1. January Issue 2012 Surfing Magazine

    03:18

    from SURFING Magazine / Added

    See Kelly Slater on the cover here: http://www.surfingmagazine.com/magazine/january-issue-2012-surfing-magazine/ I adopted a life chasing chaos. I need to take a second to lay some blame. I hardly recognize who I am anymore and I think I know the culprit: it’s this damn surfing’s fault. Over the past 15 years it’s put me through a complete metamorphosis. You can ask my mom; she watched it all go down. Growing up I was extremely calculated, organized, and borderline obsessive-compulsive. A real future-insurance-agent type. Looking back now, it’d be easier to just say I was a big pussy. Risks weren’t something I took. I was shy, reserved and terrified to travel. I skipped fifth grade camp to stick around and run the playground alone. I would incessantly fix my little brother’s hair and apologize to strangers for his lack of manners and hygiene. I held onto my youth; I cherished routine. I’m pretty sure my parents thought I’d never move out of their house, just age quietly in my childhood bedroom. I’d just inhabit the safe side for eternity. But then, sometime around sixth grade, I started surfing and quit the baseball team. I tanned out and my hair turned blonde. I began getting dropped off at the beach after school and adopted a life chasing chaos. Up to that point, I’d surfed with my dad sometimes on weekends and thought it was pretty cool — but I didn’t really like the sand (neat freak) and was kinda annoyed that I didn’t have a board with a pointed nose. I’d instead resort to the boogie board because it was soft and never dinged up your shins. Much safer. But that sixth grade year I made friends with a few guys who surfed, and going to the beach with my dad became the only thing we lived for. That’s when the metamorphosis began to show. I stopped caring about things I used to think were very important; my hair was no longer combed up just right, and I paid more attention to surf videos than to girls. I knew the importance of every surfer from Justin Matteson and Benji Weatherley to Tom Curren and Kelly, and knew all the songs in each of their videos. I became obsessed with the lifestyle and wanted to travel to France and Indonesia and Costa Rica and wherever else waves broke. But it was the dramatic shift in my demeanor that was most startling. I took more risks. I got tougher, more confident. I wanted to see things. I don’t think any of this would have happened had I continued with normal sports and school and whatever it is people do while we go surfing and waste our days being happy in the ocean. So I blame surfing for making me who I am today: a bit of a flight risk and at times unpredictable. For initiating my curiosity about life. For giving me all my best friends and allowing me to see more places and things before 30 than many will ever see; for making me aware of my surroundings and really good at observing weather conditions; for getting me noticed by girls; for installing a bit of “f--k it” in my system; for turning me on to music and filmmaking and writing and reading and making me a better, more well-rounded person overall. For giving me everything I have. But most of all, I want to blame surfing for forcing me to quit being a pussy and go check some shit out in life — because really, that’s all there is to this world: the people you enjoy, nature, and something good to eat and drink along the way. So surfing, just know you’re at fault for this dramatic shift, and that I’m glad I could get it off my chest. No love lost. —Travis Ferré

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    • March Issue 2011 Surfing Magazine

