1972. This is the year of Bloody Sunday - when British soldiers shot unarmed demonstrators in Northern Ireland.

The year of the Munich massacre at the Summer Olympics. The beginning of Watergate.

Elvis Presley covered "Burning Love" for the first time. Clint Eastwood brought "Dirty Harry" to life. Marlon Brando was "The Godfather."

Nixon, Mao, Brezhnev; Sadat, Pompidou, the Shah of Iran. Steve McQueen, Robert Redford, Sophia Loren, Farah Fawcett, Frank Sinatra, and Herbert von Karajan. Muhammad Ali, Emerson Fittipaldi, Eddy Merckx, Alain Colas...

A different century. A different world. Surfing has no global celebrities. There is no dedicated professional circuit.

Only one man is recognized as the benchmark in this sport, without having won a single professional competition, and it is mostly in Hawaii, his home, that he is considered the father of surfing.

Duke Kahanamoku died four years ago.

He made a name for himself with his Olympic titles and swimming records, set at the 1912 and 1920 Games. He was the only real star, the only popular ambassador of surfing during the first half of the twentieth century.

He headlined surfing performances all over the world, and contributed massively to its growing popularity in Australia with a demonstration on Manly Beach in 1915.

Surfing owes Kahanamoku a great deal, not least for his contributions to its revival in Hawaii itself in the early 1910s.

For a long time, American missionaries had partially banned this ancestral practice in Polynesia.

But the growth of tourism in Hawaii, the writings of Jack London (who fell madly in love with the sport), and the founding of the first surf clubs, including the famous Hui Nalu, finally gave surfing back to the locals.

Duke Kahanamoku, despite his naturally reserved personality, became the leader of what was at the time a brand-new generation of young surfers.

And when Robert Kelly Slater is born on February 11, 1972, the statue of the Duke that welcomes tourists to Waikiki Beach in Honolulu has not yet been built.

The path of the young Kelly Slater is, in many ways, the opposite of the Duke's.

Slater is born in Cocoa Beach, Florida - an environment that plausibly predestines a person for plenty of things, but not for a position as world champion of surfing.

Florida is on the opposite side of North America from California and Hawaii. Surfing is almost nonexistent there; the waves are weak and small.

The only surfer from Florida who has made headlines at this point is Jack Murphy, and not just because he was two-time state champion on a longboard, but because he was found guilty of the "robbery of the century": the burglary of twenty-four precious stones, including the Star of India, a sapphire of over five hundred and sixty carats with an estimated value of almost half a million dollars.

The press nicknamed him "Murph the Surf."

He was later convicted of a separate murder, and yet no one seems to have minded seeing him inducted into the East Coast Surfing Hall of Fame.

Whether you appreciate Murphy's varied accomplishments or not, it's clear that surfing is a niche activity in Florida at this point - even if Sebastian Inlet, a pier practically lost in the shuffle between Orlando and Miami, is considered one of the best surfing spots in the United States.

It's in this area that Slater grew up.

Specifically, in Cocoa Beach, a city of thirteen thousand inhabitants that takes its name from the many coconut trees that have lined its main road since 1925.

At the corner of Minutemen Causeway and Aucila Road, between the beach and Banana River - practically an island.

Slater's family settled into a concrete-block house formerly occupied by a NASA engineer. It's a three-room house; not exactly a hovel, but not glamorous in the slightest.

He'll stay there until he's eleven.

Since the Apollo program wrapped up, the city's lost a lot of residents, and many former employees at Cape Canaveral have been replaced by seniors.

The only real attraction left that Cocoa Beach can boast is its proximity to Disney World, an hour's drive away.

You can at least find Ron Jon's surf shop there - the first store in Florida dedicated to surfing, it will one day be the largest in the world, and the only one that's open 24/7.

Along Route 1, prefabricated houses stand in endless lines.

Opposite them lies a flat sea and long, equally flat beaches. It's a lower-middle-class area, full of laborers, civil servants, fishermen, and families trying to make ends meet.

Like the Slaters.

American childhood

Steve, Kelly's father, is a true Floridian. Born in Ocala, he lived in Daytona for a long time. He likes to claim to be descended from Samuel Slater, the "father of the American industrial revolution."

But surely he's joking.

He installs his family in Cocoa Beach in the late 1960s to make it easier to look after his own father, the victim of a serious traffic accident.

A former lifeguard, he finds a job in construction - but he isn't bad at surfing. He hangs out with the local surfing community, including Gary Propper, 1966 East Coast champion.

He drinks a lot. And he argues a lot - especially with his wife Judith, née Moriarty, of Irish origin.

Born in Bethesda, Maryland, Judith was a secretary in a large company based in Washington, DC, when she decided to leave it all behind after spending a vacation in Cocoa Beach.

One evening, she was being bothered by another customer in a bar; the bouncer kindly escorted her home.

That bouncer was Steve. They married in 1967. Sean is their first child. They will have two more. Robert is the second.

They give him the middle name Kelly. That's the one everyone will use. It's also a girl's name, and in kindergarten, even though Kelly is one of the taller children, he is still made fun of - Kelly, Belly, Jelly, Smelly...

But the thing that really makes little Kelly angry is when other kids call him "Later Slater," teasing him for being slow to learn.

When he discovers his actual first name is Robert, he does his best to adopt it and writes "Bobby" all over his notebooks. Bobby - like his uncle, muscular and cool, his hero.

One peculiarity emerges early on. Robert Kelly Slater is stubborn.

At five years old, he almost gets run over by a car, driven by a ninety-year-old woman who manages to brake just in time.

When the paramedics want to take his cowboy boots off, he protests so strongly that they give up.

Kelly Slater never gives up. His older brother, Sean, was born in 1969 and is three years older. Push-pull: they do nothing without each other, but they also do almost everything against each other.

