Watch: ‘Chundy Dharsa’ – A Quiksilver Australia Surf Film

If I were a talented teenager with a half-decent heat total, I’d be sending my CV to Quik.

Not because they’re writing fantasy cheques. Because they seem to care about two things that actually matter: bringing experiences to life and having fun.

One of the highlight moments from Stab High Japan earlier this year had nothing to do with airs. It was spotting Stace Galbraith and Sam Griffiths two days after the event finished shepparding about 20 grommets in the middle of Shibuya Scramble, in peak hour.

It struck me: most of the kids under their watch, who’d been flown over on the company dime, and had probably added a few grey hairs to their mops, weren’t even competing in the event. They were simply in Japan to be around it, to learn how all of this works, and to burst whatever comfortable bubble they’d built at home.

Most grom contracts amount to a sticker pack and some free merch for the local surf shop. But the Quik kids were surfing with their heroes, getting reps on a new air section, trying exotic cuisine and doing cameos in the booth between belting out tracks at karaoke.

That’s priceless stuff you’ll hold onto long after a pro surfing contract ends. I don’t think any other brand comes close when it comes to that investment in youth development and culture.

Chundy Dharsa, a Khyl McIntosh cut follows the youth crew from Stab High Japan to Indonesia. The waves were a bit of a let down, and Stace is very clear about what it is.

“To be honest, the waves were pretty average. But it shows how hard it is to make something like Repeater or Saturn. Those films need a few miracles. This one is more like what actually happens most of the time.”

They nearly scored at G-Land, missed a swell by a day, and spent a lot of time dealing with awkward wind and tide at Keramas. There’s a clip of Kanaiya on a choppy, onshore wall at some nowhere-looking rip bowl, threading together a three-turn combo with ridiculous style. Stace loved that.

“That’s my everyday out the front of the house,” he says. “I still think there’s a place for average waves being documented.”

It is also not a vanity piece for the established names. Hughie, who has had a monster year, found himself on the wrong side of a strategy that usually works.

“He was doing the Mikey [Wright] thing,” Stace says. “Sitting out the back, waiting for sets, going for quality over volume. Which is great if you’ve got three weeks. We had one. The waves were small and it kind of backfired. He didn’t get that many clips.”

Kash Brown did the opposite. He parked himself on the inside and treated every scrap like a vulture.

“Even before we checked footage each night, I’d walk off the beach going, ‘Yep, Kash won today,’” Stace says. “He did that four days in a row. He was acting like a grom, which is what he is, and it worked.”

Kash is on these trips for a reason. Earlier in the year he delivered his own short film – Young, Younger – basically turnkey. Filmed with a mate, music sorted and licensed, all the heavy lifting done.

“That’s the kind of thing we want to reward,” Stace says. “He understands the process. Winning heats is cool. Being a better person and a better surfer is more important.”

The same slow-burn ROI shows up in Hughie and Milla’s paths. The company has been burning fuel, per diems and patience on them for years: getting them in the booth at Stab High, putting microphones in their hands, urging them to look people in the eye, speak clearly, say yes to things that feel slightly uncomfortable. Now it’s starting to swing back.

Hughie wins Stab High Japan. In the months after, he signs with Monster and Swatch for real money.

“I’d put winning that event up there with a Challenger Series win,” he says. “The domino effect has been huge for him.”

Milla too is now brandishing a big green claw, getting paid a pretty penny, splashing mag covers and being inducted into the Surfing Hall of Fame for leading women’s progression.

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A lot of this comes back to how Stace sees the job.

“Ten years ago you could make a very good living freesurfing,” he says. “Now it pays okay. So if it’s only going to be okay, it has to be fun. I think the kids’ talents are valuable enough that they could put them to use anywhere. Surfing is their outlet. If it’s not enjoyable and they’re not growing as people, what’s the point?”

Fun here doesn’t mean turning everything into a school excursion. It means giving them responsibility. Getting them to carry some of the weight of a project. Asking them to front the camera, to help shape ideas, to deal with strangers, to figure out how to act when they’re not holding a surfboard.

Mikey Wright’s presence helps. He’s older, he’s seen every version of the machine, and he still operates like someone who would rather be on a sketchy boat trip than in a polished athlete facility. The younger crew watch how he handles himself in the water and in the car park. That sort of thing sticks.

All of this sits alongside the more polished work: Saturn, Repeater, Microdose with Lungi Slabb in Abu Dhabi. Stace still talks about that last one like it rewired him.

“I could’ve retired after that,” he says. “Bringing all those people together in a week, the Slabb family doing the music, seeing it play and having Dyl Rob say it was one of his favourites. I felt like, alright, that’s exactly what I’m meant to be doing.”

Chundy Dharsa is smaller, rougher, closer to real life. The crew ride trains, miss swells, fry under bad tide, pull clips out of junk. They argue a bit, laugh a lot, and go home slightly better at their jobs and slightly better at being around other humans.