Check Sal gal doing heaps of airs and, generally, just ripping up the artificial perfection at the Wadi Adventure Wave Pool in Al Ain, UAE. In the desert. Courtesy of Red Bull. Click here.
Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink
Hijinks On The High Seas… And Beyond
Tag Archives: surfing
Bugbee Surf Adventures
If you happen to…
- be in New Jersey and in the market for some surf lessons
- have a hankering for an expertly guided excursion into the wilds of Costa Rica
- find yourself in search of quality Mexican foodstuffs, Dark and Stormies, or sunglasses
- prefer embarking on adventures (such as those listed above) in the company of knowledgeable, entertaining, and gorgeous ladies
…Dot Bugbee is your girl. Check out her newly updated site: Bugbeesurfadventures.com.
Mainstreaming: Not Just For Vampires Anymore?
Photo: ASL/Jarrason Bitton
Arguably, one of the most magnificent and heartening things about surfing is its unchainable cool. Truly not giving a damn, yet harbouring, deep down, the utmost in passion. Having few resources and finding a way. Looking and behaving in manners not suitable for most dinner parties. Unless you’re amongst like-minded diners. Which, thankfully, most of us are. So, the question is, can Woolies ever be a like-minded diner?
Read about big corpos and surfing here on ASL.
Dispatches From The Eye Of The Storm. AKA Oh Sandy. Two.
On the morning of Saturday, November 3rd, I wake up at 7:30 a.m. to a dark room. The nightlight I plugged into the wall, a subtle alert to the presence of electricity, is still dim. I grudgingly push two down comforters aside and climb out of bed, wearing the latest in pajama couture: Long socks, shorts, sweats, and a hoodie layered beneath a ski sweater. It’s our sixth day without electricity and it’s 4 degrees in my house. But at least I have a house. I keep reminding myself. So many of my friends lost everything. But at least they are safe.
This headspace is surreal. I remember watching Katrina and her aftermath on the television, and being unable to process what I was seeing. Too much destruction and sorrow. Human kindness–as well as malevolence.
The night before, I sat in my friend’s living room, absorbing borrowed warmth, and watching the nationally televised Sandy benefit concert, broadcast from Rockefeller Center in New York City, where half of Manhattan still didn’t have power. Another friend who made the journey back through the Lincoln Tunnel said returning to the City was the strangest thing she’s ever experienced. It’s hard to fathom New York standing still.
Retroactive Blogging: The 51st Rip Curl Pro Bells Easter Comp
I wrote this post about Bells a few months back…
Day 2. The sun is piercing the super translucent remnants of the marine layer mixed with wildfire haze; a virginal veil over the pristine beauty that is Victoria’s rugged coastline. It hits the gold-grey sand and wheat-coloured cliffs, refracting off of the glass-smooth faces pounding Winkipop with a deceptive grace. Overhead sets wrap ‘round the point at Rincon. Thousands of millimetres of lens are trained on the Bowl. Jet skis rear and climb peaks, dive down their spines. Julian snaps, hacks, cuts.
Day 4. Gale-force winds ravage the contest site shortly after an emotional Mick Fanning is presented with his bell trophy. As he gives an interview to Channel 9, the gusts apparently level every section of fence bearing a past champion’s photograph. Except one: Michael Peterson. Talk about eerie. The late legend was the very first champion of the Bells Easter comp in 1973.
The weather had been warm and sunny all week–atypical for Easter in Victoria, and it actually began turning during the men’s final. The clouds rolled in as the crowd on the beach shared a moment commemorating MP. “Hells Bells” played on the loudspeakers and goose bumps rose on our arms. Someone said, “It would be fitting if a ‘Cooly kid’ won this year.” This 51st year. Kelly flew and spun and stuck, but Mick rode Bells as Bells likes to be ridden–with power, style, control. And win a Cooly kid did. Continue reading
The September sessions. So far.
I stumbled out of bed at 5:12 a.m. on Wednesday, washed my face. Changed into a ‘kini. Pulled on cutoff jean shorts. Listened to early morning political discussions while I drove to the island. I grabbed three coffees from Wawa and grabbed two friends from up the street. We checked a spot just to the north and headed for the inlet. Somehow, we found parking. The lineup was a madhouse. Mad people, mad waves. Pulsing, beautiful, large. The skilled, the swell-deprived junkies blocked and dropped in on each other as the unskilled allowed their boards to drag them over the falls on top of their fellow watermen. And women. There were two of us out there. A minuscule percentage.
