Quiksilver Pro 2011 The Outsider: When Worlds Collide

In: Quiksilver Pro 2011 by Steve Shearer 27 Comments Sat 5th Mar '11

Tags: christian fletcher , matt meola , innersection , asp , george greenough , steve barilotti charie sheen , astrodeck , rusty miller , russell hughes , mik dora

Honest criticism means nothing: what one wants is unrestrained passion, fire for fire - Henry Miller

Hot. It's been freakin' hot, with swarms of blood-sucking mozzies everywhere, buzzing in a humidity that feels like breathing pea soup.

Down here on the North Coast the smell is thick with the sickly sweet funk of rotting fruit. On the Goldy it's suncream, cocktails, wet bitumen and expensive cosmetics. And money. Plenty of it. Some kid named Meola walked off with a hundred large for a display of aerial surfing that C. Fletcher labeled as pretty average, "nothing mindblowing".

Yeah, he just told me that. I rang him up. He was in the Astrodeck office with his Mom at around 3pm on a sunny Californian afternoon, making an honest buck. The surf was shitty and he was enjoying the gig.

Old Fletch had been trying to help out the crew of SURFER mag on their Facebook page by explaining what a Judo air was. Apparently they had fucked it up and Fletch was, "being nice, just helping out" by putting up a pic and correcting the error. They didn't like what he had to tell them so they simply moderated him and removed the comments. "That made me mad, so I started trash-talking a bit, then they censored those comments and I got really mad."

Is this is where we're at? Surfing as a culture censoring it's heretics, free thinkers and pioneers in the name of...what? Online editors reading from the Goebells playbook; servants of mediocrity sheltering in the false security of commercial consensus? The Outsider stands shoulder to shoulder with Christopher Hitchens in deploring this heinous crime of censorship. To paraphrase Hitchens: Take a number, line up and kiss my fucking arse.

We'll come back to Fletch presently as we discuss the ASP and the discrepancy between the mix of aerial and power/rail surfing which they defend as the state of the art and the Innersection clip of Meola which featured exactly ZERO rail turns. Why this disparate evolution in ideals?

On the night after the Innersection party a very different gig was under way in Byron Bay, in a small wooden building that used to be a movie theatre. Rusty Miller had found a stash of slides from the 1970 World Titles in Victoria, as well as a stash from the North Coast at that time, depicting the Golden Age of what might be termed 'pre-commercial' surf culture.

They were all there: Nuuhiwa, Nat, Dora, McTavish, Brocky, Baddy, Aurness, Drouyn (as a man). Styling in and out of the water.

Greenough showed up, hunched over and barefeet. Rare to see him away from the pyramid he lives in after dark. He had one of Brocky's shirts on: Convert the Military to Earth Repair. We sat outside in the warm rain. I drank a beer, Greenough twitched and fidgeted while various people came to pay their respects. We spoke about fishing mostly. A Californian surf journalist named Steve Barilotti approached. "Hey Barlo, whats up?" I said. "How's the Goldy?"

"Hectic man. Some kid won a hundred grand last night...Hi George"

George looked at his feet. He loves surf journalists.

I shrugged. George said suddenly, "Fucking corporates...they own fucking everything." He said corporates slowly, with a long emphasis on the 'ates'.

I started to laugh. I knew where this was going. Now Barlo looked down at his feet.

To a certain taste, strong medicine, no matter how bitter, can be the most wonderful tonic. In this oversaturated commercial world Greenough's medicine is akin to the purest Himalayan air. Yes, it is low in oxygen and only suitable for the very fit in mind and spirit, and only for a short time. It is a wonderful antidote to Pro Surfing. Perhaps the best there is.

George looked over to me, "Who's this guy?" He pointed an elbow at Barlo.

"That's Barlo" I said. "He's a surf journalist."

"Yeah, I thought he was someone important...with all that talk about the contest...fucking contests."

George hates contests more than Hitchens hates the Pope. They are antithetical forces in the surfing world. It's nothing more than historical accident that the man named the second most influential person in Surfing (after the Duke) rose to prominence when he did. Would there be space in amongst the petty online censorship and overwhelming commercial imperatives for a Greenough to rise today?

Ponder that, sports fans, over your morning cup of coffee.

There was a great shot in the collection of a young Miki Dora (in Italian loafers) and Australia's own International Man of Mystery, Russell Hughes (barefoot), hanging in the streets of Byron Bay circa 1970. Hughes, whose life story would read as a kind of Gonzo counterpoint to the clean living Peter Troy, is currently on his deathbed in a hospital in Toronto. His son has carried on his father's template, spending most of his time shacked up on an island in Tahiti, surfing the kinds of waves the ASP could only dream about.

He wandered down to a local backbeach the other day, with a board and a little bag of green. "Well man," he said "what a fucking circus!"

"And you know what?" he went on, "I didn't mind 'em taking up the whole beach with their fucking photo shoot but you think I could find someone with some Tally-Ho papers to twist one up?"

"This whole thing's gone so safe Shep, I tell ya."

Back to Fletcher, who could never be accused of playing it safe. I asked Fletch if he ever watched the ASP contests.

"Yeah."

"And what are your thoughts?"

"As far as what?"

"Standard of surfing, judging, that kind of thing."

"Judging? I don't think they know what they're judging. They're not consistent in how they score airs. Nothing's changed. Actually, it has gotten better. When I was a kid and did airs in contests I got 3's."

"What about the surfing?"

"Oh, the surfing's improved. Trestles was pretty cool, but everyone does the same tricks. Airs are in fashion now. It's gay and conservative. Actually Jon Jon was doing airs on the outside section, not just an air reverse in the shorebreak. That takes balls. It's got way more risk."

"What about power surfing, rail surfing?"

"That's the difference between a good and great surfer. A good surfer can do airs and tricks or carving turns. A great surfer can do airs, power turns, ride Pipeline, everything. And he should be able to ride a skateboard (laughs)."

"So who do consider to be a great surfer then?"

"I've always been a huge Andy Irons fan and Fanning. And not just because of his anti-semitic comments (laughs). Both do fully-committed rail turns. There's no fucking holding back."

"What about Dane?"

"Who?"

"Dane Reynolds?"

"Oh, I haven't seen enough of him to make a valid opinion."

"You didn't see him at Trestles?"

"Nah, I was too busy out in the warehouse packing boxes."

"Hahhahah, you must be the only one in the surfing world without an opinion on Dane."

"Hahah brah, I'll say whatever the fuck I like."

"Good on you. Thanks for the chat. Have a good one."

"Hey, you too. Send us a link eh?"

If anyone in California reads this could you please go drop off a cold beer or six to the Fletcher family. I'll fix you up later.

As the great homogenous mass of surfing grows larger - perhaps exponentially if wavepools take off - the crackpots, individuals and mavericks get pushed further and further into the wilderness. Maybe that's a good thing? Is there anyone in this new crop of rookies who can light it up like Dane?

Based on the evidence presented so far the answer is an overwhelming no.

Is Innersection a portal into the future where surfing becomes like 'bad skateboarding' as one anonymous internet commenter called it? A series of unrelated technical manouevres with nothing to link them? Death from above as Charlie Sheen would call it.

Meanwhile the ASP defends power surfing even as it reduces the fundamental requirement for it: A decent fucking wave. What do they think we'll see in the beachbreaks of Rio and Long Island?

Watch Meola's winning clip for the answer.

You can't make this shit up, sports fans.