This Just In: Hurley’s new BlueStar Alliance is first of its name, breaker of chains, mother of deep cuts, slasher of Michel Bourez, destroyer of Carissa Moore, maker of money!

Smart business.

I know this is Stab magazine’s beautiful Ashton Goggan’s Pulitzer in the wings. This most important surf industry story of the past ten years etc. but…. massively robust professional surfer teams getting cut to the bone?

Do you really care?

Look, I’ll be honest. I loved Michel Bourez less than the next man. Sure The Spartan had a nickname that rolled right off Joe Turpel’s tongue but besides that?

I’m truly at a loss.

‘Rissa Moore?

I’ve never chatted with the champ and I’m certain she’ll land somewhere but still, I don’t care.

Machado?

Ok, you’ve got me. Rob Machado is Kelly’s Slater’s evil twin. The man who stays young and gorgeous forever, surfs better than anyone and will be laughing while that fucking Kelly Slater is locked into a mental institute.

Hair.

Look at Rob’s, growing more luxurious decade by decade.

Kelly’s gone for decades but I digress.

A fantastic company will pick Rob then what?

For whom do you weep on Hurley’s surf team?

Now, BlueStar has pared down to Julian (Australia) Kolohe (America) Filipe (Brazil).

Don’t that tick the boxes?

John John and his rumored $4 mil so long. Carissa and her rumored $1 mil vanished.

And what’s lost?

Be honest.

Stripping that wildly bloated surf team down to the three of its members that currently matter (minus current our world Michael Jordan except a Michael Jordan that refuses to shoot the ball, the man who made a deal with the devil (who should have been kept but will be acquired) and someone who ain’t competing next year?

Be very honest.


Correction: Julian Wilson isn’t signing with Lululemon

BeachGrit previously reported that Julian Wilson would soon be announcing a new deal with Lululemon.

We have since learned that this is not true and that our reporting was indeed incorrect.

As such, we deleted the original article that included this false report and we wish to formally retract the statement in its entirety.

We have been advised that Julian remains committed to his long-standing partnership with Hurley under its new management.


"I am four-fifths salt water and I may be going back to Mother Earth after my three dozen goes around the sun. I’ve done my time watching the tides. Sandbars form and melt away. Storms. Rock ledges. Learning winds, and how they swirl down valleys, equating it to long period swell wrapping around seafloor features. All little tidbits of info with no relevance to my now landlocked life, but it gives me joy to know the natural world by force of confronting it and understanding my place in it." Offrocker, in Tasmania, Australia.

Schmaltz: Surfer with cancer gets brief hit-out in ocean, “Some moments transcend all the suffering in the world!”

"Maybe I’ll see you, you can’t miss me. I’m THAT kook, ecstatic to make it out the back on a small day, huffing and puffing like a steam train and grinning like a maniac."

Editor’s note: Two months ago, BeachGrit habitué offrocker wrote about being hit with cancer aged thirty-five. His story Quit-Lit in the Face of Cancer: Reflections on my Last Surf Ever (Maybe) was a real tearjerker.

“I am four-fifths salt water and I may be going back to Mother Earth after my three dozen goes around the sun. I’ve done my time watching the tides. Sandbars form and melt away. Storms. Rock ledges. Learning winds, and how they swirl down valleys, equating it to long period swell wrapping around seafloor features. All little tidbits of info with no relevance to my now landlocked life, but it gives me joy to know the natural world by force of confronting it and understanding my place in it.”

Christ. 

Last night, offrocker emailed me, told me he’d had a little hit-out in the ocean and that he’d written a story.

“I feel like it’s twaddle in the same sentimental vein,” he wrote.

Sentimental twaddle?

You tell me.

**********

Have you ever had a reprieve? A second chance?

Been given a walk at a crucial moment?

Ten weeks out of the water and I was starting to adjust to my new life sans surf, dealing with a bunch of new bits and pieces.

Managing an ileostomy.

The slow meat grinder of being poisoned every two weeks and watching your body break down in front of you. The chemo port implanted over your pec burrows down all the way into your heart. How the port tugs when you lift your arm above your head.

How to shower with a needle hanging out of your chest attached to a bottle of the same poison that’s killing you, and hopefully the cancer.

A thousand little adjustments.

My life is walking the dogs around and around the block, exercise bikes, core strength rehabilitation, hypervigilent handwashing. All very important, but monochrome.

No, not monochrome, but like when you adjust the filter on a photo… desaturated.

And then last week, out of the blue, I got the reprieve.

After a few rounds of chemo, my bloods were stable and my oncologist let me go in the ocean.

Something I thought was off the cards indefinitely.

Some moments transcend all the suffering in the world. I was with my wife, my best mate, and his six-year-old daughter.

Weak as shit, I waded out into the ocean.

Pink-purple sunset, crystalline water, two spotted eagle rays dancing in the shallows as I bodysurfed the tiny rip bowl. The kid was right into YouTube nature docos and told us all about the biology of rays, and mermaids purses.

I’m not normally sentimental, but to bathe once again at the salty font…

Reborn, I threw caution to the wind. I bought myself a stealth-belt and simply got back on my board.

Bugger what the physio said. I recklessly spent a whole afternoon packing the shorebreak. I was sore, so was my port – did I rip it out of the vein?

