Memory Lane
Intro.
Hello once again! Thanks for coming back to check out the second chapter of my book, ‘Beneath The Surface’.
The response to Chapter 1 has been overwhelmingly positive, which is obviously lovely in a world of self-gratification, but I do think it’s worth reiterating that I am also looking for feedback and constructive criticism, if applicable.
As I write this, I see that only a few journal posts ago I published a piece about a book I didn’t finish because I simply didn’t gel with the writing style and the way the book was structured. The irony of an unpublished author being critical of someone who’s sold millions of copies is not lost on me, so it’s just a gentle reminder that I’m a fraud if I don’t look for and take your feedback seriously.
Now let’s talk about this chapter quickly. This is probably the most fun I’ve had writing a chapter so far purely because it was a delight getting to relive some of my favourite memories growing up. I actually got carried away and had to cut 3-4 stories from this section because it was too long, and after doing that, it’s still probably too long.
So my question for you is whether I should break it into 2 chapters. My overall flow for the book is planned to alternate between my story/experience of the attack and the broader view of how we perceive these experiences. Breaking this into 2 chapters means it won’t be a perfect alternation, so is the pursuit of perfection in this case foolish?
In any case, I hope you enjoy the trip down memory lane as you learn what made me fall in love with surfing and what stage my career was at just before my entire life was turned upside down.
Part I, Chapter 2 - Growing Up a Surfer.
I didn’t get the early start to surfing that most ‘groms’ these days tend to have. It shows a huge shift from surfing being purely a ‘lifestyle’ to a ‘sport’ when you see kids first standing up on a board at the age of 3 or 4 like you do today.
Growing up in the small seaside town of Kiama, on the South Coast of New South Wales, I was always in and around the ocean through nippers or messing around on a bodyboard. Throughout my younger years, I was consistently distracted by the multitude of other sports on offer, and I tried nearly every single one of them: soccer, rugby, swimming, basketball, tennis, baseball, and cricket, to name a few. To this day, I still don’t know how my parents found the time to take me to all of these practices and games.
This was until the age of 11 when I first mustered the courage to try surfing. My dad has always been a surfer, and during one family holiday at Bendalong, he encouraged me to give it a go. So we went down to the sheltered side of the point, a place called Washerwoman’s Bay where we were presented with an idyllic picture. The waves were small, the wind was light offshore, and the water was crystal clear.
I remember feeling nervous because the board Dad had given me was his old Gordon & Smith fibreglass thruster, which felt intimidating compared to the soft, spongy boogie board I had consistently ridden until that time. He spent much of the lead-up reassuring me that I knew what I was doing because the waves were exactly the same as when I was bodyboarding; but instead of lying down, all I had to do was stand up.
It sounds simple enough, and luckily for me, as someone who has a knack for naturally picking up most sports that I play, it was. When I caught the first wave, I jumped right to my feet and rode straight down the face as the wave broke and dissipated towards the shore. It was a rush, and Dad was right; it was the same as bodyboarding in theory, but the feeling of standing a few feet higher made me feel like I was on top of the world.
That was my first wave, and after that, I never looked back. I would love to say that there was some sort of struggle or a profound lesson that I gained from my first ever surf, but the truth is that I found something I loved, something I was naturally pretty good at, and that settled it for me.
The following year, I decided to give up all my other sports so I could spend as much time as possible in the water surfing. I had firmly entered the stage of being a young ‘surf rat’, which is exciting because it makes you feel like you stand out from most of the other kids at school. You’re not just another footy player or athletics kid. Surfing is different and unique, and I thought it was the coolest thing in the world.
I loved collecting the magazines and putting up all the posters on my bedroom wall. I remember with my first few magazines, Mum had to cut out all the pictures of girls in bikinis, which were a staple of the surf mags at the time. However, she left the headlines and articles so I at least had the context for what I was missing out on. It made me a little curious as to who ‘Miss Tracks’ or the “Girl of the Month” was, but it didn’t really matter because I was far more enchanted by the surf photos. All of which eventually got cut up and pasted on school book covers or my bedroom wall.
That wallpaper ended up being removed one day when I convinced my Mum to paint a mural in my bedroom of Dave Rastovich. To me, ‘Rasta’ was one of the coolest surfers, and I was very familiar with him after receiving my first surf movie, ‘Blue Horizon’ by Jack McCoy. It’s still one of my favourite films to this day.
