Two Decades Behind the Century

A chance viewing of John Milius’ film Big Wednesday is largely responsible for how the life of 43-year-old Tatsuo Takei has unfolded. Upon discovering Matt, Jack, and Leroy’s world in 1989, the Japanese native committed to pursuing the same 60s-era California surf lifestyle that Milius depicted. Of particular interest was the equipment—from its color and design-aesthetic to how it moved through the water. He was left with a yearning to find that place and ride those boards as the credits rolled.

Having never surfed before, the then-18-year-old Tatsuo befriended the only two guys in his small country town who had boards and wetsuits. He tagged along for the next few years on the four-hour drive from the outer Osaka region to the often sloppy, 1-foot closeouts of Kounohama Beach in Mie Prefecture. He quickly learned that the idyllic Big Wednesday world with which he was so enamored was nothing like the surf scene of his time. With an island full of only 6-foot thrusters, he struggled to find anything closely resembling The Bear’s soft-railed, resin-colored 9’6″ longboards. Tatsuo happily settled on riding whatever small crafts were available, having no choice in the matter, until he could one day get to the Golden State.

As a fulltime university student, he maintained a straight-A average, taking night classes to leave his days open for working, or long hauls to the surf. Once there, he milked whatever conditions he found, returning at the wire for class or work. This pattern began to concern his parents —they were seeing less of their good-student son, who had now chosen surfing over karate training (he was an accomplished black belt at the time) and hanging with his family. To their minds, surfing was a waste of time. 

With the post-war mentality of “hard work equals honor and success” still deeply embedded in the Japanese psyche, his folks insisted he focus on his studies in order to secure a well-paying career. Tatsuo had already set his sights on a different kind of future, far from his culture’s 60-plus-hour work week in packed cities like Tokyo or Osaka, where some met their end at age 40 from karoushi (death caused by overwork). However, while still under their roof, he decided it was best to not discuss his surfing plans until he was out on his own.

Attempting to shred like the Momentum crew on small thrusters, in even smaller waves, wore thin. He couldn’t stop thinking about California and the 60s-inspired longboards he believed would only be found there. He hatched a plan for a trip to Santa Barbara under the guise of English study, leading his parents to believe that he was improving his skills for business and not pursuing a worthless surf adventure. Unaware that Santa Barbara is notoriously flat during the summer, the caper backfired. While it was a great four-week cultural exchange, not having wheels meant he was stuck staring at Lake Pacifica. 

Undeterred, he worked hard and saved some dough to return two years later, this time with a far better strategy, including a four-year student visa. Straight off the plane he secured a 1971 VW bus and single-fin longboard, then headed to Cardiff in San Diego. “When I arrive I saw Joel Tudor noseride his heavy single-fin Takayama,” says Tatsuo, with his soft-spoken Japanese accent. “It made me realize my life dream had happened. Other people dream of Hawaii or Indo. For me it was perfect waist-to-chest California.”

During his first semester at Palomar College, Tatsuo took Photography 101 and started documenting local surf culture with a Nikon F1. Around that time he also bumped into an elderly Carlsbad local while shooting an assignment. “The man noticed old manual camera. We talked some, then he invited me to see his photos one day,” he recalls. “I didn’t realize at the time, but soon learned he was legendary Mr. LeRoy Grannis. After sitting down and going through his classic prints, I had a new life goal: become surf photographer.”

Grannis suggested he locate a Century 650mm because it would work with the old Nikon F1 body he had, and since no one wanted them anymore he could get one cheap. “We stayed good friend until he passed away few years ago. I’d go many times to visit Mr. Grannis and [his wife] Kate. His advice was always same: ‘Keep shooting, Tatsuo. And find real job to support your photography habit.’ He became my adopted grandfather.”

Tatsuo eventually found a lens in excellent condition that belonged to San Diego surf/dive legend Howard Benedict. The Century 650mm was the same telephoto rig shooters like Grannis, Ron Stoner, Steve Wilkings, and Jeff Divine had used in the 60s and 70s—before Canon’s EOS autofocus technology became state-of-the-art. Although substantially cheaper, the Century was a bitch. It took years of practice to learn how to rack focus and to decipher which films and shutter speeds best captured sharp moments with a reasonable rate of frequency. 

“People ask why I shoot film, and why I use Century,” says Tatsuo. “It’s simple answer. I respect legends before me, and I enjoy learning to master something that is difficult. Film has a better, more-timeless feel that shows what surfing is like for me. Also, there is no excitement in using cameras that do everything for you.” 

