The 2024 Eddie Winner On Addiction, Jail Time, And His Long Road To Glory
The Stab interview with Landon McNamara.
Editor’s note: This story was orignally published in January 2025 — one month after Landon McNamara won the Rip Curl Eddie Aikau Invitational and was shortly thereafter arrested for an incident that occurred a year prior. Given that the Eddie window is now open (see the opening ceremony gallery here), we figured we’d dust off this interview and make it free for all to read.
Since he was 15, Landon McNamara has shown up at Waimea every time it roared, driven by one thing: The Eddie.
Thirteen years later, less than a month ago, he finally pulled it off. A childhood dream, scratched and scarred from years of work, was his.
The win was years of grind and toil. It was North Shore respect. It was, in his words, a wink from the gods. But maybe what mattered most, almost to the day, was that it marked one year of sobriety — a victory in a decade-long battle with addiction that, more than once, nearly killed him.
But the victory was fleeting. Two days later, Landon found himself in a jail cell, surrendering after learning there was a warrant out for his arrest. He quickly bailed himself out, the charge stemming from an incident a year earlier — a moment that marked the tipping point of a long struggle with substance abuse and personal demons. A chapter he thought was closed, a life he believed was buried, had resurfaced.
“Landon has that typical story — young, successful, everybody wants to be your friend, everybody wants to party with you,” says Landon’s father, Liam Mcnamara. “At 19, he was flung into the music industry, and he wasn’t ready for it.”
Landon had taught himself guitar in his parent’s basement, and, according to Liam, disappeared for a year to really get a grip on it. When he came back, he had an album — A Dollar Short & A Minute Late — and to everyone’s surprise, it blew up. Hit No. 1, held steady on Billboard and iTunes reggae charts, turned him from an underground North Shore surfer into a star with adoring fans the world over.
Landon got thrown into the machine, sharing the stage with Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Steel Pulse, Jack Johnson. 150+ shows over five years. Lollapalooza. Red Rocks Amphitheatre. Big offers, bigger stages.
“He got pushed out on tour without a real tour manager, without the right support system,” Liam says. “You throw a 19-year-old kid out on the road, hand him a bunch of money, and have him playing venues around the world… That’s the epitome of a disaster waiting to happen.”
But it wasn’t the road that started his habits. It just poured gasoline on a fire already burning.
“Thirteen was the year everything started for me,” says Landon. “I was hanging out with 18 year olds, and I knew being the craziest would get me attention. I’ll tell you right now, what we were doing was a lot gnarlier than what regular kids were doing.”
Landon grew up in a North Shore that doesn’t exist anymore, a place where his spot in the lineup was inherited, thanks to a legacy paved by his dad, Liam, and uncle, Garrett McNamara. But even for them, it wasn’t handed over easy. They fought their way in.
“In the end, we’re white. We’re haole. I had to kick and scratch for everything I got here,” Liam says. “I’ve taken a lot of slaps, a lot of lickings, a lot of fucking shit over the years. It wasn’t easy for my sons to earn the respect they have now. But I always told ‘em — keep your intentions good, and things will fall into place.”
Intentions aside, Landon remembers a North Shore where pleasure was king and the price tag didn’t matter. Respect was earned by going the hardest, both in the water, and, when the sun dipped, on land.
It’s a well-told story — the shift in surfing, from the days of Bruce and Andy to the more polished, professional athletes of today. Landon understands the value of looking after yourself — something he had to figure out the hard way, through stints in jail and rehab — but there’s a part of him that feels the North Shore has lost something in the process. With the arrival of wealth and wellness, the rough edges of the place, the rawness that made it unique, are being smoothed over and replaced by something more expensive, sanitised, and controlled.
“The place has lost some of its soul. There has to be a certain level of that craziness and passion, because without it, things start to lose their sacredness,” he says.
Flip it over, though, and the picture changes, back to a time that almost broke him, that took friends he’ll never get back and left others stuck in the same cycle he barely escaped. Sure, paddling out at The Eddie took nerve, and hurling himself down the face of that winning wave took even more. But that kind of courage is easy to spot and celebrate. The next type, not so much.
Owning every failure, regret, and mistake, then tossing it on the table for everyone to see, not for pity, but because someone else might need to hear it, that’s the kind of courage that matters. A little uncomfortable, sometimes ugly.
