A Stab High Photo Essay

Yesterday was one of the most exciting days of my life, and I spent it sitting in a sweltering, overcrowded, under-wifi-ed wooden box, where on one occasion I was forced to pee into a too-small water bottle that subsequently tipped over and spilled through the cracks in the floorboard and onto Eric Geiselman’s surfboard below. 

(Sorry about that, EG.)

Watching from this raised, and in that way, isolated, cabin, I was able to absorb the entire Stab High scene from above. There were the fans in attendance, some of whom seemed confused, while others were wholly attentive of every air, bog, and bobble in the pool. There were the lazy river lobsters, whose redness of complexion was the result of too many beers and not enough SPF. There were the event workers, from production to catering to Stab staff, who moved briskly and with conviction despite constantly being confronted with novel challenges (some idiot kicked over our satellite dish, which provided all of our internet capabilities! What to do?) Then there were the surfers in the water, who despite being in direct competition for a non-measly $25k, seemed just as cordial and carefree as a the lazy river folk.

Sharing the judges’ booth with the likes of Aaron Cormican, Brett Simpson, Albee Layer, Shea Lopez, and Cheyne Magnusson only added to the experience. The excitement we shared when somebody went huge, the critical and nuanced debates we had regarding the difficulty and/or coolness of certain maneuvers, and the general shit-talking that took place in that glorified sauna only stoked the fire. Hopefully that came across in the webcast, as well.

The best part of the day, besides for maybe the afterparty and the little Ladybirds, was the men’s final, which saw all six surfers collecting a big score on the right before the storm of the decade (or maybe the week, in Texas?) made its grand entrance, turning the distant sky black and the wind stiff and into the left, leading to the best and most consistently landed airs of the event, all going down in a 15-minute window before we forced to declare a winner and evacuate like cackling hyenas.

For lack of a better word, it was all just so fun. 

This is the story of Stab High 2019, as told by Tom Carey’s glorious photos and contextualized by the head judge (me). 

Photography

Jimmy Wilson