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I feel like a like a little surfing, and when I go virtual surfing naturally I head for the primo spots. Today, courtesy of Surfer magazine, I think I’ll hit both Mavericks and Peahi, and you can click here to go with me (there’s a brief ad, followed by the Big Show). Both big wave spots, but so different. Mavericks is cold, gray and vicious. Peahi is warm, blue and monstrous. And both can kill you…

Mean-Ass Mavericks: “Hail Mary, full of grace…”

So here’s the latest installment of “Heh-heh, mine’s bigger.” We’re talking about yachts, of course. And the new global number one is (this is so predictable): Larry Ellison, measuring in at 452′. Number 2 is Microsoft billionaire Paul Allen, whose got some shrinkage to deal with. His ride is ONLY 414′. You can check out the details here. Ellison has named his latest symbol of wealth and power, the almost Freudian “Rising, er, Sun” (his wife, novelist Melanie Craft, wanted him to call it “Princess Melanie”; somehow ol’ Larr didn’t go for it). Meanwhile, Allen has gone with “Octopussy,” oops, sorry, I meant “Octopus.” Little boys and their toys. It’s always a hoot…


Rising Sun: “Hey, Paul, you wanker, I’ve got 48,000 horses that will make your little boat ink all over the place…”

Octopus: “Fu*k off Larry, you putz! And check out the ride on my ride. You can’t see it, but there’s an even littler helicopter inside the big helicopter…”
(Large photo: Scuttlebutt. Small photos: Jan Van Der Val/Redux Pictures)

I don’t even know what to say about this guy. I sort of admire his insanity. At the same time I hope he doesn’t procreate too widely. Click here to watch the wildest stunt I’ve seen in a long time. There’s no way you won’t be shaking your head…

“Great stunt, Dude!! Umm, now what…?”

Check out this fascinating article in the LA Times. It’s the story of surfing’s early days, and the changes that came when surfing got dragged into the mainstream by Hollywood and mass culture, told through the life (and death) of surf pioneer Ray Kunze.

Here’s a long excerpt that explains the ways of the 1950s:

Surfing is a pop culture phenomenon now — fodder for movies and clothing lines, a backdrop for magazine ads. It might be hard to imagine that in the late 1950s, anyone who hung around the beach waiting for waves was considered a degenerate or worse.

Surfers of that era reveled in being different, setting their own rules, their own caste system. Their subculture thrived at hallowed spots along the coast, in Palos Verdes, Santa Barbara and, of course, Malibu.

At Surfrider Beach, the hot-dog masters served as tribal elders. Dewey Weber and Lance Carson, Kemp Aaberg and Johnny “the Malibu Lizard” Fain. Miki “Da Cat” Dora was their rebel prince. If one of those guys took off on a peak, no one else dropped in, especially not young gremmies or invaders from the San Fernando Valley. At least that was how it was supposed to work.

“It was … an unwritten law,” says Denny Aaberg, who, despite the celebrity of older brother Kemp, spent several years establishing his reputation. “You didn’t take off in front of guys or act like a jerk. You didn’t go out and hog the waves.”

The pecking order extended onto land, where a regular named Tubesteak ruled “the Pit,” a stretch of sand adorned with, at various times, a traditional palapa or junk couches and coffee tables.

Newcomers did not dare sit there. If you wanted to be part of the crew, you had to earn your spot.

“Basically, it was your prowess in the water,” says John Milius, the film director, who grew up at Malibu. “But there were people who gained power on the beach in other ways. They were wonderful organizers of parties or seducers of girls. Some were just colorful characters.”

Ray, now in his mid-20s, quickly made a name for himself.

Once, while he was paddling out, a loose board cracked him across the mouth. Kemp Aaberg rushed toward him as he emerged from the water, teeth gone, blood streaming down his chest.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Ray grinned and said, “Novocaine.”

Jimmy Ganzer, a Malibu regular who later founded the clothing line Jimmy’Z, recalls: Ray “wasn’t one of the style masters…. He enforced a certain kind of decorum. He was there to say, ‘Hey, you guys are way off.’ “

Sometimes Ray had to fight — Milius recalls him pounding a guy from the Valley named Karate Dan — but mostly he got by with a glare or a few gruff words.

And, as enforcer, he watched out for the youngsters.

One time, he caught Milius and another grom with a baggie of Benzedrine pills. Ray threw the drugs away, saying: “If I ever catch you with these again, the least I’ll do is tear your trunks off and make you walk to the highway naked. Or I might beat you half to death.”

And here is how it all changed:

Some say the trouble began in 1957. That was the year Frederick Kohner — whose daughter brought home stories about “the Pit” — wrote a bestselling novel called “Gidget,” which eventually became a movie.