Whatever you call that, the 2024 Eddie winner has it in spades. His story is marked by addiction, loss, fame, and more than a few wrong turns. But beneath all that, it’s a tale of resilience, accountability, and, in the end, triumph.
This is the Stab Interview with Landon McNamara. See below.
Stab: How’s life been since you won the Eddie?
Landon McNamara: It’s been good. I mean, you definitely notice more eyes watching, more ears listening, and people congratulating you and everything.
For the first two weeks after the event, it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. But living on the North Shore, you run into the same people every day. So after that initial wave of congratulations, things pretty much went back to normal.
What did the win mean to you?
To me, it means everything. I can honestly see myself on my deathbed, looking back on my life, and this being one of the moments I’m most proud of.
Since I was 15, I’ve been out at Waimea on every big swell with the specific goal of winning the Eddie one day. Beyond that, as a kid, just experiencing the Eddie from the beach, watching it all unfold — it’s always been on my mind. It’s the biggest thing we have out here, by far.
When it happens, everything stops. No one’s going to school, everyone’s ditching work — it’s just this huge, special moment for the whole community. It’s been instilled in me as the ultimate form of respect out here, especially within the surfing world — and we haven’t always felt that here. My friends and I always felt like the underdogs.
Why?
You see people come over, make careers for themselves, companies make millions off this place — and then they’re gone. Meanwhile, you’re still here, doing the same thing, day in and day out. It felt like we weren’t getting recognised. Like, we’d look around and think, “Why aren’t we being seen the same way as some of these other guys?”
On top of that, we were growing up in a different North Shore than what you see now. It was rougher, more impressionable. So our way of dealing with that was kind of like, “If you’re not going to give it to us, we’re going to take it.” That gave us a bit of a punky rep back then, which probably didn’t help in the long run.
But we’ve always known we had it in us. I knew Luke had it in him, and it happened. And I knew I had it in me, and it happened. Luke’s been my best friend since we were kids. It was always me and him. So when I saw him win, it was just confirmation of everything we’ve believed in. Like, I knew him — and plenty of my other friends — not only had the talent but were also putting in the work. We’ve been grinding, but it just hasn’t been on the radar the way it is for some of the other guys.
You’re on the radar now.
Yeah, but it’s never been all about that, you know? Either way, we’d still be out here doing the same thing. It just rubs you the wrong way sometimes — seeing people build lives off the same stuff you’ve been doing forever.
Talk me through your winning wave. Were you surprised you made it?
I didn’t have much time to think; I just knew I was in the right spot. It was a quick decision — just a light switch moment — and I went for it.
I paddled, maybe two to four strokes, and jumped to my feet, knowing I’d be late. As I dropped in, I thought, “You’re probably not going to make this.” But then I stuck it. Once I had control, I didn’t think much more until I came out of the whitewash. When I finally saw the beach, the crowd, and the mountains, I threw my hands up and screamed.
Looking back, the lip landed right on my back and my tail, but it didn’t feel heavy — it was light, like I was blasted into a cloud. Coming out of the whitewater, I was in full celebration mode. That moment — when you don’t think you’ll make it, but you do — there’s nothing better than that in big wave surfing.
I believe there’s a spiritual element to surfing, especially in places like Waimea Bay. Going into the event, I knew I’d show up, do my part, and let the gods and Eddie take care of the rest. That moment validated that approach. The lip barely landed on me; that wasn’t me — it was some god. It was Eddie.
Best wave you’ve ever had out there?
Hard to say. If you’re just thinking of tying in the whole moment to it, yeah, that was the best wave of my entire life for sure.
Are you scared out there?
I feel scared every time the waves are big. Every time I go out, I’m scared. I think if you’re not, you’re lying. But it’s not a debilitating fear. It’s the type of fear you want to conquer.
If there’s one day that you’re going to put it all on the line, it’s the Eddie day, you know? But the mindset I went out there with is the same mindset that I’ll go into any freesurf session as well. I’m not going out unless I’m trying to get the biggest one that comes through. If I’m not thinking that, I might as well not be out there.
You mentioned that the North Shore is different now compared to when you were growing up. How so?
I caught the tail end of the 90s, early 2000s North Shore. I was born in 1996. The crowd I grew up looking up to was pretty gnarly — partying, fights, regulating the lineup. That just doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t even know most of my neighbours now.
A lot of people got priced out, and a lot of the people I looked up to, they’re gone. Some are dead. I grew up in a culture that benefited the person who partied the hardest, got the most chicks, and caught the biggest waves. Those were my three pillars because that’s what I saw the guys getting the most respect doing.
Now it’s not like that. People are more professional, taking care of their health, and not trying to piss off their sponsors. There’s a lot less heavy stuff going on.
The good part is people are living healthier lives, but the flip side is the place has lost some of its soul. There has to be a certain level of that craziness and passion, because without it, things start to lose their sacredness, you know?
Tell me about the North Shore you remember growing up in.
I’d say 13 was the year everything started for me. I have an older brother, Makai, and he was hanging out with older kids — 16, 18-year-olds — so I was tagging along, doing what they were doing. When I was 13, I was already in that world. I knew being the craziest would get me attention. Suddenly, I’m feeling respected and recognised by my peers because of the crazy things I’m doing, and how far I’m willing to take them. I enjoyed the excitement of living like that.
We’d ride our bikes from house to house, living without our parents breathing down our necks, because they didn’t really know what we were up to. We were pretty wild, especially from 13 into our early 20s — I’ll tell you right now, it was a lot gnarlier than what regular kids would be doing. There are people in our core group of friends that didn’t make it out, and they’re either still in it or they’re dead.
It was a gnarly time, with the partying and the whole lifestyle that came with it. The guys we looked up to had it all — winning contests, getting the chicks, living the life. So, I thought, I’m going to live like that, but even gnarlier. I wanted to outdo them.
You come from a pretty famous surfing family. Tell me about them.
I’ve always looked up to my dad and my uncle. Growing up as the son and nephew of those two was a huge blessing. They paved the way for us to have a place in the lineup, just by being born, in a way.
But to be totally honest, even my dad would tell you there were times I was at a disadvantage. My dad wasn’t exactly the most liked surfer. He pissed a lot of people off because he spoke out when others wouldn’t. In a way, we were kind of put into this punk category.
My uncle did a good job separating himself from that negative perception, but it took my dad until this year to finally get the recognition he deserves as a human, instead of just being misinterpreted as an asshole.
What kind of stuff was he doing to piss people off?
Well, he was just a loud, haole boy, you know? When it came to competition, he knew the rulebook from end to end. Very analytical, articulate, and intelligent when it came to the technical side of things.
So, if there was any wrongdoing with scoring or the operation of events, he’d always be the first to speak up. But out in the lineup, I think when you grow up scratching for everything you’ve got, you’re not going to let anyone take it from you. You’re going to call people out on their bullshit when you see it. But he wasn’t feared like some of the others — he was more seen as just a loud mouth.
But beyond all the negative stuff people might try to throw at him, there are a thousand more positive things. My dad wasn’t just the dad of me and my brother out here. He was the dad of every surfer in this community who didn’t have the means to do what they needed to succeed. He’s honestly one of the most giving people I know, and it’s been going on for a long time. It took a few extra decades for my dad to get that positive light shone on him. But at the end of the day, he’s a man of Aloha.
When did music come into your life?
When I was real young, I took some guitar lessons, but it never really stuck. To me, it felt like school, and I wasn’t learning what I wanted to learn.
It didn’t really click until I was 15. I had a good friend staying at my house, and he started showing me how to play songs that I actually liked. I realised I didn’t need to go through the whole process of learning all this other stuff I wasn’t into. I just needed to learn the chords to the songs I liked. That was the spark that lit the fire for me.
From then on, I’d lock myself in our basement, playing music for hours and hours by myself. Eventually, I got the courage to write my own songs and sing in front of my friends.
I always looked up to and idolised guys like Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix. Not just for their music, but for the movements they created with it. I’ve always seen music as a powerful tool — not just for self-expression, but for doing something impactful in the world.
I talked to your dad last week, and he said he knows people who’ve had their lives saved by your music. What’s it like hearing that?
Yeah, for a long time, I’d get those kinds of messages from people, and I didn’t really know how to receive them. But now, man, it’s such a cool feeling to know that my music has positively impacted someone’s life.
That’s why I love music so much. When you’re real with yourself and stay authentic to who you are — even if it’s about your own experiences — it’s going to connect with someone else in a way you never expected.
