Australia's Gold Coast is gearing up for the Quiksilver Pro. On February 25th, the aimless wanderings of attention starved professional surfers who have been staving off hunger pangs with photo shoots and interviews will finally come to an end as board bags and backpacks and laptops and big headphones come staggering off the plane and out into the Australian sunshine. Floors will become couches and couches beds. Girlfriends will be like mothers and brothers will be, well, brothers. Teenage surf stars froth and dream of a perfect Superbank built up and ripe with a pumping swell throttling from Snapper Rocks to Kirra. Conversely, a bulging and aggressive lineup of locals braces its defenses for the barrage of surfing talent and egos looking to fight tooth and nail for those first precious rating points and an all-important leg up in the first leg of the ASP Tour.

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The surf is abating and I know it's time get some writing done. Days prior, as the swell grew and the wind blew, I scanned the lineup for material when Blam! I hit pay dirt while sharing the waves with some young kids I know. I marveled at their seemingly uncontrollable need to explain every detail of every ride they got. I mean it wasn't 30 seconds before these guys were reviewing the last air or barrel in excruciating minutia. I laughed and cringed as I was held rapt by each surfer's spin on his own daring and expertise. At one point I paddled frantically from the peak just to get some quiet time, but to my chagrin several of them followed with only intent to share their tales of greatness. I was becoming frustrated thinking why just the experience of a good wave can't be enough. Right? Smile and relive the memory in private.

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In a recent discussion with Hawaii's madman in residence, Mark Healy, I asked him about whether he thought  tow-in surfing was diminishing the respect that surfers had for big waves. His answer gave insight into a burgeoning movement in big wave surfing. He highlighted a culture-wide return to paddling into big waves without PWC assistance, a step back from the tow-in hysteria that gripped the surfing world a decade ago and seemed destined to change surfing completely. It did. Two-in surfing made riding big waves like a party, a fun-loving love fest of gasoline fumes and swirling tow teams. It negated many of the rewards inherent in riding big waves. For one, being at one with nature. Man against the wave... and man immersed in the beauty of nature. The tense quiet between sets, the tremble of the heart that comes with a feathering lip just over the next swell. That is the experience that drew Eddie Aikau out to Waimea with no cameras on the beach. Those are the feelings that pushed Fred Hemmings to stage one of the great big wave events in history: The Smirnoff Pro. Surfing big waves is about the challenge. The same feeling that drove Jeff Clark to paddle out to Mavericks and surf by himself for over a decade. Surfing big waves is about finding what you are capable of. No doubt, the majority of tow surfers are legitimate big wave riders (Heck! It was pioneered by Laird Hamilton and Buzzy Kerbox. If those guys ain't watermen, then who is?), but there has also been the influx of surfers who have no right to be out in those conditions and could have never pulled off a paddle session.

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The surf world has been swirling the last week with all kinds of interesting flotsam and jetsam. From drug testing to Tebowing to a surf-related arrest in Chicago that somehow involves Kelly Slater, see if you can find any rhyme or reason to these loosely connected surf stories. The only theme I see is that surfing is becoming more and more saturated by outside influences and and further spread out among the cultural landscape.

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Music and surfing are inseparable. Their kinship goes back to the ukulele no doubt as Hawaiians recomposed amidst post-olo board sessions, but the term "surf music" waxed electric a generation later as Californian beach culture exploded. 1960's acts like Duane Eddy and The Ventures developed the instrumental rhythms that would stoke legions of surfers. The sound was honed to perfection by Dick Dale and exploded in beautiful absurdity via The Surfaris' "Wipeout." While the genre faded as the 70's approached, surfers still turned to music as fuel and therapy. But as the years went on, the sounds of such giants as the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, The Who, Lynard Skynard, and the Stones showed how difficult surf music was becoming categorize, but the power to amp was always the secret ingredient.

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The weekend...a holiday...a day off work and it's flat. Is that some kind of a joke? A full 24 hours of navigating a world without waves. Is that some kind of ironic slap in the face or Mother Nature's response to our nonsensical pandering to an artificial schedule of days and labor. No matter how you slice it, a day off is an excuse to go surfing, but it's flat. So what now?