The family has formed a routine involving the beach behind the Islander Hut, a small snack bar, a few hundred yards from the house - the father gets drunk, the mother spends hours sunbathing.

Steve isn't a bad man, or a bad father; he never throws a punch. But there's an unpredictability in him that sometimes verges on threatening.

One day, he sets up an improvised mousetrap. It's an air rifle, set up with its barrel pointing toward the mousehole - and Kelly and Sean have to pass in front of it to get to their room.

At night, the sounds of rats walking around in the ceiling frighten Kelly.

During the day, Hondo, the family's German Shepherd, keeps an eye on the alligators basking in the sun behind the garden.

After his construction job, Steve opens a tackle shop, Cocoa Beach Bait and Tackle. Kelly and Sean learn to make their own fishing rods and to shoot a rifle, too.

At six years old, they each know how to disassemble, clean, and reassemble a gun, and even how to make bullets.

But those afternoons on the beach behind the Islander Hut are terminally boring. 

While their mother is sunbathing and their father is drinking, they have nothing to do. Sure, there's football, there's Little League baseball at school, but that's not enough.

And then they meet the surfers who live around the corner - and when their mother gives up sunbathing to make burgers at the Islander Hut to help make ends meet, that's when Kelly and Sean discover surfing, on 13th or 27th Street.

Surfing: a revelation

Among the local surfers is Matt Kechele.

He is ten years older than Kelly; he's talented, he's "goofy" (which means his stance on a surfboard is right foot forward, unlike most surfers), and in 1984, he will be one of the first Floridians to join the new pro circuit.

A lot like Charlie Kuhn, another young man from Cocoa Beach who will go on to win the Lacanau Pro in 1986.

The Slater boys join the group, and surf from morning till night every day they don't have to be in school.

The waves are mediocre in Florida?

Kelly wrote, years later: "It was a great place to start. It gave my surfing a good foundation. The waves are slow and user-friendly. I could figure out my moves in slow motion before trying them at full speed."

At seven years old, he's throwing "off-the-lips" on his board in the foam! He's talented, that's obvious.

In 1980, Kelly participates in his first competition. He's eight. His stance on a board is "regular" (left foot forward, right foot at the back of the board, like 90 percent of surfers), not goofy.

On a bodyboard, a short board made to allow you to surf lying down or on one knee, he wins by lining up a 360 - the trick of the era (Californian Joey Buran in particular specialized in this move in the early 1980s, a full turn all the way around on the crest of a wave).

Kelly keeps surfing, keeps getting better.

He, his brother, and his father eat at the Islander Hut so often that his mother must be paying the owner more than she's making by working there.

On his birthday, Sean, the eldest, has earned the right to a real surfboard, made of epoxy resin - and it's a single-fin board, too.

It's Sean's first board shaped by Rick Salick, who runs the mini surf shop on the corner, right behind the Hut.

Eight months of lead time and a custom decoration: the shark from the "Jaws" poster, where he's about to devour an attractive swimmer (at that age, it's probably the shark that's more interesting to Kelly).

It's a five-footer.

Sean takes part in a few competitions on it, alongside his little brother Kelly, who takes advantage of every opportunity, like when they sign up for the 1981 Eastern Surfing Association (ESA) championship being held in Cape Hatteras, North Carolina.

A twelve-hour drive with their father, Steve, just to place last in the end.

But the important thing is that they come back from it in one piece - because Steve is drinking more and more, and almost always driving drunk.

Arguments are a daily routine at home, though they don't involve physical violence.

Sometimes, Kelly sleeps out in the yard to avoid having to listen to the raised voices.

Several years ago, Sports Illustrated magazine ran a brief portrait of Kelly Slater that mentioned his father's alcoholism; the author of the piece concluded that "Kelly surfed to ride out an unhappy home life."

Slater was saddened by the article, which he considered unfair to his father.

"It wasn't an unhappy home life," he insisted. "I have good memories."

But when he continued and talked about that time in his life, with a certain reluctance, he mentioned that he followed his mother everywhere in the house, whether around the kitchen or to take out the trash, clutching her leg the whole time. ("I was always scared that she would leave. I tried to be so good so she wouldn't.")

In Cocoa Beach, Dick Catri is recruiting young prospects from the local surfing scene for competitions. Kelly will find refuge there.

He belongs to the "Menehune" age category - for surfers between five and seventeen years old.

He's smaller than the other kids, but he's accepted into the same group as Todd "Baby Face" Holland, future number 8 in the world during the early 1990s.

The kids used to gather in Indialantic, a neighboring town, to train.

At ten years old, in 1982, Kelly wins almost every competition in the "Menehune" category and has built a bit of a reputation for himself.

Enough so that Dick Catri takes the group to an in-state trade show to find sponsors whose logos can be put on their uniforms.

Kelly Slater meets Tom Curren for the first time there, and leaves with an autograph and his first sponsor, Sundek.

Slater will remain loyal to Sundek for years.

He gets a feel for Sebastian Inlet, the surfing capital of Florida, and its "locals only" vibe - depending on level and behavior in the water, you might be kicked off the beach temporarily or permanently, or even publicly punished.

Bullying is a daily occurrence there.

Kelly starts to develop something of a bad attitude, but he's rubbing shoulders with the best surfers on the East Coast: Matt Kechele, Jeff Crawford, and Charlie Kuhn - guys who will be facing off soon with some of the best in the world, starting with Hawaiian Buttons Kaluhiokalani, Kelly's idol, a prodigy from Oahu's North Shore who's destined for a world title.

At this point, the wider surfing world only has eyes for Larry Bertlemann, but Kelly is fascinated by Buttons.

And how could he not be?

