Innholdsfortegnelse for No. 565 i Tracks

I have a confession. I’ve never sipped spiced rum after a session at Soup Bowls in Barbados. Never set foot on the talcum white sand of the Caribbean’s most secret right. Never ridden a wave beneath the soaring cliffs of Moher. Never sampled the fabled juice of mainland Sumatra. I can say I’ve roamed the ever-changing coast of Sri Lanka, but I’ve not seen a single one of the Philippines 7000 odd islands and I’m yet to surf myself legless on the endless lefts of Chile, or chase wintry perfection in the wilds of Canada. However, after putting together this issue I can assure you that I want to do them all. If I have to don a thick wetsuit and employ multiple modes of transport so be it. If…

Actor Simon Baker was in America working on a show when he got a call from a producer he’d worked with named Mark Johnson. “He said, ‘I’ve just read this book and it made me think of you’,” explains Baker. “He said ‘have a read and I’ve got the chance to get the option if you want to partner up on it’.” Simon, who spent his formative years immersed in surfing, instantly had a powerful response to Tim Winton’s novel Breath, which tells the story of two young surfers in the 70s – Pikelet and Loonie – whose journey through adolescence is radically altered when they meet ‘Sando’ a revered local wave rider. “I had moments where I just had to put it down and just wept. It brought up…

It wasn’t in any characteristic of the land or the people. Instead it was in the direction of the relentless wind that the Barbados and its neighbouring islands came to be called, “The Windward Islands.” The trades blow east. For a sailor in the 17th century, or a surfer in the 21st, that’s the fact of life. My short trip was governed by how the trade winds interact with the coastline. The east coast: raw, mountainous, onshore. The west coast: developed, sheltered, offshore. There are exceptions, like the calmness of the twilight hour, or bends in the wind direction that favour certain angles of coastline. Of course, there’s the north coast, a length of sharp limestone cliffs that drop straight down into dark blue water, or the south coast, which…

You have probably seen stills and moving pictures of Josie Prendergast adroitly cross-stepping her long-board on zippering walls at the Pass. Blessed with an abundance of style and grace, her enchanting wave-act is likely to inspire even the most ardent retro critic to reach for the log. While growing up in Byron has shaped her surfing and personality, Josie will tell you that her other home is the small town of General Luna on the island of Siargao in the Philippines. Josie has been returning to the village where she was born regularly, since she left at age four. In the corresponding interview, Josie talks about her close connection to the Philippines, the waves, and the local family and friends she loves to spend time with. You spent the early…

I grew up 200 miles from the nearest beach surrounded by pine trees. There was also an abundance of sage, juniper, Manzanita and more, but the pines, Ponderosa to be specific, were the grandest of all. Their fallen cones kept me company as I kicked them on the way home from the school bus and also used them as kindling during our long, snowy winters. One of the biggest pines around was in my front yard. It has since come down as it posed a serious threat to the wellbeing of our home, should it have fallen as a result of the frequent strong winds and lightning, but I remember it well. I recall how it towered overhead and dropped what seemed like millions of needles every fall. Pines are…

Jordan Rodin is running late for his rendezvous with Derek Hynd. As he speeds towards Perth airport, the young, West Australian surfer, who lays concrete for a living, wonders what the new board being hand-delivered by Derek will look like. Not surprisingly, Hynd’s finless crafts, which are produced in conjunction with Des Sawyer, are highly prized by those who have followed him down the sliding path. As he nears the airport, Rodin spies Hynd’s wiry frame leaning into the wind beneath a wizened face that’s spent a lifetime squinting, one-eyed towards the horizon. Spotting Jordan’s car, Hynd starts waving madly with his free arm; clutching a jam-packed board bag and a small backpack in the other. Jordan pulls over, puppy-dog- eager to greet his mentor and examine his new ride.…

//_MYSTO_INDO_SHIELD_16654.JPG Who says the romance of surf discovery is dead? Certainly not us after this image glided into our in-box, dropping our jaws to the floor and turning us an envious shade of green. Taken by veteran Indo soldier and photog Andrew Shield, it features a perfect right-hander rifling down an impossibly picturesque reef pass/point as the morning sun bathes the scene in an ethereal golden light. The best part however, is that there isn’t a soul in sight. It’s the dream of every red-blooded natural footer manifest in one image. Andrew had been contracted to shoot the mysto and highly inaccessible wave for a new ultra low-key resort opening in the bay where it resides, and even though they’d told him of the set-up they had found, he still…

Damien Poullenot’s regular gig is shooting photos for the WSL. However, when the French lensman is not shadowing the WCT elite, he likes to escape to the Caribbean where there are a myriad of different waves to surf and capture. Although Poullenot has spent time exploring the Caribbean’s less accessible coastlines, his regular go-to spots are the islands of Martinique and Guadeloupe. Both locations are officially French territories and part of the island group known as the Lesser Antilles. The ferry ride between the two islands takes about three-four hours – roughly the same time it takes to fly to the islands from Miami. “I really love going there,” offers Poullenot in his best broken English. “For me, this is a perfect, surfer/family trip – everybody will find what they…

After a breakfast of buffalo curd, fruit and treacle – a tasty Sri Lankan staple – we head south in a van loaded with boards, water and peanuts. We’re eager to escape the Arugam Bay crowds and the waves further south beckon. The Sri Lankan east coast points all have their distinctive nuances, but roping right walls, arid backdrops and oppressive heat are a common theme. Many surf travellers in the region rely on hired tuk tuks to get around. The compact, three-wheeled vehicles have a minimalist charm but they’re slow-going and cramped on longer-haul drives. Fortunately we’re travelling in a hired van. Roy, a charismatic Aussie expat who turned his back on the west to start a new life in a nascent, post-civil-war Sri Lanka, is driving. He’s confident…