      03:38

      from SURFING Magazine / Added

      MES AMIES: I WRITE TO YOU SURROUNDED BY AMERICAN FAST-FOOD WRAPPERS AND UNOPENED BILLS. I logged some grim freeway hours today and saw little of the daylight. No surfing. Now in the gutted quiet of day’s end I find my mind wandering again, to the east, across our country and an ocean. To better times. To stand-up barrels in France. To venison burgers in Scotland. To hot coffee served in large porcelain mugs by scarf-clad chéries with red noses, imbibed after surfing a lonely pointbreak in a hailstorm. To Portugal, where after endeavoring a craggy slab I wandered the peaceful evening and watched its people, all so old and well-fed, walking the cobblestone seaside streets. I can’t help but think back to these times as another Super Size meal is finished and trashed. As my television blinks on and I remember that the gas light in my truck is nagging. So I escape, to my European accommodation stocked with crates of eight-ounce Stella Artois, a house that smells of bacon and surf wax. And the waves, the waves that front this idyllic Old World scene. All kinds of them. Little waves. Big ones. Peaky waves and walled. With capricious weather and tide fluctuations that keep one guessing, in much the same way the girls there keep one guessing. I assume most of us, as surfers, spend time ruminating on foreign lands (and waters, and womens), on new backdrops and experiences, or memories from far-off travels past. But I must suspect this chemical-laced fast food includes a hallucinogen to inspire such daydreams, now that I’m deep under its influence. After one has sunk into a hometown flat spell and too much processed food, the comedown is steep and ugly, and it’s hard not to long for greener pastures. And for myself — for a lot of us here in this groovy Generation Y — Europe represents the greenest of the green, a modern surfer’s Eden. It is the filet of the world and is fast becoming our signature surf destination. It unlocks the inner Dionysus below humdrum daily routines. And Europe is just a pretty place to go surfing. Perhaps we’re romantic, or perhaps we crave diversity of culture and landscape, or perhaps we have a hankering for the vino. It could be the vast sand dunes speckled with peaky surf; it might be that we just like French kissing. For whatever reason, Europe makes the young mind run wild, and we’ll be back as soon as the compass points east again. Till then, till then, only in the mind. —Travis Ferré

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      • November Issue 2011 Surfing Magazine

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        from SURFING Magazine / Added

        A terrible thing began happening to me a few weeks ago. After an extended stint at home surfing the same waves, drinking the same coffee, talking to the same people, driving the same freeway, attending the same meetings and logging onto the same Internet, I became overwhelmed with anxiety. I was way too f–king organized: all caught up on my television shows, reading a book, no unread messages or voicemails. Most people probably thought I was killing it, but in reality I was completely miserable. My mind was filled with plain oatmeal thoughts. I was on top of things, but those things were stale. Even my surfing felt uninspired and un-fun, and that was the final straw. So in order to throw a wrench into my life, I left work and drove north. I’ve threatened to do this biweekly throughout my entire editorial tenure, but this time was different. I was really going, afraid that if I didn’t it would be my demise. I just drove out of town with boards and tried to surf. No plans, no itinerary. I ended up somewhere with no cell reception and a payphone that cost $2 a minute to use. I rode a train at one point, ate at new restaurants, met some people, had a beer in the sand (legally). And the fact that I used a payphone made my damn day. The waves were frigid and full of seals, but it wasn’t my local spot and it all felt new. For once I wasn’t in a parking lot talking about my hangover or debating the tide; I was just out there, because there was no other option and because it looked interesting. No plan for what to do after, no clue how each wave would break. I could have been eaten, but even that would have seemed fresh. I’m aware this is something we often try to do as surfers, but still it’s all too easy to slip into dull routines — even when what we’re doing is by its very nature far from dull. Take for instance three of the surfers we spent time with for this issue: Dane Gudauskas, Timmy Reyes and Alex Gray. All three came up in the NSSA farm leagues, talented California boys destined for success in a jersey. But that track can be stifling — yes, even pro surfers get bored — and each of the three eventually found a way to jump the rails in his own way, to shape his path into something unique and spectacular. Another case is Dane Reynolds, who’s revealed to us he’ll no longer be regularly competing — a move I greet with a standing ovation because, like a lot of us (myself included — see above), Dane had the presence of mind to notice his life slipping into routine: wandering ASP contest sites waiting for “the call” with the same people, having the same conversations at the same places, again and again. I just returned from a trip with Dane (stay tuned next month for the story), and his insight on bailing the World Tour was, “I just love waking up and not knowing what we’re going to do and what’s going to happen.” I know what he means. I bet you do, too. If your life feels ordinary, then do something about it. The less habit, the more life. Zag. Be spontaneous. And never be so organized that you’re up to date on all episodes of Entourage. —Travis Ferré

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        • February Issue 2011 Surfing Magazine

