Table of contents for Issue 588 in Tracks

If you tune into the daily news, at some point you will be forced to listen to a bamboozling update on the economy. Amidst all the talk of downturns, inflation and interest rates, there might be a flash-screen of indecipherable graphs and earnest gibber about stocks that seem to rise and plummet like ocean swells. By the end, the person delivering the report frequently seems less certain than you about what’s actually going on. While economic forecasting may be a fickle and complicated affair, most surfers have a feeling for what might readily be called the economy of stoke. Ok, the word does get overused, particularly in post-heat interviews when pro-surfers are fumbling for an alternative way to describe the joy of winning. ‘Stoked’ or ‘Stok-ed’ as Italo likes to…

Sunshine Coast surfer, Joe Hoffman, has been fascinated by sharks since he was a youngster. “I’ve always been captivated by how they fit in the eco-system, the way they hunt and the way they’re designed. I’ve always had that child-like wonder and curiosity I suppose, always had shark books lying around the house. It’s unfortunate that one decided to have a chomp on me. They say you should never meet your heroes, so to be kind of kissed by one is like wow. It’s almost like an anointment.” The big toothy “kiss” took place at Crescent Head late one winter’s day in 2021. Joe recalls everything about the afternoon. The size of the swell and its outsized energy. The trippy afternoon light and the 20-minute wait to rock off; the…

On March 30, 2016, 22-year-old, competitive surfer, Brett Connellan was attacked by a shark at Bombo Beach, 124 clicks south of Sydney, New South Wales. The attack was brutal and should have been fatal if it wasn’t for a leash-turned tourniquet that day. Almost six years later, Brett’s back in the water, ripping. His left lat muscle making up the missing tissue in his thigh - a procedure doctors said would enable him to walk again (at best). The media loves a good drama. They love a hero who fought through adversity to come out on top despite doctors telling him he might never be able to walk again. It’s that feel-good, happy ending shit that makes us feel warm and fuzzy inside. The only issue with it; it represents…

YOU CAN SEE IT IN HIS HANDS, AND THE WAY HE WALKS AND THE WAY HE CHOOSES WHERE TO SIT AT A PICNIC TABLE. SITTING ALWAYS ONE END OR THE OTHER. EASIER TO ESCAPE THAT WAY. PRISON BEHAVIOR. That’s because of all the bullying he suffered early in life. And it effected the way he walks because of the countless hypodermic needles that have pierced his thighs. And it shaped those hands that never completely caught up with the drug enhanced shape of the rest of his body. Yes, Rio Waida has been through a lot and has survived the long, hard way. It has never been easy. Never been that idyllic path of a Bali beach kid. Humiliation, terror, pain, anxiety, embarrassment, shame. These were the dominant elements of…

I’d heard rumours of Aceh, that heavily Islamic province occupying the northern area of Sumatra, since I was in my teens. It sounded exotic, little known, and a bit intimidating, particularly since the Lonely Planet Indonesia edition from 1982 had likened the local hospitality as akin to “an abduction.” Say what? I finally made it up there in 1995 on the back of a disintegrated relationship, my lovesick despair perhaps somewhat numbing any lingering trepidation about the place. I’d also received some intelligence suggesting a world-class right reef/point, which triggered all kinds of fantasies in my fragile psyche. Now, there are issues with this area regarding geography. Since it is a fair way north of the equator, the traditional Southern Indonesian winter conditions we love so much don’t apply here.…

01. Lightbox SURFER: BEN HOWARD PHOTO: WAYNE WITHERS Let’s face it, aerials can be ugly. Surfing is challenging enough, but detachment from the wave face readily creates a loss of form, the buzz of the trick too often trumping the aesthetic merits of the move. However, as surfer Ben Howard hovers above the offshore mist, there is something of the ‘art of flight’ in this image – the arms tossed wide but elegantly placed, the hips and legs bending with buttery pliability and the twin-fin sitting almost perfectly parallel with the horizon. Indeed, Howard comes off looking like a marionette, with some divine being pulling all the strings. Fortunately for Ben his filmer, Wayne Withers, had instinctively flicked over to photo mode to capture this exalted moment. At the time…