The mural also happened to be accompanied by a life-sized depiction of Bruce, the shark from Finding Nemo, which is perhaps ominous, but he was situated below my bunk bed, so I spent most of my time gazing at “Rasta” weaving his way through a beautifully painted tube at Teahupo’o. At times, I stared at that painting and allowed my imagination to take me to the scene of that wave in Tahiti, wondering if I’d ever get the chance to emulate Rasta’s style and nerve.
I was truly enchanted by the lifestyle these ‘professional surfers’ lived, and at that age and stage in my surfing, I began to dream of working my way toward making that a reality for myself.
The best thing about this early phase of surfing is the combination of your pure love and enjoyment of the sport, mixed with the rapid improvement you experience through a long list of ‘firsts’. No matter how much you love surfing, the longer you do it, the less excitement and elation you feel for the sport. It’s pretty obvious why, in my opinion. When you’re starting out, the chances of catching the best wave you’ve ever ridden, or having the best session you’ve ever had, are pretty high. As you progress, these experiences become much rarer prospects.
This might sound like you develop a more muted relationship with the sport over time, but in the back of your mind, you know there’s always another ‘best wave of your life’ around the corner. This awareness alone is enough to keep the flame burning for surfers who continue to get in the water as life progresses.
This phase of my surfing life is the one I remember with the purest joy, happiness, and love for the sport. I can vividly recall several of those ‘firsts’ that plunged me into a deeper infatuation with the lifestyle.
My first barrel is one of these experiences. For many surfers, the idea of getting ‘barrelled’ is the pinnacle of what we’re all chasing as we sit out in the ocean, bobbing up and down, waiting for something that will give us that feeling. Throughout the years, as I’ve read about surfing, I’ve always lamented the poor descriptions of what it’s like to get barrelled. However, at this very moment, as I try to think of a way to describe it, I can see why it’s so difficult.
To me, the beauty of the barrel comes more from how it makes you feel rather than what’s actually happening. It’s not necessarily about being enveloped in this magical tube of folded ocean; it’s more about that brief moment in which time almost stops as you stand there within. There’s a unique sensation where you lose touch with the board beneath your feet, you don’t feel temperature, and you don’t worry about anything that’s occurring outside of that small liquid cave. There are even times when you lose the ability to hear or logically process your surroundings.
No matter how many times I’ve been barrelled, I’ve never felt this change. It’s almost like reverting to some strange primitive state that is just as difficult to understand as it is to explain.
My first experience of getting barrelled followed this out-of-body experience almost exactly as I’ve explained above. I was surfing at Jones Beach on my first ever shortboard, a green-bottomed 5’10 Ballistic Shapes that sadly broke a few months later. I was with my friend Adam Harris, who was a few years older than me, and the conditions were precisely what you’d hope for if you were attempting to make your first ever barrel.
This particular wave I took off on had the same look that I’d seen many times in my years on the bodyboard. I knew what it felt like to be in a barrel, but at that point, I’d never made it out of one. So I jumped to my feet and expected to duck under the lip, only for the wave to roll on without me. However, just as I got to my feet, I felt an enormous rush of speed that picked up the tail of my board and thrust it forward. I found myself standing, yet hunched inside this thing. That was the moment I felt it all coming together. I’d seen this before, in the magazines; it was the perfect picturesque moment.
The visuals I can recall are of this perfect almond shape that extended right to the edge of my peripherals, the silky smooth texture of the water, and most importantly, Adam lying on his board looking back at me. It’s at this moment when, as a first-time tube rider, you don’t really have a choice in what you do to make it out of a barrel. You’re simply standing there, keeping your nose pointed in the right direction, hoping it all pans out. You can’t change course, you don’t know how to pick up speed; you’re just wishing for the best outcome.
As I felt the size of the barrel decreasing and the edges inching toward me like some sort of Indiana Jones chamber of death-type experience, I felt a shock coming from below. It’s as if the bottom of the wave was attempting to dig a pathway down toward the sandbank in an effort to deny my exit. I stood strong, low, and sturdy with the anticipation of countering this, and as I bounced over the shockwave of foam, I was lifted slightly and pushed forward again. The wave breathed and opened a little more, providing a tiny glimpse of hope. Before I knew it, I found myself racing out toward the channel in a state of pure elation. I would love to have seen the look on my face as I raised my arms above my head to claim this incredible feat.
The feeling of being barrelled is otherworldly but almost as dangerous as getting drunk. Because of this, my celebration is short-lived as I realise that in the frantic success that was my barrel, I have lost track of my surroundings, and before I knew it, I ran straight over the back of poor Adam. Not the most gracious ending to what was the best wave of my life at that point.