Buttons changes his stance, alternating between "regular" and "goofy," right foot in the back and then left - just for fun, always smiling.

A family torn apart

In 1982, at the age of ten, Kelly Slater wins the "Menehune" category championship at Cape Hatteras, against opponents up to two years older than he is.

This automatically qualifies him for the US amateur championships the following week, in the same place, but Kelly convinces his father to take him and his brother Sean home, even though they will both be participating in the championships.

He misses his mother; she stayed behind to take care of the youngest Slater brother, Stephen.

On the road, the pickup truck breaks down ten times.

For Kelly's father, Steve, that's ten stops - ten opportunities to wet his whistle. The beers keep coming. His sons grow frustrated. He starts yelling.

"It was the first and only time he ever became belligerent with me, and my life came to a screeching halt."

Kelly decides that in the split that's bound to be coming, he's going to support his mother.

This is one of the two opposing forces that will ultimately prevent Kelly Slater from touching alcohol or tobacco more than a handful of times: his father did drink (one of the most shameful experiences of his life was the day he watched his drunken father stagger and fall flat on his face, to the amusement of everyone watching), and his mother didn't smoke (she once told him that if he started smoking joints - or anything else, for that matter - she would start smoking too, even though she had never smoked in her life. This simple remark permanently dissuaded him from ever trying it).

All his childhood friends are boys with no interest in doing drugs; that's how he picks them.

And his obsession with health, with not harming his body, starts there, even though at the Slater home in Cocoa Beach, there's nothing but sugary crap and canned goods in the cupboards.

He feels like he's sick all the time, and, years later, will convince himself that his recurring childhood ear infections and bronchitis were the consequences of this poor self-care.

It won't be a surprise to see him side with Djokovic and the anti-vaxxer movement during the COVID crisis.

In 1983, Judy and Steve's relationship finally fails to survive yet another argument. Steve moves next door and keeps driving Kelly and Sean to their surfing competitions.

Judy doesn't make enough money for them to stay in the house without Steve; they have to resign themselves to moving.

She's going from job to job (firefighter, waitress, bartender, paramedic; she works at Ron Jon's, at Sundek, for a cruise ship company, for a telephone company ...).

Kelly will find a second father: Colin "Doc" Couture, a man who truly gives of himself to those around him.

President of the United States Surfing Federation (USSF), he organizes a matchup, All Stars East Coast versus All Stars West Coast - the twenty best surfers from each side of the country - in the early 1980s.

When Kelly can't afford to accompany the team, Doc calls Sundek and O'Neill, and strings are pulled.

Doc pays for Kelly's plane ticket back after the contest out of his own pocket, so Kelly won't miss a single day of school.

Doc dies of an aneurysm in 1986.

Kelly will always consider him his first real manager, and much more. There's a memorial in Doc's honor, erected at Cape Hatteras: Doc Rock, a large stone with a small plaque, installed opposite the Surf Motel.

Cape Hatteras is where Kelly Slater will win the East Coast championships (ESA) six times in a row, from 1982 to 1987.

The first mention of Kelly in a newspaper article comes in a local paper. His photo appears for the first time in Waverider magazine.

But he's still just a kid; he dreams of growing up to become a ventriloquist, or an actor like Steve Martin ("Parenthood," "Grand Canyon," "The Pink Panther"...) because he likes being funny.

He enjoys the spotlight.

And it's true that this boy, with his deep blue eyes, perfect skin, and hair bleached by sun and salt, really does have something special about him.

Words by Stéphane Cohen | Sports Journalist and Author

Excerpt taken from the book "Kelly Slater: The Greatest of All Time" (VeloPress, November 24, 2026)

Surfing did not arrive in print with glossy magazines or beach photography. One of its earliest appearances came in a Victorian travel book.

Charles Warren Stoddard's "Summer Cruising in the South Seas," published in London in 1874, holds a special place in surfing history.

It contains one of the earliest detailed book descriptions of Hawaiian surf riding.

Even more remarkable is the first known book to feature a surfer riding a wave on its cover.

Inside, readers also find an illustration of surfers by Wallis Mackay, making the volume a milestone in both surfing literature and surfing art.

Nearly 150 years after its publication, the book remains one of the most vivid written records of Hawaiian surfing before the sport entered the modern era.

Here's why.

Watching Hawaiian surfers

The surfing episode appears in the chapter "Kahéle."

Stoddard and his Hawaiian companion arrive at a Maui beach expecting to meet local fishermen. Instead, they find another scene unfolding beyond the reef.

The author first hears the surfers before he sees them.

"The shouts of the surf-swimmers came up to us above the roar of the surf, as it broke heavily on the reef, a half-mile out from shore."

The line captures the atmosphere of the coastline: the waves crash against the reef while voices carry across the water.

Stoddard is immediately drawn to the surfers. Later, he writes:

"Kahéle and I watched the surf-swimmers for some time, charmed with the spectacle."

It is a simple observation, but an important one.

Stoddard does not dismiss surfing as an odd local custom. Instead, he watches it with genuine admiration and curiosity.

One of the earliest surfing action stories

Unable to resist, Kahéle decides to join the surfers.

Someone hands him a traditional Hawaiian surfboard, prompting one of the best-known descriptions in surfing history.

"...a surf-board that would have made a good lid to his coffin, and was itself as light as cork and as smooth as glass..."

The comparison to a coffin lid has been quoted by surfing historians for generations.

It also reveals something practical. Stoddard was surprised by how large the board looked and how little it weighed.

What follows is far more than a passing mention of surfing. Stoddard carefully follows every stage of the ride.

"He dived with it under the first roller..."

Then another wave arrives, followed by an even larger one.

"The third and mightiest of the waves was gathering its strength for a charge upon the shore."

If you're a surfer reading it today, you will recognize the sequence immediately.