          04:41

          from SURFING Magazine / Added

          A FEW MONTHS AGO ANDY IRONS WAS ON THE COVER OF THIS VERY MAGAZINE THRASHING OUT ONE OF HIS PATENTED FOREHAND CARVES [OCT 2010] . It was the most feel-good cover we’ve ever had the pleasure to send you. The timing of it. The turn. The moment. It was all really powerful to our staff and it’s what led to me having the opportunity to meet Andy a few weeks later at the cover launch party for that issue. The moment we got the image, the office was buzzing. “How sick is that Andy turn?” “So sick!” we all agreed over and over. It wasn’t even a question. Put it on the cover. We hit play on our favorite Andy sections at the office all month — everything from Raw Irons to his latest part in High Five and everything he did in between. Momentum: UTI. Campaign. 5’5” x 19 1/4”. The Blueprint. Still Filthy. Trilogy. Blue Horizon. It was the most fired up we’ve been in a long time. On surfing. On magazines. On video parts. On life, really. We faced something very different this month. After sending this issue to print, we were hit with the saddest news the surf world has ever dealt with: We lost Andy Irons. It was devastating, surreal and sad. It was not news we wanted to deliver. We’ve had too much fun with Andy, enjoyed too many incredible moments to lay that on you. So our first instinct was to start remembering. We poured through our photo and video vaults and what came back was a flood of moments that have come to define us all. He surfed with moxie; he surfed like Charlie Parker playing sax with Guns N’ Roses, just overflowing with spontaneity and energy and power. I remember how he always made it so easy to get excited. His surfing was so emotional and passionate you couldn’t help but feel psyched when you watched him. He surfed with moxie; he surfed like Charlie Parker playing sax with Guns N’ Roses, just overflowing with spontaneity and energy and power. I always loved his forehand grab-rail reverses, and the way he used his front foot to navigate; how he’d flow and link turns together and how he’d hold his arms and say what he felt as opposed to just muttering another mundane sound bite. Remember when he said he wanted to crush Kelly’s pretty picture? Passion! He just couldn’t help himself. Much the same way I can’t help but remind everyone I know of all the seemingly minute details about why he was my favorite surfer. I’ll always love him for that. It’s funny how the nitty-gritty details of style and approach can fascinate us as surfers, but Andy is one of the reasons why. He had the ability to leave an impression that would stick with you. His enthusiasm for surfing and life was visible on every wave he rode and in every word he uttered. This is our Movie Issue. A look forward to some surf films you’ll be seeing over the next year. But as you may know by now, we were able to do a last-minute-run of commemorative covers dedicated to Andy (which you’ll find on newsstands). For it we chose another timeless A.I. moment from our archive and hope you’ll add it to your shrine. It’s one of thousands on file, but one we feel captures Andy’s zest for life and surfing. It was shot during what is widely considered one of his most inspired sessions of all time, one you can see in Chris Malloy’s film, One Track Mind. So with this being our Movie Issue, and as we all mourn for our fallen hero, we hope you’ve all had a chance to settle in and remember your own favorite Andy moments. And while it’s tragic to think we don’t have him here anymore, he has left us with a vault of memories and inspiration that will keep him more than immortal to surfers around the world until the end of time. Thank you Andy, for everything. We miss you so much. —Travis Ferré

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          • January Issue 2011 Surfing Magazine Trailer

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            from SURFING Magazine / Added