Luckily, Adam wasn’t hurt, and the memory of my first major surfing milestone became one I still smile about today.
-
When you first start surfing, the best surfer you know is your dad. My dad introduced me to the sport, and any time I wanted to go surfing when I was much younger, I had to go with him. I always admired my dad’s ability to surf and looked up to him and his prowess for the first few years I was out there alongside him.
But there inevitably comes a time in any young surfer’s life like mine when your ability and ambition begin to surpass those of your dad. I started to become restless, waiting for him to have the time and energy to go surfing with me. I always viewed it through the lens of thinking he must be happy not to spend his weekends at various sporting fields, so he had to be excited to surf with me. What I failed to realise was the time and effort he was dedicating to his work and the rest of the family, so even if he wasn’t at the sporting fields for me, he often was for my sisters.
This presented an opportunity to branch out and find other people to surf with. I tried to identify some friends at school who surfed, but I struggled to find anyone who loved the sport as much as I did. Most of the kids who surfed had other interests that took priority over surfing, which I never truly understood.
I later joined my local boardriders club, Jones Beach Boardriders, when my parents decided it was time for me to compete. I felt intimidated by many of the older surfers in the club at the time, especially because I was at the younger end of the junior age group and my level was not yet at the point of being able to compete successfully. Boardriders is a local competition that runs monthly, so I would routinely show up and try my hardest in every heat but inevitably get shown up by many of the older, bigger and stronger competitors. I absolutely hated losing because I kept being told that my surfing was improving, but I was still no match for everyone else.
Nick Clifford is someone I met through Boardriders who was at a similar age and position to me, so naturally, we got along instantly. He was the first person I knew who ordered a custom surfboard, a 5’3 Dylan Longbottom shape, with a wild skull design on it.
While we connected out of the water through various interests, we had most of our fun surfing together. The good thing about surfing with Nick is that we are both goofy footers, meaning we stand with our right foot forward, so we’d always be interested in surfing the same waves wherever we went.
We had our fun surfing locally, but some of the trips we took travelling for junior competitions are among the most memorable times we’ve shared.
One year, we were heading up the coast for the Rusty Gromfest at Lennox Head, which was an annual trip that I always looked forward to. This particular year brought plenty of swell, and I remember a session we had at Suffolk Park in Byron Bay, where the waves were almost as good as you can get on a beach break like that. We had been surfing together for a few hours, trading waves and enjoying our fair share of barrels. As the surf continued, the tide started to drop, and the waves became thicker and heavier. This is usually a time when you start holding back or second-guessing waves, but since we had been out there for a while, our confidence was high, and we kept encouraging each other to go for bigger and heavier sets.
It was Nick’s turn to go when one of the biggest waves we’d seen all day rolled in. I remember looking at him and giving him a small cheer. It might have seemed like this was encouragement from my side, but to be honest, I was just happy that I wasn’t the one who had to paddle for this wave.
As Nick paddled into the wave, he disappeared when this beast of a thing reared and steamed past me. I caught a glimpse of a few of his curls flying as it seemed he’d been late getting into the wave and got caught at the top. He leapt from the roof of this monstrous wall of water, and when it imploded, I didn’t see him again. I drifted towards the beach while I searched for him, hoping that he hadn’t hit his head or been injured. After a few minutes of growing anxiety, I spotted him on the beach a few hundred metres away with one half of his favourite lime green quad fin under his arm.
I caught one more wave and chased him back to the place we were staying behind the dunes. I expected to catch up with him quickly to grab another board and head back out, but by the time I got there, he was already out of his wetsuit, looking a little rattled, obviously upset about his broken board. He firmly stated that he was done for the day, he wouldn’t go back out.
At that moment, I no longer felt the bravado and desire to chase down those lumps of water despite the quality of the waves. It’s not as fun when you’re doing it by yourself, so I too called it a day.
It took a few days for Nick to regain his confidence after that big wipeout, but the swell hung around, and we found ourselves surfing some more beautiful waves at a nearby beach called ‘Whites’. It wasn’t as big as the day at Suffolk Park, but there were some nice barrels on offer, which we tried to make the most of. Nick’s Dad was on the beach filming this surf, and as I saw Nick swing into a beautiful-looking wedge, I knew it was going to be a wave to remember. I was the one looking into the barrel this time, and I sat there in awe as Nick stood bolt upright in this perfect teepee of a wave. He completely disappeared in the midst of this tube and emerged after the wave turned inside out to a collective hoot from everyone who watched along.