In Irish mythology, the ‘Banshee’ is a female spirit who heralds the death of a family member by wailing, shrieking, or keening during the night. In many parts of Ireland, it is believed her wail can be so piercing that it shatters glass. In the wee hours of our first icy night on Irish soil, the household is abruptly woken by a deafening, mournful cry. After restless hours pass, we rise to discover fragments of the car’s back windscreen covering the driveway. Thankfully, there was no sign of lost possessions, but with Mullaghmore and a host of blood thirsty waves located a short distance up the road, the banshee’s wailing intrusion was a spooky omen. There was plenty of light-hearted banter about what driving would feel like in the absence…

Back when I was a lad, growing up in the shadow of the belching smokestacks of the Port Kembla Steelworks (not the ones that appeared on Tracks #1 cover, that was Newcastle) dads used to say (well, my dad at least), “You can’t stop progress.” This homily was dragged out to explain everything from the smokestacks blotting out the sun to the rainforest of the Illawarra escarpment disappearing to make way for hillside estates of cream brick McMansions. And in the days before we learnt how to lie down in front of bulldozers, you couldn’t stop it. You could only run away from it. And we did. Up the coast, down the coast, then to exotic foreign destinations in search of unridden waves, and the world was seemingly full of…

From The Vault. The Stubbies At the time of writing, the WSL circus is about to kick off on the Gold Coast for the Quik Pro. However, in many eyes the greatest Gold Coast surfing circus of all time was The Stubbies – a loose affair by any standards, and also the birth of man-on-man surfing via the vision of Peter Drouyn. Here a huge crowd gathers for the promised entertainment. Listen - ‘Blend Inn’ by Hockey Dad. A two piece from Windang on the South Coast consisting of childhood mates Billy Fleming and Zach Stephenson, Hockey Dad delivers a fine blend of 60s garage and 90s surf punk that’ll fit perfectly into the playlist for your next run up or down the coast. www.hockeydadband.com Behind The Cover. Photographer: Bosko…

I was recently asked by an Europe web based publication to come up with a list of the best surfer shapers of all time. Myself and the editor were throwing around the long list that included Reno Abellira, Wayne Lynch, Terry Fitzgerald, Ben Aipa, MP, MR, Simon, Gerry Lopez, Mr X, Col Smith, Richie Collins, Tyler Warren, Dylan Longbottom, Tomo and Ryan Burch. “Col Smith from Narrabeen?” was the inevitable reply. “No, from Redhead, Newcastle.” I replied. It was, to be fair, an emotive pick. Col Smith grew up at my local and being the only professional surfer from our beach, then, and still now, he had rightfully been accorded Zeus like status. Nick Carroll recently described him in Beach Grit as having “short dark hair, crinkly smiling eyes, perfect…

This rapturous Caribbean coil has made a couple of cameos in Tracks over the past few years. The wave first blew up back in 2013 when Ben Bourgeois let a few friends in on a secret – a point where sapphire cylinders spin along the shore of a talcum-white beach, the curling lips so close you can almost reach out and touch them as you do the run-around. At the time a crew, who were trying hard to come down off a tube-induced high, made comparisons to Kirra. Photographer Damien Poullenot recently ventured to the isolated Caribbean right with a group of French surfers. While the French connection tucked in to the Disneyland drainers, Damien shot from the land and water, torn between a desire to capture the action and…

Sumatra. Jewel in Indonesia’s crown of surf. It is Swarna Dipa to the old ones, and one of the largest islands in the world. In some ways, however, this size can be a hindrance to pinpointing quality waves; the surfable coastline spans some 1800 kilometres, and where do you look? Much of the coast relies on specific swell direction, due to the non-negotiable blocking action of the outer islands, themselves the true tincture of Sumatra’s surf. Really though, the difficulty in finding surf on mainland Sumatra is its own reward, since the pay off is almost certainly going to be light on the crowd factor. Which is a good thing in some respects, since the sweetest dividend is the child of toil, something often incomprehensible to the modern child of…

Andy Jones doesn’t like to work in the Northern Hemisphere’s winter months; that’s when the surf conditions are best in Canada and he likes to spend his days roaming the wilderness around Vancouver Island in search of waves. The weather can be fickle, the rubber thick, and normal swell and wind logic often gets thrown out by raging currents. However, when the elements come together, Andy might find himself sliding into a hollow A-frame peak or isolated point, against a storybook winter backdrop. Andy was born in Canada, but honed his eclectic surfing act on Australia’s Sunshine Coast throughout his teen years. At 19 he fell under the spell of Canada again and has spent the last three years unraveling its secrets. How do you find time and money to…

On a recent trip to Mexico I found myself debating the conundrum of exclusivity in modern surf travel. I’d heard about the ‘pay to play’ arrangement down in Salina Cruz, where guide services kept prices high and numbers low. I’d heard stories of dirty tactics: rocks pelted at the cars of unpaying surfers; tires let down. For the average backpacker exploring Central America on a shoestring budget, the price tag for guide services was a hefty one. For them, Salina Cruz remained off limits. Scenarios like these beg questions about the beneficiaries of surfing. Who gains, and who loses out? Does the wider community of Salina Cruz get anything out of it? Or does the arrangement only benefit a few savvy business owners and the well-to-do foreign surfer? The exclusivity…