Surfpolitik Surfing's Latest Period Drama

In: Surfpolitik by Stu Nettle 45 Comments Thu 31st Mar '11

Tags: donald takayama , joel tudor , kookbox

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The setting: The carpark of a Mid North Coast breakwall. Last Thursday.

After finishing a session in great three to four feet waves I stand behind my car changing into my clothes. It's still early and there aren't many people around.

A van pulls into the carpark and two fashionably unkempt young fellas get out. They nod and ask me about the surf before walking over the dune to check it themselves. Two minutes later they're back in the carpark getting changed out of their clothes.

The first fella doffs his duds and pulls on a pair of cut-off denim jeans. He teams them with a circa-1970's sleeveless vest and I raise an eyebrow. Accordingly, the second fella also dons a pair of cut-off denim jeans but matches it with a long-sleeve beavertail wetsuit. It's a fair dinkum 1960's scuba-diving number with thick neoprene and chunky chest zip. Both eyebrows raised, I'm plainly staring now.

Boards get removed from the van and on first sight they perfectly match the period surf apparel – a short double-ender with a high aspect ratio fin and a full-figured longboard. Upon closer inspection however, their charity bin surfwear pales against their designer model sticks - one board is a Joel Tudor model Kookbox the other a Takayama. $2000 worth of hardware is sitting on the grass.

Now I understand the argument of young surfers, reared on thrusters, discovering old boards for the first time; how they feel different and can expand the surfing experience. But why spend big bucks on aquatic PT Cruisers while eschewing humble sartorial comforts? Are dank jeans, manky crotch rot and a biting wetsuit rash really necessary to complete the experience?

Is this authenticity or an affectation?

And if it is a lunge at authenticity, then why do the two boards lying on the grass – both throwbacks to the 60's - have legropes attached? If these two fellas were acting in a period drama then those legropes are standing out like a digital watch on the wrist of an 18th century British Earl.

Call me an old curmudgeon, complaining about kids these days. But, fuck, at least I don't need a rocking chair and cane to complete the role. Anyway, there is one thing I am thankful for, and that's that the two fellas aren't riding alaias. I'm not yet ready for loin cloths in the line up.

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