I could see the smile on Nick’s face from where I was, and I knew when he headed straight for the beach that he was going to watch a replay of the wave from his dad’s vantage point. I followed him in again because I was just as excited to relive the wave with him. However, when we got to where his dad was sitting, we noticed the camera was pointed towards the other end of the beach. Nick asked his dad if he filmed what was easily the best wave of his life at that point, and Ian’s response was, “Was that you? I saw someone get a cracker up that way, but I thought you were down the other end."
Without even mentioning the contest results, it’s safe to say that it wasn’t Nick’s best trip, but it sure was memorable. I know his wipeout on the first day was objectively the more painful of the two experiences, yet we still talk about the lost footage to this day.
—
Apart from memorable stories, these trips primarily focused on competing. Unfortunately, I don’t have many triumphant tales from those early competitive years, as I didn't achieve much in terms of results.
I had a lot of promise as a young surfer, but for some reason, I couldn’t quite pull it all together when it came to the pressure of executing in the format of a 20 minute heat. My dad always talked about how brutal the format of competitive surfing was back then. “After 20 minutes, half of the field goes home, and at the end of the day, there’s only one winner”, he used to say. And he’s right, competitive surfing can be cruel, and it certainly teaches you a lot about losing, something I had to get well and truly acquainted with in my junior years.
Knowing what I now know about competing, there’s certainly a smarter way to ‘compete’ that I knew nothing about at the time. I always viewed my heats as a 20-minute surf. There was no strategy involved; I tried to catch as many waves as possible because that’s what I’d do in a regular surf, but that’s not how you succeed in competitions. This frustrated me endlessly. I always thought I was just unlucky, but there’s a reason many of the same kids won each event. Talent was certainly part of it, but competitive prowess is what gets results more often than not.
—
The sport of surfing has a way of separating talent and desire over time. When I think about most of the ‘child prodigies’ I competed against in my younger years, very few went on to have a successful career in competitive surfing. I can’t give a definitive reason for this, but from my experience of always being on the outside looking in, I believe desire plays a significant role. Being talented is fantastic and by no means a disadvantage, but I’ve always wondered whether it can lead to complacency, which is no match for the strength of desire in the long term.
This might lead to a broader conversation about all junior sports, but it’s evident to me that we are much better at identifying the makings of talent rather than the personality and drive required to be the best of the best. There are exceptional cases where these two aspects align, and that’s where you find your Kelly Slaters, Michael Jordans and such.
I would place myself firmly in the second camp of hopeful young surfers to the point that I began to believe that the longer things went on, the better chance I had of making it all work out due to the belief I had in my drive and ambition. This was going to be a long-term game, so I continued to involve myself in the surfing lifestyle. Work, coaching, training, and competing were all things that I enjoyed, so that’s where I dedicated all of my focus and time.
The trajectory of my surfing continued to rise through high school, and I had begun to amass some impressive competitive results locally, though I still struggled on the larger stage. When it comes to the Jones Beach Boardriders’ marquee event, which is the annual ‘Man on Man’ competition, I am proud to be its youngest-ever winner at age 16, as well as its most successful competitor with six titles. Achieving such a feat is an incredible confidence builder, but there’s a huge gulf in between being the best surfer in your area and being one of the best surfers on the planet.
The reality of living out my dream and qualifying for the World Championship Tour (WCT) was an ambitious goal, always accompanied by a heavy reminder of just how difficult it would be to achieve. At that time, there were only 34 surfers in the world who could hold a spot on the tour at any one time. At the end of each competitive year, the lowest 10 ranked surfers would drop off and be replaced by the top 10 from the tour below, known as the World Qualifying Series (WQS). Despite my self-belief, drive, and ambition, by the late years of my teens, I hadn’t made significant progress in solidifying my name as one that could potentially make the leap from ‘solid local surfer’ to ‘WQS challenger’. As I approached the end of high school, I needed to make some difficult decisions about what I wanted my future to look like.
Part of me knew the reality of what I wanted to achieve; however, I wasn’t ready to give it all away to spend the next four years at university just to satisfy the social norm of what happens when you finish school. Surfing was my one and only interest, so I struggled with the idea of trying to define any direction that would divert me from that path. Plus, there was still a belief, an aspiration, and a fire within me that I couldn’t extinguish. I felt like my best surfing was yet to come, and I wanted to keep my options open.