Others figure it was inevitable that surf culture, by the nature of its actions, would be exposed. Surfers were out there on the waves, plainly visible from the beach and the highway. It was only a matter of time before society at large took a closer look.

In either case, all hell broke loose.

The mainstream created an idealized image of surfing, held it up as a symbol of Southern California, a romantic vision in beach party movies. Suddenly the sport was socially acceptable, a glamorous prop for admen selling laundry detergent and automobiles.

The old rules? The pecking order? All of that was overrun by the sheer number of kids charging to the beach.

Technology played a role. The new boards, made of polyurethane foam, were lighter and less daunting than their wooden predecessors. They were shorter and more maneuverable, letting kids eschew subtle nose rides for more aggressive turns and slashes.

“The old crew was in its last fling,” Denny Aaberg says. “And in the middle of that was Ray Kunze, trying to maintain law and order with more and more surfers every year. Trying to keep that old feeling, that old charm.”

Kunze died recently. But at least he was there when surfing was for the hardcore and the rebellious. Hell, I don’t even surf but this story makes me feel nostalgic…

“Ray Kunze? Who the fu*k is that? Now get the hell out of my way…”

Somewhere, someday…there will be divers swimming around without compressed air on their backs. It’s hard to believe, but Israeli inventor Alon Bodner has come up with an underwater breathing apparatus that extracts dissolved oxygen right from the water. Don’t ask me how it works. Something about “Henry’s Law.” Anyhow, you can read all about it right here. Hey, I wonder if that transgender mermaid could put this thing to good use…?

“Shit, I hope that breather thingy doesn’t make my painstakingly crafted, authentic Nemo suit obsolete…”
(With thanks to tipster and TWC reader Cameron Smith–who gets about quite a bit, if you check his website).

Say what you will about the cat sailors–they put out a lot of good video. This latest comes by way of TWC friend Jake Kohl at Team Seacats. It’s a tease for the F18 North Americans, which will be sailed in Hampton, Virginia this August. Click here to go to the video page. Then order up a vid of either the F18, or the Tybee 500. Plenty of crash and burn, followed by swimming. Also found a great F18 photo gallery. Nice. Very nice…

“Uh, Dude? You might want to go a little easier on the tiller next time…”

“Man, I think that ‘fro is really slowing us down…”

“Where’s the rest of the fleet? Hang on, let me just take a look around the jib…”

It was only a matter of time, but last month humans got to the top of Everest without kicking a single step in the snow, shivering violently in a wind-ravaged tent, or coughing up a single clot of lung blood. How? They flew to the top–in a helicopter. Read the report here, and check out the great video (it’s the music, I tell you) and story here. How long before there are helicopter tours? Who will wear the first spandex, and carry the first fanny pack, on the summit of the world’s tallest mountain? Thank God Mallory didn’t live to see this…

“Oh shit! I think we just blew a team of climbers off the Lhotse Face…”

Man goes out in boat (good idea). Takes wife, 2-year-ol daughter and neighbor kid (good idea). Decides to follow pod of Killer Whales (very, very–and I can’t stress this strongly enough–bad idea). Read all about the Graner family’s unbelievable day on the water, here. Here’s just some of the action:

“In all, at least 30 killer whales had congregated — no males, just adult females and juveniles. Graner thinks this was a training session, with the adults teaching the juveniles how to hunt.

By the time his pod arrived, he said, the grays already seemed exhausted. But the mother hadn’t given up.

“She was rolling around her calf,” he said, “slicing with her pectoral, making a huge spray, all to get the killers away from her baby.”

Still, they came at her from all sides, jumping on her head and her baby’s, trying to drown them both. “They’re really good at what they do,” Graner said, “very coordinated in terms of group activities.”

Suddenly the mother gray turned and headed, full speed, straight for the boat, with the orcas still going at her.

It was right about then, Graner believes, that they got the calf.

“I have a gut feeling,” he said. At any rate, he never saw it again.

But most of his attention was on the mother, who had apparently decided to hide under his boat. It was not a good fit: 45-foot whale, 28-foot boat.

Her pursuers kept attacking, and she kept trying to beat them off. But she didn’t always hit what she meant to. She hit the boat’s outdrive — the transmission to the propeller — and broke it off.”

Here’s another report on the attack. Don’t think Graner’s little daughter Jasmin will be boating again anytime soon. I wonder if his wife is speaking to him yet…

Serious Sushi: “Heh-heh. That idiot in the boat wanted a show for his kid. Wonder how he’s liking it so far…?”
(Photo Sequence: Roger Wolfe)

Well, well, well, here I am again, after a long (real) work related stint. I’ll explain later…

No, I wasn’t doing this…
(Photo: Doug Smith)

A headcam, I mean. And then let’s go windsurfing. Ahhh, very refreshing…

“You know, it would be really cool if I took a miniature camera, and…”