            I WENT TO NEW YORK CITY THIS WEEK, and I surfed. But that wasn’t as simple as it might sound. This was to be a short trip and not one for which a surfboard would seem necessary. I’d be couch-crashing an NYU friend’s pad in the heart of Williamsburg — not exactly coastal — and attending the New York Surf Film Festival on “official duty.” I’d have little time and no car, but I was dead set on forcing a surf into my 48-hour stint in the city. The way I saw it, if I could manage that minor coup, it would validate all the grimy urban night crawling New York seems to invite. So, as usual, I made my travel experience a nightmare from the get-go and packed some boards. “You know that’s going to be really expensive,” smirked the Delta ticket agent at LAX. It was 6:00 a.m. and, yes, I knew. “Why does it have to be your board?” she continued. “Can’t you just use one there?” I didn’t try to explain, just handed over the $200 she demanded — smiling! — which was $60 more than I’d paid for my own one-way ticket. New York, I thought, had better be holding. An on-board heart attack, a flight diversion for emergency landing, a brake scare and a United Nations security rerouting later, we landed in JFK. Really late — way late for the Ra Ra Riot show I’d planned on, and later still once I collected my boards, which had somehow been sent to the wrong terminal. I learned that cabs don’t really see you when you’re dragging a coffin, and it took my life savings to get me and the gear-heap to Brooklyn. On the way I was made fun of by two hipster girls, stopped and asked about Kelly Slater, and I saw an alley cat catch and kill a street rat. Welcome to the city. Finally, around midnight, Brooklyn. With surfboards. Now what? But the next morning was a new day. I finagled a ride to the coast from a friend, and an hour later we pulled up to fun, warm, three-foot peaks. I felt I’d beaten the game, like I’d found some cheat code to the city, which really doesn’t want you to surf. It wants you to go from coffee shop to bar on repeat until your heart stops. But here I was, waxing up in New York for my first-ever East Coast surf session. Success. The waves were surprisingly punchy and I was ecstatic. Giddy. On my first right I clicked two pumps and tried an air — a New York City flyby to christen the trip — but this flight went about as well as Delta’s the day before. My whole body came down on the nose, crushing both it and my spirits in a single sad instant. All the sweat, drama, money, frustration and trouble to get there was all wasted in one mistimed maneuver. I looked over the board, assessed the damage, decided it was serious. Thought back on what it took to get there, contemplated going in — then paddled back out. I surfed the wounded board for three hours and retired it with honors upon reaching the beach. No regrets. Then I descended back into the city, untouchable. Surfing — wherever, however — it’s the thing. —Travis Ferré

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            • May Issue 2011 Trailer

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              from SURFING Magazine / Added

              IT’S ONLY SURFING Luckily for us, surfing isn’t an organized sport. It’s actually a quite disorganized one — and whether it’s even a sport at all is a whole different catfight. But that’s surfing’s single biggest selling point, like random violence is to ice hockey. We have no mandatory practice, no coach calling plays, no ref blowing whistles. Not much structure at all. Just try some radical shit in the ocean, hope your friends see it, and go about your day much happier. That’s our lifestyle. Beautiful chaos, mostly. Mostly. Still, we’d be remiss to say there’s no wrong way to be a surfer. It’s obvious when someone has his shit together, and it’s more painfully clear when he doesn’t. From lineup etiquette to board knowledge to style, there’s a code to carrying yourself that shouldn’t be ignored. Know the rules before you try to break ‘em. But then, for God’s sake, break ‘em. In spectacular fashion. That’s how this whole party got started and that’s the only thing that’ll keep it from turning lame. From turning into Little League. Just look around the parking lot for evidence that we’re not a damn Ocean Pacific ad anymore. Tight-denim modsters, dreadlocked carvers, trained competitors, soloists who wander alone, flannel-clad grizzly bears that love the cold, sandy groms, ex-cons, teachers, chicks. We’re Nathan Fletcher, making 12-foot guns one day and launching 12-foot airs the next [pg. 84]. We’re Tanner Rozunko, stomping ollies in the morning and stomping his boots in the mosh pit at night [pg. 50]. We’re Courtney Conlogue, on academic scholarship and the World Tour [pg. 64]. We’re John Florence, with two Pipeline wins (in January alone) and a part in Kai Neville’s ModColl follow-up. We’re…you, whatever the hell you are. Better make it awesome. Which is why I find it so disheartening to hear from critics who’re trying to decide for you what surfing is and isn’t. They say it’s not art, not music, not girls in bikinis, not fashion, not not anything off-color or subversive or slightly left of center. It’s a white boy on a white board in a blue tube and hellfire to the punkass kids who’d say otherwise. Which brings us to this issue. We wanted something to remind our readers just how loose and diverse surfing should be. Ever seen The Innermost Limits of Pure Fun? Or maybe more recently Thrills, Spills and Whatnot? Despite efforts at chaotic, groovy nothingness, both movies speak volumes to what surfing really is. (It’s nothing! Or everything! Sport, lifestyle, hobby, a selfish pursuit of fun that keeps us out of gyms and cubicles and in the ocean!) And if you still don’t get it, pop in What’s Really Goin’ Wrong! or Voluptuous for a refresher course in our magnificent dysfunction. As we planned this issue, we came to the conclusion that surfing is and always should be an abstract sort of pursuit, with fun being the only defining factor. Nothing more. That’s what’s missed in attempts to rein it in, tame it, put it in a user-friendly package for widespread appeal. Surfing is that thing you ditched real obligations for. The thing that pissed off at least one of your parents. The thing the mainstream STILL doesn’t get right, and probably can’t for these very reasons. The thing that resists its own legitimacy. Hopefully, in our quest for a refresh, this issue hits you a little differently. It stems from how we imagined John Severson and the boys putting together a surf mag back in the day, typewriter to lap, right there on the picnic benches at San-O in between sessions. This is a month of surfers talking to surfers about surfing. I’m quite sure we contradict ourselves several times by the end. I suspect I’ve contradicted myself already on this very page. Oh well. It’s only surfing, dude. —Travis Ferré