Kahéle pushes through the breaking surf, reaches deeper water, turns toward shore, and waits for the right wave.

How contemporary.

Riding a Hawaiian wave

Once the swell arrives, Stoddard's writing becomes almost cinematic.

"He turned suddenly, and, mounting the towering monster, he lay at full length upon his fragile raft, using his arms as a bird its pinions..."

As the wave grows steeper, Kahéle climbs higher on its face.

"As it rose, he climbed to the top of it... Kahele danced like a shadow."

Then comes the moment that gives the passage its historical importance.

"He leaped to his feet..."

In just four words, Stoddard records a Hawaiian surfer standing on a wave decades before surfing became known around the world. He follows with one of the book's most memorable images.

"...my daring sea-skater leaped ashore, with a howling breaker swashing at his heels."

The comparisons to birds, skaters, and the Roman god Mercury reflect the author's struggle to describe something his readers had almost certainly never witnessed.

The first surfing book cover

The story was only part of what made "Summer Cruising in the South Seas" remarkable.

The first London edition featured a decorative cover showing a surfer riding a breaking wave.

According to current surfing historical research, it is the earliest known published book cover devoted to surf riding.

The book also includes an interior illustration by Wallis Mackay depicting the surfing scene described by Stoddard.

For Victorian readers in Britain, the cover offered a rare glimpse of an ancient Hawaiian tradition that few outside the islands had ever seen, either in pictures or in person.

A valuable record of Hawaiian surfing

"Summer Cruising in the South Seas" is surely not a surfing manual and never intended to be.

It is a travel narrative written by an observant visitor who happened to witness Hawaiian surfing while it was still part of everyday island life.

Stoddard's account preserves details that historians continue to value.

He describes the surfboards, the surfers, the waves, and the skill needed to pass through heavy surf before catching a breaker back to the beach.

The author presents surfing as a natural part of Hawaiian coastal culture rather than as a staged performance for visitors, something we know since Captain Cook's arrival in the Hawaiian Islands.

After watching Kahéle complete his ride, Stoddard admits that what impressed him most was not the size of the waves but the remarkable ability of the board to carry its rider.

"Such buoyancy of material matter I had never dreamed of."

This is deliciously naive, yet highly descriptive of the sense of wonder that still comes through today.

As the first known surfing illustration on a book cover and one of the earliest detailed written accounts of Hawaiian wave riding, "Summer Cruising in the South Seas" remains an essential work in the documented history of surfing.

It precedes the world's first surf book, "The Surf Riders of Hawaii", by 40 years.

If you're interested in giving it a full read, it's available online on Project Gutenberg.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

I have recently come across one of those new terms or concepts invented to describe things that have suddenly emerged in our brave new world.

Today, we seem to have expressions for nearly every detail or behavior in our lives. There's ghosting, gamification - one of my favorites - and many others.

It's actually hard to keep up with all the new concepts that every generation creates to designate something that, in a way, we always had, but now has new meanings.

The new term I found particularly interesting is overtourism.

I had to double-check it online and realized it already has its own Wikipedia entry.

Overtourism is fundamentally the consequence of an excess of tourists in a town, with particular emphasis on locals' reactions to the impact of foreign visitors and the loss of local cultural and social roots.

It has literally nothing to do with racism, segregation, or rejection of tourism and foreigners.

It's a matter of sustainability, a word that is pretty much en vogue, yet overused and misused.

Every house has a limit on how many people can live there. Every party is limited to the number of people it can accommodate.

Likewise, every town or city should have limits on the number of tourists it can accommodate to offer a high-quality visitor experience and liveable conditions for those who inhabit it.

At some point, tourism changes commerce, services, architecture, housing, restaurants, etc., to the point where locals become a daily minority.

And when they become a rarity, and their accents and languages lose dominance, so does the reason tourists visit that town in the first place.

The "without tourism, we're doomed" rhetoric

I live in a city that has been consecutively named Best European Destination for years.

While it's true that the early days of a flourishing new wave of tourism via low-cost carriers revived downtown areas, it's also true that soon, the growth of tourism killed local businesses with decades, if not centuries, of tradition.

Properties became the new gold. The iconic stores where my grandparents and parents bought codfish for Christmas were forced to close because the landlords were offered millions to convert the spaces into Airbnb rooms and guesthouses.

"We are not sending tourists away. We cannot do that. They bring wealth and jobs," we were told forever.

This type of rhetoric works like an endless loop.

Well, until the day comes when there's absolutely nothing to see in my town.

Tourism can be an economic dictatorship. It feeds itself and should never be stopped for the sake of local wealth and jobs.

It's like, without tourists, the end is nigh.

Tourism should and must have rules. It all starts with the national, regional, and local authorities.

Politicians are elected to rule in the people's favor. Their job is to improve the population's lives year after year.

We cannot be wealthier and live worse. We cannot extend the red carpet to tourists and then be forced to live on the outskirts of our home cities and towns.

And surfing is just another element of pressure in communities that are already dealing with overtourism issues.

It's similar to grand conferences, music, film, and arts festivals, international sporting events, Michelin-starred restaurants, UNESCO World Heritage sites, or nightlife culture.

In some cases, which might be my hometown's case, it's all of these at the same time and more.

The tourism machine must go on

And if we hadn't had enough (more and more people complain about the loss of our local culture, values, and way of living), there's another dynamic element feeding the endless tourism machine.

It's a surf contest.

So, we all know what happened to Nazaré, right? The quiet fishing town changed forever when, in 2011, Garrett McNamara, a big-wave surfer from Hawaii, confirmed what locals knew for centuries.

There are very large waves in town. And they have Guinness World Record potential.

The obsession with setting records is, by the way, the reason why I stopped a decade-plus-long attendance streak at an indie summer festival where I live.