I managed the paddle out easily, navigated the clean-up sets without incidence, stayed sufficiently out of the way. I sacrificed noteworthy rides for peace of mind. Dot suffered sets on the head and aggro challengers, a board to the mouth. She situated herself amidst the action. Not interested in staying out of your way, sir.
After an hour and a half, I aimed for the beach, only to be tossed around and crushed to the bottom by menacing shorebreak. I clawed my way onto the sand and sat down with a not-so-small effort to refrain from embarrassing collapse. I told myself I’d wait for Leslie to pass before paddling out again.
I stumbled out of bed at 5:32 a.m. on Thursday. Continue reading
LDW
#MDW ushers in the party. The people. The unending well of booze. The chaos.
With summertime on the Jersey Shore comes, at once, free-for-alls and obligations. Work and play overload. Sleep deprivation. Heat, humidity, south wind, and ankle-biter waves.
#LDW ushers in the party. Whisks away the people. The chaos. The booze remains, but the flow is ever so slightly constricted. Beach jobs vanish, but sleep reappears. Kind of.
I’ve been anticipating autumn. My friend asked me why the other day, and I told her that I’ve been living in summer for a year. Which, believe me, is not a complaint. Jetting from last year’s East Coast apple cider season into Gold Coast spring, then from the earliest hints of Sydney fall to May in New York was wonderful, but I want to wear long sleeves. I want to sleep under blankets. I want to exist without a perpetual layer of grimy sweat on my skin. I need a couple of good hair days.
Technically, it’s still summer, but Labor Day weekend is the end of summer for us. I spent the weekend working, non-stop. I feel acutely aware of seasonal shifts after dodging them. On LDW, I juggled Summer Ales with pumpkin lattes, surfed without a wetsuit and then put on a pair of boots. On Monday evening, it was like a switch had been flipped. The rain blew in, the bennies ran out, and the beach remained deserted. The next morning, the wind laid out the sea, the sky turned silver, and we knew that sets weren’t far behind. So, here’s to local summer. To hurricane season. To flavorful beers and free parking and a lack of badge checkers. And waves upon waves upon waves.
The Golden Guido Has Risen: Bernie and Ges Premiered to a Stoked Crowd in Atlantic City on Aug. 25th
Snooki (yes, Snooki) gave birth twice that weekend. Once in Livingston, N.J. at 3 a.m. on Sunday–to her much anticipated, little bundle of deeply tanned euphoria. Once a few hours earlier–to a lethal, golden Guido–amidst ample laughter at the world premiere of Bernie & Ges. On the real Jersey Shore.
“It wasn’t about how many tickets we sold. Sitting in the crowd, amongst people, and listening to them and how well it was received–I think we did a good job,” Alex DePhillipo said after the screening of his latest project. As he stepped away and dispossessed a champagne bottle of its cork, Mike Anthony (the voice of Bernie) said he was amazed that Alex and Ges called him to work on the film.
“It was really, really fun. I guess it showed, how much work we really put into it. He’s working 24 hours a day,” he said, gesturing to Alex, who moved quickly around the soundproofed room and distributed red Solo cups of bubbly as T.S.O.L. performed a wall away. “The turnout wasn’t as great as we wanted it to be, but the way that everybody responded really meant a lot.”
Earlier, Ges said the premiere may have suffered from unfortunate calendar placement: school’s nearly back in session and lots of the local surfers are (or were very recently) down in Virginia for the East Coast Surfing Championships. The massive Music Hall at Atlantic City’s House of Blues admittedly looked a little deserted at 8:30 on Saturday night, a half hour to show time. Ticket holders had stealthily trickled in and congregated in the balcony, and yeah, okay, if the audience had done a wave, it would have been sectiony. But when the lights went out, the place was alive with that energy… you know, that energy that emanates from dedicated watermen stuffed into theaters. Repeat viewers and loyal supporters and… family. Continue reading
Courtney Conlogue Profile on ESPN
Click.
Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink 