There was a real sense of code and honor at that time. I think that had a huge influence on Paul, and on all of us.”

Naudé grew up in a challenging home environment. His father was an alcoholic, and his parents split when he was 12. He sought solace—and family—at the Bay. “From ’68 through ’72,” he says, “I probably spent more time there than any other place, including school.”

Ernie Tomson, Shaun’s dad, was the unofficial godfather of the beach, serving as both coach and mentor to many of the young surfers. “We all became very close,” says longtime friend and fellow goofyfoot Mike Esposito, who met Naudé when they were both 12 years old. “These were the first guys I met doing this sport that I loved, so we really bonded.”

Dante’s Milk Bar was the preferred hangout. “Everyone would sit there and watch the surf,” says Tomson, “eating anchovy or marmite toast, and drinking tea. We’d sit on these tables outside in the sun, and watch these incredible waves, talk about surfing and girls, and just hang out. It was magical.”

*

Amidst the surfing Shangri-La that was the Bay of Plenty, the beginnings of a South African surf industry began to take root. An industrious surfboard shaper named Mike Larmont led the way, first cutting his teeth at Safari Surfboards, then setting up his own board-building business in 1973.

Naudé had shown an interest in surfboard building at a young age, shaping and glassing a board in his bedroom at 15. “My mom was furious,” he says. 

After he finished high school and served his mandatory year in the South African military, Larmont took Naudé under his wing, hiring him to fix dings, sweep the factory, and take board orders while Larmont went on extended surf trips to Hawaii during the winters. 

“I remember seeing Paul just absolutely rip a 10-foot wave from the channel,” Shaun Tomson recalls. “He did this huge, swinging bottom turn and off-the-top combo.”

As the orders piled up, Naudé quickly graduated to laminating, sanding, and finishing boards. Larmont asked him to stay on permanently. “I was supposed to go to college and study to be a sugar technologist,” says Naudé with a laugh. “My mom was like, ‘You’ve been smoking marijuana in that factory!’ But that was it, I was off to the races.”

Things began to happen quickly. Larmont met Randy Rarick on an early trip to the Islands, and Rarick became a close friend and mentor. The relationship helped establish a strong link between Durban and the North Shore, both in surfing and business, and opened up opportunities for the South Africans. “At that time, it was all about Hawaii,” says Naudé. “We were obsessed with anything Hawaiian.”

Larmont and Naudé became the Lightning Bolt licensees for South Africa, and eventually added Rip Curl to their portfolio. They opened retail shops that mainly sold surfboards, but increasingly began to carry apparel and other goods. Meanwhile, the Gunston 500 had become a staple on the international contest scene. The event gave the South Africans a competitive platform, and provided a reason for the surfing world to flock to Durban each year—which was particularly important during the isolating era of apartheid. 

With the Durban-Hawaii connection firmly established by Larmont and Rarick, the Saffas began making the annual pilgrimage to the North Shore. Shaun Tomson had made an early trip to Hawaii during the historic winter of ’69, returning with stories of colossal surf and epic rides, including being witness to Greg Noll’s infamous ride at Makaha. “When Shaun came back and told us about Hawaii,” says Naudé, “we were literally hanging on his every word.”

Naudé’s first visit was in the winter of 1975, when he stayed on the floor at Rarick’s house at Sunset Beach. “I really respected the South Africans, and tried to do my best to help them out in Hawaii,” says Rarick. “They were respectful, polite, and never beat their chests. I appreciated that. Also, because I had been to South Africa, I wanted to reciprocate the hospitality I’d experienced.” 

The location of the house paid off. Naudé went on to win the Smirnoff Amateur at Sunset that year, reportedly the first goofyfoot to ever win a major contest at the righthander. In what Naudé calls a dream heat, he beat Buzzy Kerbox and Bobby Owens in the final in clean, 8- to 10-foot conditions. 

Tomson served as his board caddy. “I remember seeing Paul just absolutely rip a 10-foot wave from the channel,” he recalls. “He did this huge, swinging bottom turn and off-the-top combo, and I was just so stoked for him.” 

The win pushed Naudé into the main event of the Smirnoff, where his opening heat was held in maxing conditions. “In my first heat, I’m with Clyde Aikau and Glenn Kaulukukui. It’s bombing 10- to 15-foot Sunset. The horizon went black and we were all caught. This was before leashes. I remember looking over at Clyde, and he rolled over into a turtle position ahead of the first wave, fully bear-hugging his board. I didn’t know what to do, so I foolishly tried to duck dive my 8’2″, and just got annihilated. I was rag dolled for so long that I thought I was going to die. It pushed me almost all the way to the beach. I think I only caught one wave that whole heat.”