The event grew so much that I had to queue to find a spot to watch a gig, eat, and go to the toilets.

Back to Nazaré. World surfing records in big waves brought an industry eager to monetize the striking images of surfers riding down mountains of water and wiping out, too.

The accommodation availability paradigm brutally changed the face of Nazaré, and tourists, foreign athletes, photo and video professionals, media, and event organizers established their headquarters where there had once been affordable rental spaces.

It was only a matter of time before tensions arose. I wrote about it and called it "the dark side of a gold mine."

Overtourism resembles surfing's very own crowded lineups, where waves might be beautiful and perfect, but there's a fierce, congested battle for them.

And only a few are victorious - in a way similar to highly touristic centers.

The pros are in town

When I was a kid, I remember going on a road trip to France with my parents.

At some point, I asked my father to stop by Hossegor, as I knew Kelly Slater and Tom Curren were competing there.

Sadly, it was a lay day, so I didn't get the chance to see them surf.

I do know how exciting it can be to see our idols surfing our beaches for a week or more.

But as someone who witnesses overtourism every single day (and spends an hour driving less than six miles to get downtown), I naturally and instinctively tend to reject more events than bring another batch of thousands of people to the place where I work and live.

In the back of my mind, there's always the shocking image of Barcelona residents expelling tourists from their streets and spray-painting anti-tourism messages on walls.

So, what's my point?

I am not against tourism. That would be an irrational, defenseless statement.

I want city planners, authorities, and politicians to make sustainability a concept that truly impacts the field.

Are there policies that can protect local cultures and people while accommodating a controlled number of tourists?

What can creatively be thought to balance the right to live where we were born, rising rents, neighborhood identities, and commercial interests that really fit in and feed tourism?

There are many laws and regulations already in place in many towns to protect sought-after destinations before they succumb to this endless, self-feeding cycle.

I always recall, for instance, the rules for visiting the Brazilian paradise of Fernando de Noronha and other islands in Asia, where there are limits to the number of people that can enter these natural sanctuaries.

If a threshold is needed, then put them in place.

And if welcoming a professional surfing contest will add pressure on the already stressed urban system, then leave it to others.

Remember that tourists take their experiences home, and one day, a bad reputation will come back to us.

I'll leave you, dear reader, with a lighter reflection.

If you've ever played the SimCity video game series, which I have for four decades, you'll notice that at some point, you have the opportunity, as mayor, to welcome the installation of a casino in town.

The offer comes with a very interesting paycheck but also with setbacks attached: severe crime spikes and traffic gridlock, for instance.

So, you really have to do it well.

Although a potentially large source of revenue could be good for the city's coffers, there are also problems on the horizon.

Some say surfing is the new golf. But as golf courses need a lot of water, regular, scheduled surf contests also raise issues.

Let us never forget the Teahupoo judge tower controversy and how the local population's concerns were muffled or downplayed.

A professional surfing contest is coming to my home break. That's something I would never have thought would happen.

Am I excited about it? To be really honest with you, no.

There's already too much of the outside world going on in town, and the worst consequences always come after they leave.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

The concept of cultural appropriation is generally highly controversial and not always viewed positively. Luxury brand Louis Vuitton took the risk with surfing.

Big wave surfer Andrew Cotton called it a 26-foot left-hand barreling wave that "looks a lot like Mullaghmore on a good day."

And it sure did.

Imagine a fashion show staged inside a breaking wave.

There was sand stretched across the runway, an eight-meter-high wall of water crashed behind the models, surfboards resting against Louis Vuitton trunks, and hoodies, weathered denim, and wetsuit-inspired tailoring drifting between sharply cut jackets and luxurious knitwear.

So, what was going on in Pharrell Williams' mind to have surfing as the philosophy behind Louis Vuitton's Spring/Summer 2027 menswear collection presentation?

The collection, unveiled on the evening of June 23 during Paris Men's Fashion Week, transformed the Cité Internationale Universitaire into an imagined coastline where luxury met the sea, and surfing became a metaphor for cultural exchange, craftsmanship, and freedom.

"Our guiding force is water," Louis Vuitton explained in the show's official notes, describing the ocean as "The Great Equalizer," a universal element capable of connecting people, traditions, and coastlines around the world.

Rather than celebrating one specific surf destination, the Maison presented what it called "a dandy experience grounded in the rhythm of surfing tradition," suggesting that surfing transcends geography and belongs to a shared global culture.

That idea flowed through every element of the show.

But how was everything morphed from concept to reality?

A wave rises in Paris

Instead of constructing a traditional runway, Pharrell designed an enormous tidal wave measuring roughly 26 feet (8 meters) high and more than 120 feet (37 meters) across.

Real water poured continuously over the structure while models emerged from its center before walking across a sand-covered boardwalk beneath the Paris evening sky.

The production instantly became one of the most ambitious sets ever created for a Louis Vuitton menswear presentation.

But organizers insisted the spectacle wasn't merely theatrical.

According to Louis Vuitton, the water circulated through a closed-loop system supplied by Eau de Paris before being returned to the municipal network.

The sand would later be reused for community sports facilities, while wooden seating from previous shows was repurposed for the event.

Simultaneously, the company announced a new partnership with Coral Gardeners to support coral reef restoration in French Polynesia, linking the collection's surfing narrative to ocean conservation efforts.

Does it sound like compensation for the cultural appropriation? The reader and spectator decide.

Surfing, not beachwear

Although surfboards accompanied several looks, the collection avoided clichés.

Instead of loud Hawaiian shirts or tropical prints, Pharrell focused on the textures and wear patterns associated with life by the sea.

Denim appeared faded as though bleached by years of saltwater, leather looked weathered by sun and sea air, wetsuit fabrics merged into tailoring.

