Table of contents for October 2017 (41.7) in Zigzag

When I was a tiny grom, my father decided it was time for my brother and I to become surfers. So off we went down to Addington Beach, where he thought we’d find some smaller waves he could push us on to get the hang of it. My dad, however, was a bit of a madman in his younger days, revving his bike recklessly around town when he wasn’t charging the heaviest waves he could find. And his idea of tiny waves were in the chest-to-head-high range (his, not mine). Needless to say, I was terrified as he pinned me to the board and walked me out through the grinding first-time surf. I wailed until he deposited me back safely on the shore, perhaps a little frustrated at his ‘cry…

For every surfer there is a sacred wave, a place where dreams and reality are spliced together to create our very own fantasy land. Some find it whilst getting tropical in Central America, while others find it squeezed in-between icy breath and neoprene in the cold Atlantic. These are the waves that have inspired and fostered surf culture and remain forever ingrained in our being. Now, imagine these holy temples of infinite stoke being torn down just to feed humankind’s insatiable appetite for the most powerful resource on the planet – money. In the Northern Cape, this nightmarish scenario has become a reality. A suffocating grip has taken hold of some of Port Nolloth and Alexander Bay’s finest firing breaks, and from their final resting place pure evil has, quite…

You’re always pushing yourself at this particular spot. Every time a set approaches, you feel your stomach churn. You know the good ones have a drop like Pipe and a barrel that can fit a truck inside. You have to stroke in so hard, and when the wave picks you up, you have to keep paddling down as the water sucks up the face against you. The bombs grow out of the channel and bend on the reef. You have to paddle in behind the peak, knife it super hard and pull up under the lip. It’s all in the drop, and every time your heart is in your throat. But the reward is big, and when you get spat out of a big hole out there it feels amazing.…

Ireland is cold, windy, grey and raw. Situated up in the storm belt, it gets smashed by North Atlantic fronts. You’re literally surfing in-between the storms. Aileens is an incredible setup. Breaking below the Cliffs of Moher, it’s a treacherous, wet, slippery walk down the side of the mountain. At the bottom, you’re in the shadow of a 600-foot sea cliff. Look out to sea and there are thick, slabby barrels exploding on the reef. You need a big board out here as it comes out of very deep water and then stops on a shallow shelf. Sometimes the wave gives you a chip shot, and it’s the easiest take-off in the world. Alternatively, as the tide comes in, the wave misses the outside rock and detonates on the inside…

It’s a blisteringly cold J-Bay morning, small waves and an icy devil wind to compliment. Something looms in these ominous clouds. Defeat? The forecast says firing J-Bay! But if you’re standing on the point, you’ll realise that Supertubes has in fact disagreed with these prophecies. The contest directors, having stalled on quality conditions earlier in the waiting period, are itching to give the green light. The commish, Kieren Perrow, and his board of advisors have probably heard that the wild side of St Francis is 10-foot plus. That swell should be arriving in J-Bay within the hour. But J-Bay runs on its own time. I’m in the coffee queue when they call the competition on. The three South African hopefuls are in the first two heats. The horn sounds, Jordy…

FINALS DAY I arrive at the contest site to witness Jordy Smith in a combination hole dug out by the red-wetsuit and peroxide-bearded Filipe Toledo. Filipe has been on fire throughout the event. From Round Two he has combo-ed all his opponents. He slaughtered Kanoa Igarashi in that heat, making his surfing look entirely irrelevant – a nice payback for that interference in Brazil, which resulted in a temper tantrum that caused an expulsion from Fiji. Kanoa still to exact similar revenge in Huntington. Filipe then went on to combo two point break gurus Jordy Smith and Julian Wilson in Round 4, courtesy of two massive leg-breaking, full-rotation alleyoops on one wave. Tens – an instant decision from the panel. His style ain’t classic point break, but damn, it’s exciting…

Ewen, Aurel and I have known each other since sixth grade. All we’ve ever wanted was to go on surf adventures. Our first trip that I filmed properly was in Indonesia, where we asked some fishermen to leave us on a tiny virgin island. All we had with us was our boards, our gear, and two chickens, Clara and Morgane. We tried to surf and survive but the experiment failed, big time. Ewen caught chikungunya, which is like a mix of dengue fever and malaria. Poor Clara and Morgane never made it off the island. But the series of videos we made got over 500 000 viewers. That’s how the idea for our video series Lost in the Swell was born. Now, every two or three years, we try to…