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Holy Moly! Looking over the year end ASP rankings, there is one theme that screams for attention: Brazil has arrived. Traditionally, South American surfers seemed to hang on to the tour by sheer determination and guts, but the most dominant innately talented surfers generally hailed from surfing strongholds of Australia and America. But just take a gander at this year's rankings. Gabriel Medina...

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Here is a re-post below that has generated lots of feedback. It came to my mind as I watched Jaimal Yogis' video about his book Saltwater Buddha: a surfer's quest to find Zen on the sea. It made me think of the great stories that surfers experience in a life of riding waves and what motivates them. Is it a higher power, a noble cause, or a selfish pleasure? Maybe all of them...

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Tom Curren once said that surfing is like living in a primal scream...Not sure what that means but I think it's like life. Life is the experience not the product. In other words, how you get to your destination matters more than the destination itself. In still other words, he who dies with the most toys does not necessarily win (Granted, he may still be dead but maybe he had some sort of a valuable existential experience getting those toys). Either way, you know, he still dies.

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After a recent morning surf, I was sitting in a coffee shop reading Drew Kampion's The Way of the Surfer, and I came across a great article on Tom Curren with an even better title: Still Waters Run Deep. That's right on the money. It got me thinking about Curren's contribution to the sport. It wasn't a Duke thing or a Hobie thing, a Brown thing, or even a Slater thing, but something completely different. It wasn't just a big moment. Curren's moment in the surfing continuum was like a shift in perspective. His full commitment to professional surfing changed surfing's economic paradigm. Then his abandonment of it jolted surfing's collective consciousness. With his back foot firmly planted in the past and his front placed in the future, Tom Curren buried the rail of surf culture, dragged his hand across the creative face of music and surfboard design, and carved a line all his own.

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I saw it again during the smoking last swell. Even in this highly enlightened green-eco-retro-cool-daddy culture and in a world where there are more waves and methods of wave riding than ever before imagined, surfers are still dropping in on other surfers. Uhg! I saw dudes getting faded in the most cold and tragic way, pushing over sections and looking back like bloated pro wrestlers ready to scrap. Improper hand gestures abound as rudeness spread like Ebola in what translated into to a free market economy run by pirate kooks. Come on! This is a plea. Please you guys and gals, don't drop in on surfers who have priority. It breaks down the natural order of things and throws a cog into the brotherhood (and sisterhood of course) of the waves. Dropping in on, snaking, hopping, working, burning, shoulder-hopping or fading your fellow surfer is never cool. If you think it is, then you might be a kook. If you're not sure of your kook status, check here. Sometimes, I guess, a payback for a previous drop-in is uncontrollable but try your best. Use words and not saber-rattling that may lead to a physical altercation. Fights on the beach just blow the whole vibe for sure. Unintentional drop-ins occur, but again remember to let the surfer know it was a mistake. And don't forget that two unintentional drop-ins will suddenly seem very intentional.

Slater's big title fuss was all the rage last week, but it was Garrett McNamara's beast of a wave over a submarine canyon that grabbed the world news. Every morning show worth its salt ran video and pics of this blue behemoth. The wave is impossible to describe. I would say 90-feet is a conservative estimate. Garrett has been searching all over the planet for this wave, and it's interesting he found it in  the Atlantic ocean. I am pretty sure he'll be cashing checks for years based on this one ride. Pure sickness! But as for video, I am still partial to James McKean's plight.

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As a young surfer, I spent all my time in the water focused on the here and now. Surfing's history meant nothing. It was all about the next wave and my next move. After all, surfing is a very transitory experience. The feeling is intense and unexpected and then it's gone, and we are left scrambling to replicate it. My mission was to dash the past and forge on to something new, neglecting the rich history of surfing and the insanely talented characters and athletes who made up the skeleton of a narrative in which I am merely an insignificant ghost. Today, I have gained the patience to sit still for a few moments and reflect on the path that ends at my back and being penciled in as I step forward.

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