There were also oversized knit robes evoking mornings after dawn surf sessions, while striped shorts and skate-inspired sneakers reflected the everyday uniforms worn by surfers far from the shoreline.

Louis Vuitton described the materials as "sun-worn fabrics" with "sea-centric embellishments."

Fashion critics largely agreed that the collection marked one of Pharrell's strongest outings since becoming Louis Vuitton Men's Creative Director, praising its balance between spectacle and wearable design.

Rather than inventing fantasy surf fashion, many saw the collection as elevating garments that surfers and skaters genuinely wear into the language of luxury.

But what would surfers think?

Despite Pharrell's broader vision of surfing as less about the board itself and more about patience, movement, adaptability, and respect for nature, there is always an element of nonsense and kookiness attached.

The sacred idea of a barreling wave appropriated by models to showcase luxurious clothing is, for many lifetime surfers, the confirmation that the sport's essence has been subjected to erosion from the outside, be it Hollywood, mainstream marketing, or luxury brands.

A heat wave complicates the message

The positive symbolism hailed by Louis Vuitton, however, unfolded under difficult circumstances.

Paris was experiencing one of its most intense June heat waves in recent years, with temperatures approaching 104 °F (40 °C).

As spectators gathered around the giant waterfall, many were visibly struggling with the heat. People succumbed to the heat.

The Fédération de la Haute Couture et de la Mode said some brands shifted their presentations to earlier hours because of the extreme temperatures.

Louis Vuitton, meanwhile, said it increased water supplies and staff breaks to improve working conditions before the show.

The contrast between an enormous artificial wave and a city coping with extreme heat also sparked criticism from some residents and environmental observers, even as Louis Vuitton emphasized its water recycling measures and sustainability initiatives.

Pharrell treated surfers much like dandies: people with a distinctive dress code shaped by their environment, even though surf culture goes deeper and beyond those ethereal artistic concepts.

Louis Vuitton proposed surfing as a shared cultural vocabulary but, again, failed to put surfers and real waves at the heart of their creative output.

We've seen luxury companies selling expensive surfboards, but we had never seen anything like this.

Despite the boldness of the move, which is hard not to acknowledge, has the French luxury house really made surfing a favor? Has the surfboard become a fashion accessory, second to a piece of clothing?

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

I've felt it in my skin a few times, and it's deeply frustrating. Have you ever been to the beach with perfect waves rolling and no equipment at all to ride them?

It happened again, dear reader. Yesterday, I went for a walk at my spiritual home break.

Before getting in the car to visit the place where I spent my childhood summer holidays, I checked the weather forecast.

"Hmm... If it's 73.4 ºF (23 ºC) with possible lightning and light showers, I am not even taking boardshorts and a beach towel," I thought to myself.

By the time I had driven 30 minutes and was close to reaching my destination, I noticed the weather clearing and blue skies replacing the light, bright clouds.

Well, at least I would be able to enjoy a pleasant walk on the beach walkways that have become so popular in northern Portugal.

However, what was supposed to be just another dry enjoyment of the coastline quickly morphed into an "I'll just dip my feet in the water" moment.

The weather was so good, I had to do it.

So I took my t-shirt off, rolled up my pants, and went to wet my feet in the sea in a no-surf, kids-only, bathing area.

The water temperature was just unbelievably warm and transparent. A few young parents were introducing seawater to their babies and toddlers.

The scene was just perfect and tender, and I couldn't just stop smiling at the kids' reaction to dipping their feet in the still water.

The bathing area where I was was protected from the traditional northwestern swells that the Atlantic funnels to southwestern Europe nearly 365 days per year.

Therefore, it was a flat natural pool with clean water, algae, seaweed, and the smell of sea air.

In other words, a perfect setup for non-surfers and families with children.

Even though I do enjoy occasional moments like these, waves are just a magnetic force I can never ignore, wherever I am in the world.

If a wave of any sort breaks in any body of water and I am within viewing distance of it, I can't help but drive my eyes toward it.

It's an automatic mechanism that I guess all surfers develop.

Clean lines but no gear in sight

So, as I was observing the love of the sea by everyone around me, I suddenly noticed the tidal forces were making what they do best at this surf break.

Clear lines of small but perfectly rideable waves were arriving at the surfing area, which stood just 100 yards from where I was.

"Oh, no. Not this again..." my brain told itself.

Yes, dear reader, the lineup was empty, and the low, windless tide was creating a natural, fun surf park for a longer surfboard or funboard.

The problem was that I didn't have any board available nearby. All my 10 surfboards were at home at an "unreachable" 10 miles (15 kilometers).

And this is exactly where surfers lose all reason and go full-on emotional.

"Should I just try and buy a cheap foamie to ride this?..." I wondered.

Those uncrowded and beautiful surf lines were driving me insane, for sure. But enough of surfboards, dude. Stop binge-buying gear!

While it's true that there's no such thing as too many boards, it's also true that money and space are scarce resources, just like waves.

My heart was broken. I had a lineup just for me, where I could show off some of my longboarding and switch-stance skills.

Instead, there I was, looking like a fisherman on a break, dipping my feet in the babies' seawater pool, and taking quick glances at the waves I was missing.

A wave of bittersweetness invaded my waterman soul. Why didn't I just have a surfboard and a pair of boardshorts with me?

Maybe that idea of a collapsible surfboard is great, after all. I could just have one always in my car's trunk for occasions like this.

Losing a swell just because you're missing gear is probably as sad and frustrating as having all your equipment and being at a world-class surf break with no waves.

Oh, dear. There are times when I wish I weren't a surfer with a surfer mindset.

And the worst thing is, I feel these golden opportunities won't knock again. Am I being too pessimistic?

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

A few minutes can decide whether a shark attack becomes a tragedy or a survival story.

That reality sits at the heart of Community Shark Bite Kits, a grassroots initiative that aims to place lifesaving bleeding control equipment within easy reach of surfers, swimmers, anglers, and anyone else who spends time by the ocean.

The project was founded by Australian surfer Danny Schouten after witnessing how close his friend Kai McKenzie came to dying in a shark attack.

Today, the movement has grown into a nationwide campaign that has already helped save lives.

Here's how it works.

A friend's survival sparked the idea

The story begins in July 2024 at North Shore Beach in Port Macquarie, New South Wales.

Twenty-three-year-old surfer Kai McKenzie was attacked by a shark estimated at around nine feet (three meters) long.

The shark severed his right leg.

McKenzie managed to get back to shore after fighting off the animal, but his survival depended on what happened next.

A retired police officer used his dog's leash as a makeshift tourniquet to slow the massive blood loss.

For Schouten, the incident exposed a troubling gap in beach safety.

Tourniquets and trauma equipment existed, but they were often locked away in surf clubs, emergency facilities, or private vehicles.

In a major bleeding emergency, precious time could be lost simply trying to find the equipment.

"It was by the grace of a man... walking his dog on the beach that day, who was trained in trauma control and used his dog lead to save Kai's life," Schouten later told 9News.

"And I thought, we need to have one of these kits on every one of our beaches so it's not left up to chance next time."

That experience led to the creation of Community Shark Bite Kits, shortened to Community SBK.

The non-profit initiative focuses on one goal: making emergency bleeding control equipment publicly accessible on Australian beaches.

What is a Community Shark Bite Kit?

Community Shark Bite Kits are highly visible emergency response kits designed to help people control catastrophic bleeding during the critical minutes before paramedics arrive.

They are intended to be simple enough for ordinary bystanders to use.

The kits are typically mounted at busy surf beaches, attached to emergency infrastructure, or positioned in locations where ocean users can quickly access them.

The idea is straightforward. 

If someone suffers a severe shark bite injury, the equipment is already there. There's no waiting, no searching, no improvising with whatever happens to be nearby.

As Schouten has explained, people can lose a dangerous amount of blood within minutes after a major shark bite.

Fast action can make the difference between life and death.

What's inside the kits?

The contents vary slightly between installations, but each kit is built around severe bleeding control.

Most Community SBKs contain tourniquets, large trauma dressings, compression or conforming bandages, gloves, an emergency thermal blanket, a whistle, and simple step-by-step treatment instructions.

Some versions also include amputated limb bags designed to help preserve severed body parts for medical treatment.

The instructions are intentionally easy to follow.

Schouten has repeatedly emphasized that the kits are designed so that everyday beachgoers can help even if they have no medical background.

A community-funded national rollout

What began as a local response to one devastating attack quickly spread beyond Port Macquarie.

CommunitySBK relies heavily on donations and community support. 

Funds help pay for manufacturing, supplying, installing, maintaining, and replacing kits, while also supporting public education about emergency bleeding control.

The initiative has received support through GoFundMe campaigns and local fundraising efforts.

The first installations appeared on beaches in northern New South Wales. Within a year, the network had expanded dramatically.

Reports published in late 2025 stated that more than 150 kits had already been installed across New South Wales, Queensland, South Australia, and Western Australia.

The numbers have continued to grow.

In June 2026, Schouten said almost 250 kits had been installed across New South Wales and Western Australia.

Local councils and surfing organizations have also joined the effort.

In Randwick, Sydney, shark bite kits were installed at Coogee and Maroubra beaches to improve safety during periods when lifeguards are not on duty.

The day a kit helped save a life

The strongest argument for the program arrived on a winter day at Coogee Beach in Sydney.

In June 2026, 35-year-old Leah Stewart was seriously injured in a great white shark attack while swimming at Coogee Beach.

Witnesses watched as off-duty responders and bystanders rushed into action.

Emergency physician Dr. Ian Ferguson retrieved a nearby shark bite kit along with a defibrillator and immediately began treatment.

The kit had only been installed at Coogee a few months earlier.

According to reports, the tourniquet and other trauma equipment were used to help control Stewart's severe bleeding until further medical care arrived.

She survived the attack and was transported to the hospital in critical but stable condition.

The event provided proof that public access to bleeding control equipment can have a real impact when every second matters.

Schouten later pointed to the Coogee rescue as an example of how rapid action, combined with nearby equipment and willing bystanders, can change the outcome of a catastrophic injury.

Teahupoo has claimed another life. Patrick Phillips, a respected California surfer, died after a serious accident at Teahupoo, Tahiti.

Phillips, 56, was surfing with friends at Teahupoo on the afternoon of June 12 when he fell from his board and struck the reef beneath the wave.

According to Milton Parker, mayor of the Teahupoo community, Phillips hit his head on the reef and fractured two vertebrae in his neck.

Witnesses said another American surfer in the water reached Phillips first and began resuscitation efforts at the break itself.

Conditions that day were relatively small by Teahupoo standards, and there was no water safety patrol stationed at the wave.

Other surfers joined the rescue effort and provided first aid before Phillips was transported by boat back to shore.

He was taken first to Taravao Hospital and later transferred to the Centre Hospitalier de la Polynésie Française, where doctors fought to save him.

Phillips remained in critical condition for several days. He died on the night of June 19, local time.

A dangerous wave, even on smaller days

Teahupoo is known for thick and towering walls of water and massive barrels that seem to fold directly onto the ocean floor.

The wave sits off the southern coast of Tahiti and breaks over an extremely shallow coral reef.

Its name is often translated as "the pile of heads" or "wall of skulls."

Just weeks before Phillips' accident, the start of the Tahitian season had delivered 20-foot swells that drew many of the world's best surfers and photographers to the break.