Do you write songs with the intention of helping others?
Honestly, I write for myself. The messages are for me.
It’s about what I’m going through, things I need to work through. I’m not trying to preach to anyone. I just want to express what I’m feeling, what I’m seeing in life — what feels right or wrong. But through that process, I’ve realised it actually is for others too.
What are some of the personal struggles you’ve had to overcome?
From a young age, I got into some pretty heavy drugs, and I was pretty gnarly for a long time. Drug addiction is something that’s been a huge part of my personal story, and it’s something that took me to some really dark places.
I’m the kind of guy that, even if I know something isn’t right — even if I’ve seen with my own eyes what kind of bad comes from certain things — I’ve gotta figure it out myself. I had to run myself into really, really dark places before I could realise that I was on the wrong path. It took me a long time. I was in and out of some really gnarly stuff, but I was always the kind of guy who would go super off for a while, reel it back, get myself together, and be okay for a bit, and then go super gnarly again.
But the last two years, I got real hooked into it all. It’s a miracle I’m still here, still sane, because I was very, very close to never coming back. People close to me, people who loved me, they lost hope. Straight up, they told me, “We thought it was over. We thought you were done.”
Talk me through the events that unfolded in the days after you won the Eddie.
I can’t really talk about the case itself because I’ve still got court coming up, but I can give you a rundown of what happened. I just can’t go into specifics about the charge. I would talk about it, but my attorney advised me not to. To me, it’s minor, but he thinks it’s best to keep quiet for now.
Got it. So, how did those first few days play out?
The night of the Eddie, I had dinner with friends and then went home. It was hard to sleep — I was still so excited. Two days later, my dad and I went down to Waimea to clean up some of the trash left behind from the event.
While we were picking up trash, I got a phone call from a friend. He said, “Hey, I heard there’s a warrant for your arrest.” I was caught off guard. I figured it was a mistake — maybe something old. But I made a few calls and found out the warrant was real.
It turned out to be from something that happened on New Year’s the year before. It took a full year for the charge to come through for some reason.
What happened next?
Once I knew it was legit, I went to the police station, turned myself in, and bailed myself out. I was in there for 30 minutes. It wasn’t a serious charge or anything. It just so happened that the timing lined up right after the Eddie win, which made it all feel pretty surreal.
I went from the biggest win of my career to sitting in a cell two days later. It was a weird moment. I was just sitting there thinking, “Man, I just won the Eddie, and now I’m here.” I guess no matter how far you come, you still have to deal with things from your past sometimes.
So the charge was from an incident on New Year’s the year before?
Yeah. That night, I got into some trouble and was arrested. Some things got broken — allegedly — and I was charged for part of it last year. But for whatever reason, they didn’t charge me for the other part until right after the Eddie. I had no idea it was still out there.
Do you think it only made the news because of the Eddie?
Oh, 100%. If I hadn’t just won, it wouldn’t have been newsworthy at all. The only reason it made headlines was because people saw “Eddie winner in jail two days after the event.” But in reality, I was in there for 30 minutes over something that happened a year ago.
How are you moving forward from it?
I had the bail money ready, and I’m just focusing on what’s in front of me. It was a stupid mistake, and it happened because of the way I was living my life back then. But honestly, that incident was a turning point for me. From that moment on, I made a lot of big changes, and I’m sticking to that path.
Can you pinpoint what initially drew you into that dark period of your life?
It all started as fun — just messing around, you know? But after a while, you start to change. Your brain changes. You’re not just experimenting anymore. You fall into addiction, and that cycle is heavy. You start hating yourself, and when that kicks in, you just think, “Well, if I’m a piece of shit, I might as well live like one.”
That’s where it went. You get mixed up in some really dark, shady shit. You’re not proud of what you’re doing. I got to the point where I wanted to die, and I understood why, but I didn’t have the strength to stop. I couldn’t even remember why I started, but it’s just such a vicious cycle. It pulls you deeper. You start turning into someone you’re not, and the darkness takes over more and more, pushing out all the light in you.
At some point, a higher power had to step in. For me, it did. I had to take an honest look and think, “This is fucked. If you’re going to survive, you have to figure this out, or you’re dead.” Someone who helped me get sober once told me, “Within a year, your life is going to completely change.”