Seems to still work, so I guess the answer is no. Breaking down scar tissue before it had a chance to fully set and render me immobile, physically and psychologically.

I spent another afternoon chasing peaky swell in the same crowded line up I had last surfed. Kook central – hat, zinc, long-arm springsuit in twenty-five degree water, reef booties because chemo is killing my nerves and I can’t feel my feet properly anymore. Shame job walking down the water’s edge, but all forgotten with that first brace of whitewater.

A full two minutes of deep lactic breathing after every paddle back out.

Someone called me onto a good one, plenty to go around today.

A chilled vibe with familiar faces.

A chat out the back with people I only ever see out the back.

A chat in the carpark with my shaper, talking about my board that has been on hold since I got sick.

Did I want to change it to something a bit more… functional… given my condition?

Fuck no.

I need the dream that Indo step-up can give me more than I ever need to ride it.

Once again, in the lineup I felt like order had returned, a return to normality for a few short hours.

So I’m back in hospital this week. More complications.

The waves of samsara keep crashing.

This week it’s a fever, two days in hospital on hardcore antibiotics until they can rule out blood poisoning.

Three weeks ago, a threatened blood clot on the lungs.

Last week an allergic reaction to a new drug and a pustular rash.

These are all minor bumps in the road.

I’m looking forward to getting back out there already.

Maybe I’ll see you, you can’t miss me. I’m THAT kook, ecstatic to make it out the back on a small day, huffing and puffing like a steam train and grinning like a maniac.

ADDIT: They just found a big blood clot in the lungs. Sigh. Hence the shortness of breath. Blood thinners, small clean days and foamies for the foreseeable future. Maybe I’ll take up surf photography… anything to get in the water. And buy a Gath.


Send nudes.

Warning: “Diabolically large” 2076 lbs Great White shark swims within 100 miles of Northwest Florida setting off alarms throughout the state!

SURFERS, OUT OF THE WATER!

The human mind cannot fathom what occurs within the firing synapses of Great White sharks. We can make guesses, hypothesize, but are constantly caught off guard by the movements and purposes of the apex predators. By where they go and why they go.

Just hours ago a diabolically large female named Unama’ki (Land of Fog and Eaten Men in an indigenous Nova Scotian tongue) “pinged” within 100 miles of northwest Florida, coming dangerously near the shore and let us turn to the scientific journal Daily News for the absolute latest:

The shark, known as Unama’ki, is one of the largest and was tagged at 15 feet, 5 in. long by research nonprofit OCEARCH, which tracks this info “to help scientists collect previously unattainable data in the ocean” and hopes to “accelerate the ocean’s return to balance and abundance,” according to its website.

Researchers are looking to learn more about the breeding habits of great whites — also known as white sharks.

“As a big mature female, Unama’ki has the potential to lead us to the site where she gives birth and exposes a new white shark nursery,” OCEARCH said, according to USA Today.

Adult great white sharks can “grow to a maximum size of approximately 20 feet in length, weigh up to 6,600 pounds, and are estimated to live for 30 years,” according to the nonprofit ocean conservation group, Oceana.

Oh even the thought of a Great White shark nursery sends shivers up my spine. I imagine it would look like The Omen. Or The Conjuring. Or any horror movie where possessed little kids come to torment their parents.

Also, it is very suspicious that Unama’ki decided to get closer to shore today, as it was just revealed Florida is near passing a law that allows full frontal nudity at its nude beaches.

Could the “man-eating” beast be looking for some delicate, unwrapped appetizers?

Very possible. Terrifying.

More as the story develops and no surfing in Florida until the alarms turn off.

No nude sunbathing either unless gender transition surgery is on the horizon.


Take it off, granny!

Let the Sun Shine In: Florida advances bill allowing full frontal nudity on its nude beaches protecting the state’s $7 billion dollar “au naturale” industry!

Free to be free.

And yesterday we read the extremely troubling news of one-time Arkansas governor, bass guitar fanatic, Mike Huckabee and his successful quest to privatize most, if not all, of Florida’s beaches. No more surfing unless you can afford a beachfront manse.

Today, though, there is good news coming to us from the Sunshine State for an important bill has been advanced to the legislature, without opposition, allowing full frontal nudity on the still public nude beaches.

A celebration of the human spirit.

A celebration of the human vessel and let’s learn all we can before shedding our trunks and paddling out.

One Florida state senator is working to make sure you can wear your birthday suit, worry free, at the nude beach.

Sen. Jason Pizzo, D-Miami, wants to make sure folks who enjoy the states 34 or so nude beaches are not arrested and charged as a sexual predator.

SB 850 does not make it legal to expose one’s sexual organs in public, but does make it legal to be au naturale in the properly permitted areas,

Those areas attract about 2.2 million tourists each year pumping an estimated $7 billion dollars into the state’s economy.

There are cases where people have been arrested and charged while on clothing optional beaches.

“That’s ‘no bueno,’ as we say in Miami,” said Pizzo.

That is definitely ‘no bueno’ and are you surprised, even slightly, that 2.2 million tourists travel to Florida’s nude beaches and pump $7 billion dollars into the state’s economy?

I certainly am. I certainly am while thinking it would do BeachGrit real financial good to get in on the “au naturale” industry.

Have you surfed nude?

Did you like?

What did you buy afterwards?