After numerous conversations with my incredibly loving and supportive mother, we discovered a pathway that would keep my options open to compete while also laying the foundation of a career in case the whole competitive surfing thing never worked out. This plan meant going to university and even moving to the Gold Coast, in order to enrol in a one-year diploma of Surfing Studies.
You can read that twice if you like, but Surfing Studies is a real course offered by Southern Cross University. The way I like to describe it is that it provides a look into many aspects of university education through the lens of surfing and the surf industry, including marketing, technology, and event management. While many participants will gain contacts and avenues to work through the course, if you desire further education, you have now been able to see the context in which it applies.
I had decided that the door to professional surfing would always be open, but if that never worked out, I still wanted to have a job in the industry in some way, so this course made perfect sense to me. Plus, the Gold Coast is the Mecca of surfing in Australia, which also gave me an opportunity to move out of home to a place where I would likely need to be to gain the exposure I required. I was now a small fish in the biggest of surfing ponds.
I only spent 18 months living on the Gold Coast, but the experience I gained not only at university but also as part of that surfing community proved to be one of the most valuable moves I’d made. I learned so much about the industry and felt like I had enough knowledge to forge a career; however, my surfing clearly benefited the most from this entire expedition.
Surfing consistently beautiful waves is always something to look forward to, but the beautiful waves on the Gold Coast also mean that it’s one of the most crowded places you could ever imagine surfing. Having grown up on the near deserted beaches on the South Coast, I found adjusting to the crowds to be a challenge. However, with more people come better surfers, and those skilled surfers are the ones who pushed my surfing to new heights. I’ve mentioned being a small fish in a big pond before, and while this can be intimidating, breaking through can do wonders for your confidence. The first time this hit home was when I was offered my first sponsorship deal.
One of my favourite places to surf on the Gold Coast was the very northern end of Duranbah Beach. This may surprise many who know the area, as one of the best waves in Australia, Snapper Rocks, is just around the headland. The reason I loved ‘North D’bah’ is that it’s easily the least crowded place to surf. The waves are short and punchy, and it’s typically overrun by bodyboarders. Usually, this is a turn-off for many surfers, especially considering the other waves available, but I value wave count over wave quality when I’m training and free surfing, so this place gave me the best chance to catch as many waves as I wanted. It also reminded me of some of the waves I grew up surfing at home, bodyboarders and all, so that familiarity is something that drew me there.
I’d been surfing this particular wave every day for a week, and apart from some of the bodyboarders out there, I started to recognise some familiar faces among the surfers. When I train, I tend to want to do my own thing, so that doesn’t often lead to too many conversations while I’m out there surfing. However, by the fourth day of seeing these familiar faces, I began to nod, smile, and exchange pleasantries as one does.
One day, on my way in to the beach, I was approached by one of the guys I’d been surfing with. He introduced himself as Tim and commented on how fun the waves had been, mentioning that it was nice to surf somewhere less crowded than usual. He then asked if he could take a look at my surfboard. This is not a rare occurrence in the world of surfing; we’re all quite curious, and there are many different boards to look at. At the time, I was riding a 5’8 1/2 Chris Homer that I’d had for a while. It was pretty beaten up, but it was also one of my favourites.
As Tim looked over the board, noting its curves and lines, he began talking about my surfing. He said he could tell that the airs I’d been doing seemed to be pretty harsh on the tail of my board, as evidenced by the significant dents under the tail pad. He asked how long I’d had the board and if the shaper had me on any sort of deal to keep up with the demands I’d been placing on it.
I’d had that board for about two and a half years at the time and loved it so much that despite the damage, it was always my go-to. I had worked with Chris Homer at various points throughout my junior career, and he is someone I admire greatly. I still remember the first time he invited my dad and me over to talk about surfboards. I’d love to say I took away a lot of wisdom from what he said during that meeting, but the truth is that I was completely awestruck just from sitting in the same room as him. He had magazines and photos in his loungeroom that he showed us of him surfing iconic waves such as Cowries, Pipeline, and Sunset. He’s a great man, but surfboard shaping wasn’t always his job, so there were times I could get amazing boards from him, but others when he simply was not shaping. Maybe that’s what made me appreciate this particular board so much.
Rather than explain this entire situation to Tim, it was easier for me to say that it was just a board that was working well and that I’d been trying for a long time to find something that could replace it. As Tim began to analyse the board further, I could see he knew what he was talking about. It quickly became evident that he was a shaper himself, and after he offered some ideas to tweak the design, he asked if I’d be okay with him writing down the dimensions of the board as well as my contact details. He mentioned he was new to the area and was starting a new board label, and he would love to get me involved as his first team rider.