Surfboards are a funny thing. To an outsider they might just look like an object, a hunk of fibreglass you use to ride waves. But really, surfboards can be personal, deeply sentimental things. You might compare it to a car. Over time the thing becomes like an extension of you, a reflection of your personality. It isn’t just an object, but a vehicle to an experience and all the of the triumphs and challenges and adventures that lie within. Call it sentimental bullshit, but every now and then a board comes along that has the power to entirely reshape your relationship with that experience. The first surfboard that did this for me was a bright yellow single fin I found lying on my bed on the morning of my 22nd…

IT’S EARLY AUGUST AND NATHAN HEDGE IS LUGGING HIS BOARDS THROUGH SYDNEY AIRPORT. THE 43-YEAR-OLD, FORMER WORLD NUMBER SEVEN IS BOOKED ON A DELTA FLIGHT TO TAHITI VIA L.A. He is travelling on a wing and a prayer and a promise from his sponsor Outerknown. It’s always been a long-shot. He started out as fourth cab off the rank as a wildcard alternative for the Outerknown Tahiti Pro. Nathan’s been told that if Gabriel Medina doesn’t accept his position then he will be given the nod, but nothing has been confirmed. As he reaches the oversize baggage carousel an email pings through from the WSL. It’s official, he’s been granted a wildcard directly into the main event. Nathan can’t suppress his excitement. With headphones plastered to his ears he cranks…

In a world increasingly divided by screens, labels, ‘wokeness’ and cancel culture; it’s occasionally refreshing to be bowled over by the indiscriminate and unflinching power of the ocean. A 10-foot swell won’t care what diet you follow. It has no regard for the colour of your skin, which pronoun you have in your email signature, or the gender you prefer to date. The careening ball of energy that barrels through a lineup, discarding boards and bodies in its communal shellacking, presents a raw and bracing reality check that we’re all human. It’s an intoxicating metaphor, says Bethany Hamilton. “The ocean is not easier on me than it is on you, or anybody else. It’s an even playing field,” she says in an interview with Tracks, some 8,000 kilometres across the…

North Narrabeen has always been the yard-stick for quality lefts and standout surfing in Sydney. Living close by, I was surfing ‘Northy’ regularly by 1968 at the age of 13. Tutored in surf etiquette by my older brother, Butch, I soon became an accepted freeloading local junior by the highly competitive members of the NN Board-riders Club. The unofficial ‘clubhouses’ were Georgie Reid’s house across the road and Jim Walsh’s further up the road. Steve ‘Speedy’ Reid, Al ‘Fatty’ Hunt, Tony ‘Wicka’ Hardwick, Glenn ‘Walshy’ Walsh evolved as driving forces in the survival and preservation of the club and culture… and then there was Col Smith. Col was the Alpha male in the water. Prior to there being a professional surfing circuit, he had won amateur NSW and Australian Titles…

WHEN ATTENTION SHIFTED TO HAWAII FOR THE WINTER OF 1972 THE NOTION OF SURFING PROFESSIONALISM WAS GATHERING MOMENTUM LIKE A CAPPING, THIRD-REEF PEAK AT PIPE. That year, the boardshort wrapped ambitions of surfing’s fledgling ‘Gypsy Tour’ were channelled towards three professional events offering significant prize money and instant kudos, in what would become a precursor to the Hawaiian Triple Crown. For Australian surfers Hawaii was also a chance to save face. Our reputation as a revered surfing nation was on the line after the drubbing the Team copped at the famously loose 1972 World Surfing Championships, held earlier in the year in San Diego. It would prove to be the last of its kind presented by the International Surfing Federation (ISF). Despite PT’s (Peter Townend’s) gallant third-place effort at Ocean…

It’s a good day for Jarod O’Shannessy. When we touch base with the 24-year-old bipolar sufferer he is literally dripping in stoke. As he towels down, Jarod tells us that he has just been testing out a new Aqua Tech water housing for his camera. Over the phone, he excitedly explains that award winning photographer, Ray Collins, was alongside him in the Bellambi brine, offering tips on how to get the most out of his new camera rig. The government’s NDIS scheme helped Jarod and Ray bond over their mutual interest in photography and their love of the twisted wedges of water thrown up by nearby Kiama bommie. For Jarod, taking photos has always been a way of keeping his mind still and finding meaningful purpose. In turn the ocean…