While Naudé ultimately performed well at Sunset, he never was fully comfortable there. “I was intimidated,” he says. “I took some really bad beatings. It was the closest I’ve ever been to drowning.” 

Not surprisingly, as a goofyfoot, his preferred wave was Pipeline. In 1976, he notched his best result as a pro, placing third in the Pipeline Masters behind Hawaiians Rory Russell and Gerry Lopez.

During the 1975/76 season, Naudé also met a then relatively unknown Jack McCoy, who would go on to become an internationally acclaimed surfing filmmaker. McCoy had started a magazine in Australia called Backdoor, and gave the aspiring and ambitious Naudé a crash course in publishing. 

“Jack told me we should start a surf magazine in South Africa,” recalls Naudé. “He said it was easy, and showed me how to lay it out. He took out three pieces of paper, and drew eight squares on each. At the top of each page he wrote ‘Ads,’ ‘Text,’ and ‘Photos.’ ‘That’s it,’ he said, ‘eight pages of ads, eight pages of text, and eight pages of photos. All you have to do is sell the ads, and you’re off and running…easy.’” 

Naudé brought the idea back to Larmont when he returned to Durban and, despite the fact that neither of them had any publishing experience, and Naudé having never even taken photos before, they decided to start a magazine. “There’s nothing better than the naiveté and fearlessness of youth,” he says today. 

They drew the title, Zigzag, straight from the surf-judging rulebook at the time, which described a maneuver called “zigzagging,” or pumping up and down on a wave. They brought in their friend, Doug McDonald, to be the editor and set up an office upstairs above the shaping bay. 

Things began to happen quickly. With their hands in surfboards, apparel, and media, Larmont and Naudé were at the epicenter of the fast-growing South African surf industry. “It was a busy time,” says Naudé, “and we were pumping. We made a lot of connections.”

In addition to serving as the magazine’s publisher and photographer, Naudé also became a freelance writer and shooter for other publications, like Surfer and Surfing magazines. “I really enjoyed journalism and surf photography,” he says. “It was all about capturing the moment, and I loved it.” 

With their hands in boards, apparel, and media, Larmont and Naudé were at the epicenter of the fast-growing South African surf industry. “It was a busy time,” says Naudé, “and we were pumping. We made a lot of connections.”

Jeff Divine, then a staff photographer for Surfer, first traveled to Durban in 1977 with Rarick, and distinctly remembers a unique culture. “I think Californians were a lot more mellow,” he recalls. “The hippie thing was a big deal in California and Europe back then, but I don’t think it was in South Africa, at least not in Durban. I remember those guys were all pretty intense. They were really focused on surfing as a business.”

According to Divine, the intensity also spilled over into the water. “They were so into it. They were all really good surfers. They’d drive around all day, and would surf these crazy waves like Cave Rock. The surf was insane, almost Hawaiian-style. I think that’s partly why all those guys got so good.”

In addition to his prolific business ventures, Naudé managed to find time to fall in love during this period. He and his wife, Debbie, have been married for 37 years, raising a son and a daughter. In 1981, he also became the South African licensee for Gotcha, a brand launched by Joel Cooper and Naudé’s good friend, Michael Tomson, who both relocated from Durban to Laguna Beach in 1978. 

“All the big surf brands were floundering, and I saw some white space. Every second person said, ‘You’re crazy.’ But this is what I love to do, so why wouldn’t I continue to do it?”

The brand blew up in the neon of the 80s, but Naudé initially resisted invitations to move to California and join the party, preferring to stick to the ocean lifestyle he’d carved out for himself in Durban. Ultimately, Tomson was able to convince his friend to relocate in order to help run Gotcha, and Naudé and his family moved to Laguna in 1992.

*

A few days after our conversation on his patio, Naudé and I pull up to check the waves at Agate Street in Laguna. He still surfs three to four days per week. His go-to local spot for quality is Cottons, but his preferred quick-surf option is Agate—a fickle reef that needs just the right swell and tide to break. Despite a grim forecast, there are actually a few rideable sets showing and only a couple of guys are out. He contemplates a session, but with a busy day ahead, Naudé the businessman wins out, and we head for his office in Aliso Viejo.