I don’t think I could have jumped to answer “Yes!” any faster, which I now look back on with a hint of embarrassment. Gaining a surfboard sponsor is an incredible opportunity that I’d been dreaming about for years. However, what resonated with me most was what this transaction said about my surfing.
As a fish in that large pond, I was able to stand out. This gave me a huge confidence boost that took my surfing to another level yet again.
—
I ultimately moved back to Kiama for two reasons. Firstly, I was homesick. Being 19 years old and away from all my friends was difficult. I couldn’t help but feel that I was somehow missing out on all the good times. That’s not to say that good times weren’t had on the Gold Coast; rather, it led to the second reason for moving home: I ran out of money. I wouldn’t say that I partied too much; it’s just that I never really prioritised finding a job until it was a bit too late. When you become desperate for income, you end up taking on whatever jobs are available. After a short stint in real estate and a slightly longer stint selling vacuum cleaners door to door, I realised that spending my days walking around the neighbourhoods of Nerang wasn’t allowing me to continue improving as a surfer.
After taking the leap to move out of home and set myself up in a new town, I felt a small sense of failure in returning to Kiama. I only told two people that I was coming back: Nick, who immediately said he would fly to the Gold Coast purely to help me with the move back home, and Geoff Latimer, who at the time was the president of Jones Beach Boardriders and a good friend, who said he would help get me back on my feet.
Despite the surfboard sponsorship deal with Tim, things hadn’t quite worked out. Geoff convinced me to talk to Dylan Perese in the hope of replicating that trusty old 5’8 1/2 that was still somehow clinging to life. The first time I met Dylan was in Geoff’s backyard. He’s the type of person who talks so loudly that you can hear him well in advance of ever seeing him, and in all honesty, this is part of Dylan’s charm. Despite his boisterous demeanour, ‘Dyl,’ as he’s more affectionately known, has a sense of honesty and self-awareness that tends to make him best mates with almost anyone he meets, many of whom are subject to a barrage of puns at any given moment.
The result of that first meeting with Dyl led to him taking on the now unenviable task of recreating the elusive 5’8 1/2 Chris Homer. I’ll be honest, based on all my previous attempts with various shapers up until that point, I wasn’t overly optimistic, but Geoff seemed to think that Dyl had what it took to make it happen. After all, Geoff has been Dyl’s best mate and biggest supporter ever since Dyl started shaping at 15 years old. The second-ever board Dyl made under his label ‘DP Surfboards’ was for Geoff, and it still hangs in the factory today. It’s remarkable to see how far things have come since then.
As I waited for this board, I gradually reintegrated into the Kiama community. I secured a job at a surf shop in Gerringong, which provided me with a few days of work to stay busy. I returned to surfing as much as possible and began getting involved in the Boardriders club again.
Overall, it was a four-week wait. I received a message from Dylan informing me that the board was ready and that he would drop it off at my parents’ place on his way back home from the factory in Ulladulla. I was at home when he arrived, and when I met him on the driveway, he handed me the board, which was my main focus at the time. I had barely had a chance to properly inspect the board when Dylan began talking about a conversation he’d had with Geoff. Apparently, they discussed what Dylan could do to elevate DP Surfboards to the next level, and a major area identified for improvement was Dylan’s shop, the DP Boardroom. This is a shop space he had used as a pick-up point and retail location for several years, but it was largely staffed out of necessity by various family members. It lacked a consistent presence, an air of professionalism, and a confident voice that could make it a true destination and a force in local surf retail.
With my current experience at the surf shop, a limited knowledge of the surf industry, and, most importantly, an endorsement from Geoff, I was offered a full-time job on the spot. Dylan acknowledged that to help me achieve my competitive goals, it would be beneficial to work closely together, and a strong relationship through the shop could create a lasting partnership with the potential to benefit us both in the long run.
He offered me a chance to at least try the surfboard before I gave him a response, but I was already sold. I knew this was an opportunity that provided the flexibility and freedom I needed to continue growing as a surfer, along with a comfortable landing place that would support me regardless of what happened.
It turns out that the 5’8 1/2 DP Surfboards Sibling model with green logos was exactly what I had been searching for all those years. Not just because it landed me a job, but I finally found a board good enough to replace my old favourite.
Running the shop meant I had to gain knowledge of how the entire business operated. So, I spent time with Dylan at the Ulladulla factory getting to know the workers and all the processes involved in making a surfboard.
