The Mikala Jones Experience

Maybe your local’s been pretty good lately. And maybe you just got out of the water after a satisfying session. You’re feeling damn fine about yourself and those last couple of turns. You’re pretty sure you kinda rip.

Water still in your ears, sand between your toes, an impenetrable aura of stoke surrounding you, back in the parking lot you jump on your phone to see what you may have missed. Fucking Mikala Jones.

The Hawaiian wanderer, who’s seemingly ageless, just dropped another clip from the uncrowded lineups of Papua New Guinea. 

“We’re trying to decide where to set-up the tent,” he says before the camera cuts away to perfect blue, empty paradise pits.

It’s not an easy slog making it as a free surfer these days. Much of that marketing dough dried up years ago. But Mikala, somehow, some way, keeps coming up with ways to make the common man jealous—and that’s worth keeping him on the payroll.

When watched while in the midst of an over-hyped swell in Orange County, California, his latest sojourn’s especially enticing.