The only person Tatsuo ever encountered shooting similar equipment was Thomas Campbell, who at the time was borrowing the infamous Stoner lens (a Century 1,000mm) from Surfer magazine. They became friends and for a short while shared a darkroom across the street from the La Paloma Theater in Encinitas. “Thomas was real inspiration in so many ways. The ‘Winter in California’ section in The Seedling especially. It captured it in way that I really enjoy and strive to shoot myself.” 

“Tatsuo is a classic gentleman,” says Campbell. “We dance with the same muses, and I like his moves. And he keeps the white van mafia in good standings. Viva simple, rad peoples that are after the emotion and essence of the experience. Viva Tatsuo.” 

Over the next several years, Tatsuo traveled California’s coast in his V.W. bus, shooting underground longboard stylists along the way. Early on, he met another Japanese surfer who moved there for similar reasons. “Kio [Inagaki] ended up being my biggest mentor of all,” recalls Tatsuo, who first saw Kio ripping Malibu on an old Harbour Cheater, rocking a beaver tail top and white Birdwell’s. “He was always so hardcore to me. So much respect for him. Kio trained me about all the greats from Phil Edwards to David Nuuhiwa. That education made me appreciate that style more than ever, and confirm why I shoot guys like Joel Tudor, who keep the traditions alive.” 

Whenever Tatsuo returned to Encinitas, he would immediately head back to the dark room and process his own negatives using the Ansel Adams “Zone System” technique to dial them in. After they dried, he’d stay in the tiny room hotboxing chemicals for hours, hand developing and tinting prints of the gems. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a commercial market for his photography, his approach, or his subject matter. “It was hard to make living shooting traditional longboarding on black and white print film because everything was so focused on ‘high performance’ for such a long time,” explains Tatsuo, who was additionally challenged with being a humble, respectful gentleman uncomfortable with self-promotion. 

He made ends meet as a sushi chef for a few years after school had run its course. But due to hiccups with his visa status, he had to return to Japan so he didn’t risk overstaying. For nearly six years he was unable to return to California. Living in Fujisawa, Kanagawa Prefecture, he shot stills and video for weddings, as well as teaching English from his home. “Things were going very well, lots of clients, but I wasn’t surfing that much and missed California life,” he says. “I felt empty, spiritually. Shooting photos in Japan was hard, and the type of surfing I liked was back over there. Life in general was better for me there.”

Around five years passed before he received a call from a friend with a small clothing brand, who asked him to make several short promotional films in California using a 16mm Bolex. Back when Tatsuo lived in San Diego he’d developed an interest in Super 8 and 16mm motion film cameras. There wasn’t much info available on how to operate those cameras so he cold-called filmmaker Bud Browne at his Costa Mesa home, asking if he could teach him how to load and use them. Bud obliged.

Thanks to this new opportunity, Tatsuo was able to secure a work visa allowing him in-and-out privileges. Returning to California in 2009, he purchased a road-worn Econoline van, then converted it into a mobile living space to save money for travel and film. His end goal was to ultimately finish his photo-book project, encompassing two decades of shooting West Coast surfing. 

His yearly plan was to spend three months in California and nine back in Japan. It wasn’t long before he had the urban camping life so dialed that he could afford to flip that ratio around, spending nine months of the year in his favorite part of the world. 

Until the late summer of 2015, Tatsuo had never posted his work on social media. He’d long been a hold out, feeling it was more meaningful if people requested to see his images in person, then ordered a custom print. The recent loss of his best friend Dale McKeig made him reconsider. “I regret that I had films and photos of Dale that his friends and family never enjoyed with him while he was alive. Now I see social media as a way to share images or good times with friends, but that are not final result of my work, just the story behind it.” 

Tatsuo’s work has been so underground that this is the first-ever editorial feature of his photography. His motion-film work, however, is a little easier to locate. In 2014, Tatsuo shot and co-directed a surf-porn style movie called Wet Dream, featuring the stylish surfing and creative designs of surfer/shaper Tyler Warren. 

When Tatsuo’s desire to track down the Big Wednesday lifestyle began back in 1989, he never could have guessed he’d eventually find himself living there for most of the year, parking a tricked-out panel van in a different spot every night so residents or the police wouldn’t catch-on to his nomadic ways. Nor could he have imagined the need to join 24 Hour Fitness so he didn’t have to shower and shave in a parking lot. Yet he couldn’t be happier living carefree (and debt free) as a type of working vagabond. 

So long as he can earn enough money to eat well and be where the surf is good on any morning in California, Tatsuo will be behind the long-lens.