It’s magnificent to follow the entire production of one surfboard, starting with the chemicals used to create the blank, a large piece of foam that serves as the foundation for every board. I had no idea how many different blanks existed, nor did I realise how much the variations in density and stringer thickness could significantly impact the finished product. I learned all about the CAD program used to design files that a large shaping machine cuts. These designs and files would become my role in production after spending a long time understanding the impact of just 1mm on the overall shape and performance of a board. You might think that a ‘shaping machine’ does all the work, but the true craftsmanship begins when Dylan receives his ‘cuts,’ which are essentially a 90% finished shape necessary for maintaining consistency and scale in production.
Watching Dylan pour over and refine each board, one swipe of sandpaper at a time, is truly remarkable. There’s an attention to detail and an expressiveness that I can only liken to an engineer who has mastered the craft of raking a zen garden. It’s a painstakingly involved process that is complete only when Dylan has inspected and approved every curve, edge, and foil of the board.
The board then goes to be glassed, a process of creating a hard fibreglass shell that protects the fragile foam core. While most surfboard shapers know how to perform each stage of surfboard production, it’s no wonder that these roles often get shared and delegated to trade-specific ‘glassers’. If shaping is about precision and technique, then glassing is about patience and adaptability. This can become an art form, especially when colours and tints are involved. However, I’ve watched the likes of Dylan’s longtime glasser, “Welshy”, on the brink of meltdown because a temperature swing of a few degrees one way or another can completely change how you have to go about the whole process.
Finally, sanding and finishing. This has to be the most underappreciated part of surfboard production. I’d challenge anyone to name a surfboard sander whose work they truly admire. They don’t have the same status as some parts of the production line, but I’ve walked into the sanding bay and said hi to Dave a number of times, only to find him mowing through board after board, completely covered head to toe in dust. It can be a thankless job that I have learned to appreciate far more than I ever did.
I would take time to regularly venture down to Ulladulla to continue learning and experiencing this whole process, but the best part about these trips was getting a chance to surf some great waves with Dylan and topping it off with a visit to Hayden’s Pies.
I would work in the shop Tuesday to Saturday each week, so I often tried to find time on a Monday to head down after the weekend crowds had gone home. On one particular trip, Dylan and I jumped in his car to search for some waves, and while we were driving around, we received a phone call from Dylan’s mother, April, who was working in the shop that day. She had some questions about an order that a customer was waiting for, but as usual, the conversation would wander. Dyl eventually asked how things were going in the shop that day, and April gave the brutally upfront reply, “I’m not sure what that new young guy has been doing in here this whole time but I’m not sure if it’s working out; I haven’t seen it getting busier at all.”
There was an awkward silence before Dyl mentioned she was on speaker and that I was, in fact, in the car with him. She hasn’t stopped apologising to this day, although I never blamed her for looking out for her son. One thing that stood out to me was how unbothered Dylan was by the comment and the whole situation. He knew that we were in this for the long haul and that you can’t change everything over the course of a few weeks. As time has shown, we were just getting started, but I learned a valuable lesson that day about patience and criticism, which not only brought more maturity to how I was living my life, but also had an unintended impact on my performance in competitive surfing.
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With a steady base of work, a place to live, and the familiar surroundings of the South Coast, I was able to start focusing on the thing that meant the most to me at that time, which was surfing. I had continued to improve and was beginning to see measurable advancements in my contest results, as well as interest from a few supporting brands with which I’d become aligned through my role in the surf shop. At the time, I was committed to several smaller local competitions, but my main focus was working with my longtime friend and now housemate, Joel Trist, to capture my surfing through photos and video.
I’ve always admired filmers and photographers, as that’s how I consumed all my surfing content as a youngster. I loved flipping through surf magazines and spent countless hours scrolling through websites featuring short clips of surfing. However, the holy grail for me was awaiting the newest Kai Neville release. ‘Modern Collective’, ‘Lost Atlas’ and ‘Cluster’ are all surf films that I’ve watched far too many times to count.
There was something about Kai Neville’s approach to surf filmmaking that captured me in a way that transcended the surfing depicted on screen. He revealed an artistic and creative side to surfing that was revolutionary at the time, so whenever he announced a new feature film, I was captivated by what he would create next. To say that Joel and I were influenced by Kai Neville would be a significant understatement to anyone who has seen our shorts.
During these years, I switched between three modes of surfing: competitions, filming, and free surfing. What I engaged in was largely dependent on what was available at the time and when my next competition was scheduled.