As we drive, we talk over the last 20 years of his career, which have seen more than a few dramatic swings in both the surf industry and, by extension, Naudé’s arc as an entrepreneur. After working as the executive vice president for Gotcha and overseeing a significant part of the business in the mid 90s, Naudé was hired by Billabong’s Gordon Merchant in 1998 to fill a vacancy left by Bob Hurley, when the latter departed to launch his namesake brand. 

Naudé quickly built an entirely new team, and proceeded to spearhead a run of growth over the next decade that saw Billabong become one of the preeminent surf brands in the world. In 2008, however, he found himself staring into the maw of the global financial crisis. Fortunes changed quickly in the years that followed, and Billabong’s business—along with its stock price—took a significant beating.

While Naudé is philosophical about the experience, he maintains that the pressures of the public markets were, in part, to blame. “I don’t think surf companies should be traded publicly,” he says. “It’s a contradiction in terms. I think surfers by nature are protective, creative, free spirits, which doesn’t fit very well in a public company environment. The day you go public, you’re going for size. It’s the nature of the beast.”

As Billabong’s stock price continued to plummet, potential buyers began to take interest. In his role as president of Billabong USA and a board director of Billabong International, Naudé partnered with a private equity firm and vied to buy the company to take it private. “I think Billabong had run its course as a public entity,” he says, “and that taking it private would have really helped it change.”

As part of the offer, he was forced to suspend all his duties at the company. After a drawn-out process that lasted nearly a year, involving complex financial wrangling and negotiations, the bid ultimately failed, and Naudé resigned shortly thereafter. 

“I always knew it was going to be a difficult thing to pull off,” he says. “I went in with my eyes wide open. But the extended period of time during the latter part of the process gave me time to reflect. I think I was honestly more concerned about all the people working there, and what might happen to them, versus whether the bid was going to be accepted.”

Within a few months, however, despite a still-struggling surf industry, Naudé announced he had formed Stokehouse Unlimited and was launching several new companies, including Vissla, a men’s surf apparel brand. “I saw the opportunity to create a brand that was just surf—not street, not skate, or anything else,” he says. “All the big surf brands were floundering, and I saw some white space. Every second person said, ‘Why the hell are you doing this, you’re crazy.’ But this is what I love to do, so why wouldn’t I want to continue to do it?”

It was a chance for Naudé to work from a blank canvas and build what he wanted from the ground up. The concept was to celebrate not just the performance side of riding waves, but the creativity and craftsmanship in and around surfing. Naudé’s board-building chops had already given him an established credibility with the shaping crowd and, instead of simply sponsoring professional surfers, he decided Vissla would include artists, craftsman, and especially, surfboard shapers.  

“When he first came to San Francisco,” says shaper and Vissla ambassador Danny Hess, “we nerded out over surfboard design. The surfboard, to me, is more than just an object. It’s a blend of art and craft that allows us to access the ocean. You have a relationship with it that’s deeper than just a thing you use and then throw away. Paul understands that, and I think that’s where we really bonded.”

“There’s a mystery about surfboards that I think is captivating,” Naudé says. “Every board has a different meaning for me—they have stories. I’ve always said that surfboards are the cornerstone of the industry, so I wanted surfboards, and people who are involved with creating them, to be a core part of the brand.”

Back at his property in Laguna, he takes me into a small shaping bay he’s fashioned on the side of his house, where boards sit in various stages of completion. His latest indulgence is the exploration of flex-tail fishes, modeled in part after early Greenough kneeboards. “They’re completely unreal,” he says with a grin. 

He’s also parlayed his business success into a surfboard collection that rivals the best in the world. Randy Rarick, who knows a thing or two about appraising surf craft, calls it one of the top five private collections out there. “He truly appreciates the art of surfboard design,” says Rarick, “and his collection is a reflection of that.” 

Currently numbering around 600, some of the jewels in his lineup include rare boards from Bob Simmons, Joey Quigg, and Matt Kivlin. When pressed, he admits his favorite is an early board shaped by John Whitmore, the father of South African surfing, which he calls “Whitmore Number Seven”—a unique hollow design made from marine plywood.

As I look over his shaping room, I wonder how somebody who works so hard can still have time for wine making, shaping, and raising a family. “I think I’ve been extremely fortunate in my life,” he says. “I believe that things happen for a reason, even bumps in the road.” 

He pauses, as if wanting to qualify the sentiment, and adds, in typical Naudé fashion, “There’s absolutely no chance I’ll retire. I’m not ever thinking about that. I’ve got the bit between my teeth and I’m going for it.”

[Feature image: Photo by Corban Campbell.]