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              • June Issue 2011 Surfing Magazine

                04:44

                from SURFING Magazine / Added

                I’ve never been very patriotic. Once I could travel alone, I actually spent more time trying to flee this country than I did enjoying it. I always associated America less with myself, more with frat dudes who used to play quarterback but now slug Budweisers in Lake Havasu. I hate fireworks and apple pie, etc. Needless to say, I never got too into waving Old Glory (I did, however, watch it like a f–king Peregrine falcon come fifth period to gauge the wind for my after-school surf). But before you call to have me assassinated, please do not think I’m not appreciative of where I’m from. I’m very lucky and all that. I love the open road; deserts; a good, firm handshake; and the ‘50s — all very American, right? And having an American accent has gotten me several makeout sessions in foreign lands. Once my friend got a kiss from a girl in an Australian bar just by flashing his American passport on the dance floor. What a foreign policy! But aside from that, I’d just as soon be Californian, French or maybe Chilean. I like Chile a lot. Barbados too. Australia ain’t bad either. See, it’s just that I love so many places…so why this America Issue? The moment I showed up to escort seven of America’s most promising young pros to our photo shoot in downtown Los Angeles for this magazine, I realized we were witnessing the metamorphosis of modern American surf culture right before our eyes. In one end of the parking lot where we met up, Santa Cruz’s Nat Young, New York’s Balaram Stack and Florida’s Evan Geiselman were deep in a serious game of pickup basketball. A few of them can shoot! Then, I saw Andrew Doheny, comfortably sitting in the shade, leaning out an open car door, staring at a music magazine. “Travis, I’ll be right here,” he called out. “I’m just sitting in the car listening to music.” He was alone. Across the street, Kolohe Andino, Luke Davis and Conner Coffin were shopping — yes, shopping: pants for Kolohe, a Hustler for Luke (great jokes, he swears), and Conner was looking to find a nice girl (L.A. not being short on pretty females). Right there I saw something in American surfing that may not have been there a mere five years ago: diversity in the youth. And I’d like to thank a few people for helping this evolution along. The first is obvious: Dane Reynolds. His curious approach to a career has given a whole generation the option to be themselves. To make weird choices and succeed or fail on their own account. Which is going to be important for this group, as they’ve been spoiled by us and the surf industry from an unprecedentedly primitive age (think 10). Most were weaned on sponsor clothes and custom 5’0”s through elementary and middle school, so it will be interesting to watch how this group grows up — or perhaps in some cases, how they can’t. The second crew I’d like to thank for fueling this fire would be the Australians. Aside from Dane and Kelly, they’ve collectively trumped us in competition and freesurfing for the past five years. But not to fret; I truly believe that reign will end with the Adolescents we feature this month. They’re going to change the culture for good, I predict. And if not, well…world, it’s still fun to kiss your girls when we visit. —Travis Ferré

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                • One word to describe Kelly Slater

                  02:12

                  from matt wybenga / Added

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                  Kelly has been called a lot of things, here his peers sum him up in one word. Featuring Joel Tudor, Danny Fuller, Keanu Asing, Griffin Colapinto, Tia Blanco, Damien Hobgood, Tyler Warren, Travis Ferre, Kalani Robb, and Taylor Knox. film/edit Matt Wybenga

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