In late 2015, I was deeply immersed in filming and gathering footage, as I had taken a short break from competitions. I had just missed a series of ‘pro junior’ competitions because the schedule had shrunk, and I didn’t have the funds to travel to Tahiti to compete. So, I turned my attention to working with Joel again. This was a frustrating time for me because I felt that my surfing had reached a new level. I was happy to share my surfing through our videos, but without competitions, I felt unsatisfied.
I was eager to compete, so when I got the opportunity to surf in a qualifying event for the Australian Boardriders Battle, I saw it as a chance to prove myself again. The Australian Boardriders Battle features a unique format where each boardriders club on the coast is represented by five surfers participating in a tag team event, with individual performances also contributing to the team’s total. Our boardriders club didn't have a long history of success in these events, and although we submitted a relatively strong team to the regional qualifier, every single club member was just as surprised when we managed to take the win in favourable conditions at Bombo Beach. This was the first competition our club had won in over 20 years, and most importantly, it secured us a spot in the National Final, which was set to take place in January 2016.
We approached the National Final with an attitude of simply being happy to be there, which is not exactly the mentality needed to win. However, the prospect of achieving any result was never going to be easy due to the fierce competition we had to face. The thing that’s different about the Australian Boardriders Battle is that it allows the best surfers in the world, including ‘World Tour’ competitors, to surf for their local clubs. The ‘World Surf League’ (WSL) doesn’t often permit its surfers to compete outside of their schedule, so the novelty and challenge of having some of the world’s best in the event made this the closest I’d ever been to seeing how I would perform on the stage I’d always dreamed of.
To say we overshot our expectations would be an understatement. We had nothing to lose and surfed in a way that reflected our pride for Jones Beach and our appreciation for everyone who travelled to Cronulla to support us. We finished the weekend ranked as the 6th best club in Australia. It was a monumental team effort that led us to what was easily the best result the club had ever attained. We didn’t win, but we did put Jones Beach on the map and inspired a huge number of younger surfers who we hoped would go on to take our place one day.
As I reflected on what the result meant for the club, one thing became apparent to me on a personal level: despite the fact that this was a team result, I felt like I finally got to show what my best surfing looked like on a national stage against some of the best in the country. I gained so much confidence in feeling the pressure, performing, and even beating some of the surfers I’d been looking up to and admiring for years.
I had always been driven, but one thing that often held me back was that hint of doubt, the feeling that I wasn’t supposed to be there. I often wondered if my late surfing improvement made me feel like an outsider just because my trajectory didn’t follow the typical path of a young, ambitious surfer. However much those doubts held me back, I felt like our result at the Australian Boardriders Battle National Final finally gave me permission to believe.
This result came at the perfect time, as before that weekend I had started to entertain thoughts of giving up the competitive side of surfing and focusing on a career and a life that would forever cement me as a ‘good local surfer’ at best. I had considered buying into the shop with Dylan or trying to find another role elsewhere in the surf industry. This is something I had always planned for, but the reality was starting to approach at a rapid pace that I wasn’t quite ready for.
I wouldn’t say that placing 6th in a team competition saved my professional surfing career, but it did lead to a series of questions that would change my attitude moving forward.
With respect to my desire to qualify for the world tour, had I truly given it my all, and tried my absolute hardest to put myself in a position to succeed?
Did I belong? And did I deserve to compare myself to some of the best surfers in the world?
Did I want to look back at that moment when I was 40 years old and wonder what might have been?
The answers to these questions made me realise that I had only just scratched the surface up until that point. There was so much more that could be done regarding my surfing technique, strength, competitive prowess, and application. I realised I needed to develop a structured approach that would place me in the best position to succeed. This meant working with a strength and conditioning coach, learning about performance and nutrition, and even collaborating with other professionals to develop heat strategies and protocols. I decided to go all in because my experience leading the team to 6th place in the country made me realise I belonged.
Until that point, I had always felt like there was a locked gate between me and the others for which I couldn’t find the key. The tangible result of competing against the others was one thing that prodded me in the right direction, but what really moved me forward was that third question and a fear of regret that I wanted to avoid more than anything in the world.
I made a commitment that 2016 would be the year I gave it my all. Regardless of the outcome, the one thing I wanted to do was be proud that I tried. Throughout February and March, I put my plan into action; I was making progress physically and mentally, and I identified the WQS events that I wanted to target. I had got all of the right people on board. It was one of those times in life when the energy and motivation you put towards a purpose you are trying to fulfil makes you feel unstoppable. In hindsight, there was really only one thing that was ever going to stop me from following my dreams.