I love the smell of chlorine, the shriek of a jetski and the whine of the muezzin in the morning. I demand that my surftrips be held in theme parks, that I stay at a novelty hotel where the only entrance is through a giant lion’s jaw, where tiger cubs can be petted in between sessions and their full-grown cousins jabbed with your surfboard through the bars of their pen and where muslim women in full-length black lycra and hijabs watch the action from inflatable tubes. Hence Stab’s return to the Islamic Republic of Malaysia and the predictable folds of the Sunway Lagoon wavepool.
Last year, it was the CT warriors; this year it’s an air patrol. How’d Jamie O’Brien, Josh Kerr, Wade Goodall and the father of all things aerial, Christian Fletcher, fare? Let’s just say there was blood on the rocks and it wasn’t from any wounds. A furious water slaughter, that’s f’sure.
Now let’s talk about the West Indies. Folks used to be able to play cricket, are still handy on the kettle drums, burn through the weed and got flawless choco skin. That’s all I know. Didn’t know that if you played your cards right you could stand loud and proud inside rightside caves. Slater, Oz, Tim Curran and Benji hit it the islands on the best swell in twentski years and flourished in everything our good god could deliver.
At the back of the mag we got an angry little piece on the Paniatan surf camp. See, an Australian man has built a camp right in a World Heritage listed area and is claiming exclusive rights to One Palm and the surrounding waves. Not so beuno, you’d think. But what are you going to do when there’s Tavarua and that joint in the Maldives and various other operations doing exactly the same thing? Greed is universal. A crew of surfers, including the famous Turner brothers, chased a swell there for two reasons: to tow into 15-foot bombs and to check out the camp. We got the photos and we got the story. Your opinion on the subject is welcomed. Write to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Anything else worth rolling your eyes over? How about Charlie Smith’s bullet-ridden trip to Somalia? Or Bruce Irons talking about his love for booze and dice? Or the creepy website that is fulfilling every carnal desire for top pros?
I could go on. But we’ve both got a lot of living and maybe even a little loving to do.