In 1984 the Billabong Country Feeling Surf Classic was upgraded to an ASP-rated event, and Supertubes responded by delivering pumping six to eight-foot surf for four days straight. Those that attended were treated to “one of the best surf contests of all time,” according to ASP General Manager Al Hunt. “On the Thursday, which happened to be a lay day, Hans Hedemann, Michael Ho and Richard Cram were taking off on waves at Boneyards and kicking out at Albatross.” Said internationally renowned photographer Pat Flanagan. A relatively unknown 18-yearold Mark Occhilupo took the win, and in the process reinvented the way Supers could and should be surfed on the backhand. A performance ahead of its time, the lines Occy drew back in 1984 still inspire goofy footers to this day.…

Imagine how many times a shark has swum up the point in this exact manner without being noticed by anybody. Casual. Just doing its thang. Being a straight-up G. Day eight of the waiting period and the surf has been pumping all day. Nothing like a sunny winter’s day complimented by cooking waves. Is there anything better? I’m on the beach, taking Insta stories for Zigzag. Gabriel Medina has Mick Fanning in a combination situation, going for the knockout punch quarter way through the heat - unusual considering Mick Fanning’s illustrious string of superb results at the famed African point break. Next thing the skis motor over to the two competitors, full speed. They pick them both up as if they’re performing some sort of swift hit and run. Further…

Apart from picking the cover shot each issue, the Zag team probably spend the most time deliberating over which epic images to include in the photo feature. That’s because we’re spoiled for choice, with A-grade contributions from our outstanding local photographers and others spread across the globe. But this isn’t the internet where you can drop ‘em all at once, instead they have to be carefully selected and sized to fit within an allocated number of pages. Which makes them extra special, we reckon. With that in mind, enjoy this issue’s collection. HOW OUR SELECTION PROCESS WORKS 1 A photographer will submit a handful of images, a collection of the best from the hundreds they’ve shot recently. 2 These will pass the Photo Editor’s desk (aka The Sheriff), who’ll critique…

TO SWALLOW THE ANCHOR When a skipper sells his boat And settles back on land. It was during my first Indo trip that I fell in love with boats. It was the early 90’s, and even though G-Land and Lagundri Bay were long discovered by the generation before me, there was a chain of islands off the Sumatran coast that were begging to be explored. Sure, there were other Aussie skippers cruising around the mystery zone, but they weren’t telling. Which suited us just fine. Some of you will remember those days: sleeping on the deck of cockroach-infested Indo fishing boats and getting the barrels of our lives. I soon began travelling with a roll of nautical charts, as this was often the only way to convince the local captains…

Whenever there’s a big swell heading to Indo, I look at the Nias report. It’s my favourite place in the world. This recent trip, I saw the purple blob filling up the entire Indian Ocean, and booked my ticket on the way to the airport. The Monday had a 19 second period, so I knew we were in for something special. The wave comes out of deep water and bubbles up onto the lava reef. For a moment, it literally looks like a standing wave, as the front sucks water off the reef and the back catches up, making the wave grow in height and girth. At 10-foot, it’s a thick, tropical, brown monster. It breaks in the same place every time, and once you’ve scooped off the bottom, you…

KELLY BREAKS HIS FOOT I’d been gruelling away behind my laptop for too long. Images of the Top 34 continuously streaming into my Dropbox folder from the Zag cameramen. Ronnie Blakey and Joe Turpel’s voices a froth-inducing drone in the background. Is there such a thing as too much highoctane surfing? An overdose? I think so. The contest is on hold, the wind is variable, due to swing offshore and the waves are fun. I grab my board and utilise the back routes to get to Boneyards, lest the boss sees me. J-Bay roads are atrociously pot holed and walking on them with cold feet is like being punished for a crime you didn’t commit. I pass Ian Gouveia. He’s so short, I think to myself. I take a left…

Within 10 minutes of the heat start, Jordy has sent Mr. Coffin into a combination hole six-feet under. Jordy should surf angry more often The Editor and I are chilling in the J-Bay Open Media Centre. The Wi-Fi is better here and the Zigzag dongle has run out of data. What a magnificent day. The waves are firing and the ocean is a clear Indo blue. The wind is blowing just enough to cool your skin. Ahhh, what a time it is to be alive. The Editor has succumbed to reclining on one of the deck chairs. Who can blame him? The last issue has gone to print and he’s pretty much on a paid holiday. As long as his acts of relaxation are done outside the Publisher’s field of…

Had tests been conducted on me at approximately 11:45pm one recent Friday evening at a beach house somewhere north of the Umgeni River, they would have revealed perfectly equal quantities of calcium, globulin, gin, glucose, tequila, potassium, beer, sodium and tetrahydrocannabinol in my bloodstream. For this, I had my friend to thank. A damn good surfer with more than one contest win under his belt, he had invited me to his home for dinner and other experiments. He usually has his guests sign an indemnity form. On that terrible night, he used my form to help start the braai. “I’m taking off,” I said, moments before midnight. Like so many of my take-offs, it was a disaster. As I reached the stairs, they jacked-up without warning. I grabbed the rail…