That stuck with me. My one-year sober mark was a week before I won the Eddie. It took a hell of a lot of work — mentally, physically, spiritually. But I was done sabotaging myself. Something clicked, and I was over it.
Was there a point where you felt like you’d hit rock bottom?
I’d felt like I’d hit rock bottom a few times before, but this time it felt different. My family was done with me. My friends were done with me. I had nothing. I was bouncing between mental institutes and jail, just trapped in this nightmare. My last stint in jail was so hellish. I was naked, in psychosis the whole time, bouncing from jail to mental institute, just going through the craziest, most terrifying experience ever. It’s like your mind breaks, and you’re stuck in a real-life nightmare.
When I finally came out of it, I just took a painful look at myself. I had everything I needed, but I was fucking it all up. I had a son I couldn’t be with, a family that loved me, and I was just fucking tearing everyones hearts apart. I just thought, “What the fuck am I doing?” I realised, it was either die or change — right fucking now.
How did you change?
I’ve been through treatment programs before, and I’ve seen what recovery can look like. I have a lot of friends who’ve been through it too. So, I stayed close to the people I respected and trusted. Eventually, I got to a point where I had fucked up so many times, I realised I didn’t know how to make the right choices anymore. So, I had to rely on others. I told myself, “I don’t know what the right path is, but these people do, and I’m gonna listen.”
It took breaking myself down enough to admit I was wrong and that I didn’t have the answers. Once I was willing to accept that, I just started listening and following the guidance of people who had been there. It wasn’t easy, but it was the only way I could start finding my way out.
You mentioned that your friends and family had given up on you — how did they react when you started getting back on track?
I mean, everyone had been ready to help me for a long time; I just needed to be ready myself. It takes time. This wasn’t my first attempt at getting sober, so people weren’t just going to buy it right off the bat. No matter how real it felt to me, they’d seen the pattern before. They’d heard the same promises, so they were there for me, but with caution. They were staying on their toes.
Ultimately, it’s a road you have to walk by yourself in a lot of ways, even with all the support in the world. You’re the one who has to make those choices and decisions. But I’m blessed, man. I had so many people who loved me, so my road was probably a lot easier than most. The support was there, but it only worked when I was ready to receive it.
Where do you stand now? Do you feel like you’re truly in control, or is it still a work in progress?
Right now, my priorities have completely shifted. When you’re caught in addiction, it’s all about that one thing you’re hooked on. But now, it’s about being a great father to my son, a good son to my parents, a loving partner, a real friend to the people in my life, and learning how to love myself so that I can have more love to share.
As for whether I feel completely on top of it — I stay close to my recovery. I’m still active in that community, surrounded by like-minded people, but it’s a complicated journey. You can’t get too confident, you know? Because the moment you think you’ve got it figured out, you might slip up.
But I feel good. I’ve been good for a while now. And for the first time in a long time, I can stand by who I am as a man. That’s something I couldn’t honestly say before, but I can now.
Knowing what you’ve been through and all those struggles that you’ve had, did it make the Eddie win even sweeter?
Absolutely. The Eddie win was like the ultimate affirmation of everything I’d known deep down, even if I’d forgotten it for a while. I knew I had it in me. I just had to get out of my own way. When you face the things you don’t want to face, when you push through the hard stuff, you realise there’s a higher power looking out for you. It’s like there’s a reward for your work, even if it comes slow.
What’s next for Landon McNamara?
I’m going to keep doing the same thing. Surfing has given me a lot of patience, especially when it comes to doing the things I really love, like chasing big barrels. Eventually, I want to pioneer some massive waves, like my uncle did. I know there are still hundreds of 30-foot barrels out there, and I want to go and find them.
On the music side, I’ve just been recording a lot, and I hope to travel the world, play for as many people as I can, and do some good along the way. Surfing and music are really tied together for me, and after this win, more doors have opened. My goal is to keep doing both for the rest of my life and make them my careers.
On top of all that, I’ve got a five-year-old son, and he’s my everyday journey. I’m stoked to teach him everything I’ve learned and help him grow into a good man.
All the negative stuff I’ve been through doesn’t mean anything unless I can make something positive out of it. I’ve been in dark places that people are still stuck in. If I can get out, they can too. I just hope my story can inspire them to do the same.