Yet locals and experienced surfers often point out that Teahupoo can be deceptively dangerous when it is smaller.

Without the dramatic size that makes headlines, the wave still detonates onto a razor-thin reef shelf, leaving little room for error.

According to local reports, Phillips was surfing during one of those smaller days when a fall can quickly become catastrophic.

A well-known figure in Southern California surfing

After his identity became public, tributes poured in from friends, fellow surfers, and community members who knew Phillips from his home breaks around La Jolla, California.

Many described him as a gifted surfer who continued charging serious waves well into his 50s.

One surfer wrote online, "He wasn't just a good surfer, he ripped." Another called him "basically the mayor around these parts."

Others remembered his generosity, humor, and deep connection to the ocean.

A family member shared a personal story about Phillips carrying his grandmother's ashes into heavy surf at Windansea before catching a large wave back to shore.

"Patrick was also a shredder and charger," the relative wrote. 

He also always gave me great life advice in the water, and I will miss his laugh the most."

Another tribute described him as "one of the most special humans I have ever met. His absence is felt acutely by all of us who knew him."

A rare fatality at Teahupoo

Despite its reputation, deaths at Teahupoo have been relatively uncommon considering the number of elite surfers who have challenged the wave over the decades, since the Tahitian surf break's discovery.

The last widely reported fatality at the break occurred in 2000, when young Tahitian surfer Brice Taerea suffered fatal injuries after being pulled backward into the reef.

Many world-class surfers have escaped severe accidents there.

British big wave surfer Tom Lowe was resuscitated after a near-drowning at Teahupoo in 2025.

Others, including Keala Kennelly and numerous heavy water specialists, have suffered major injuries on the reef over the years.

Phillips' death reminds us that at Teahupoo, danger is not reserved for the giant days that dominate surf films and magazine covers.

Even when the wave appears manageable, the reef remains just beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest mistake.

If, as a surfer or visitor, you've ever stood above Steamer Lane in Santa Cruz, you'd barely miss a bronze surfer gazing out at one of the most famous waves on the West Coast of the USA.

The statue, known as "To Honor Surfing," has become part of the landscape.

Locals decorate it during the holidays, visitors photograph it, and generations of surfers have passed beneath it on their way to the water.

Now, a companion statue honoring the women who helped shape one of America's most influential surf communities is moving closer to reality.

But not exactly where it was initially planned.

What began as a public art project has evolved into a debate about history, representation, development, public space, and the future of a cherished stretch of coast.

So, why is there a debate about where to install it?

A monument decades in the making

The proposed statue is called "To Honor the Women of the Water."

Organizers describe it as a counterpart to the existing male surfer monument that has overlooked Steamer Lane since 1992.

The new bronze figure would celebrate generations of women who surfed, paddled, lifeguarded, competed, taught, and built surf culture in Santa Cruz long before their contributions were widely recognized.

The project is being led by Santa Cruz resident Kari Lochhead and a team of supporters that includes surfers, historians, artists, educators, and community members.

The statue was designed by sculptors Brian W. Curtis and Thomas Marsh, the same artists behind the original male surfer statue.

Like its older counterpart, the sculpture is not intended to portray a specific person. Instead, it represents a collective history.

But there's a twist. Organizers say the figure stands for all the women who have built lives around the ocean.

The design shows a female figure standing with a longboard and wearing a wetsuit, a clear reference to the legacy of wetsuit pioneer Jack O'Neill and the cold-water culture of Northern California surfing.

Depending on the proposal version, the statue has been described as approximately 16 to 18 feet tall, making it a prominent landmark visible from surrounding public areas.

Why supporters say it matters

Supporters argue that Santa Cruz surfing history cannot be fully told through a single male figure.

Their case begins well before modern surfing arrived in California.

According to local historians, the roots of surfing in Santa Cruz trace back to 1885, when three Hawaiian princes rode redwood surfboards near the mouth of the San Lorenzo River.

The event is widely recognized as a foundational moment in the spread of surfing throughout mainland America.

Advocates for the statue point to another figure whose role was largely overlooked for generations: Antoinette "Akoni" Swan, a Native Hawaiian woman who lived in Santa Cruz and hosted the princes during their visits.

Historians Kim Stoner and Geoffrey Dunn have described Swan as a central cultural link in the story of how surfing took root in the region.

The proposed monument also seeks to recognize women whose names are deeply woven into Santa Cruz surf history, including Betty Van Dyke, Jane McKenzie, Rosemari Reimers-Rice, Robin "Zeuf" Janiszeufski-Hesson, Brenda Scott-Rogers, Sarah Gerhardt, Ashley Lloyd, and others who helped open lineups that were often dominated by men.

Sarah Gerhardt occupies a particularly important place in that history.

In 1999, she became the first woman to surf Mavericks, one of the world's most intimidating big-wave breaks. Her achievement is often cited as a milestone in women's surfing.

The campaign's supporters argue that stories like hers deserve a visible place in the public landscape.

For Kaila Pearson, a Santa Cruz surfer, ocean lifeguard, and biology professor, the issue is partly about what young girls see when they look at their community.

She has said that, growing up, she was often the only woman in the lineup and believes the statue could inspire future generations of female surfers.

The timing also reflects a broader shift within surfing itself.

Women's professional surfing has grown dramatically over the past decade.

Equal prize money has become standard in major competitions, female participation continues to rise, and women are increasingly visible in big-wave surfing, coaching, media, and surfboard design.

Supporters see the monument as part of that larger cultural correction.

The statue that nearly didn't happen

The project's path has been anything but smooth.

The original plan called for placing the statue on East Cliff Drive in Pleasure Point, near a bluff-top area known locally as the Dirt Farm.

The site overlooks a popular surf break called Jack's, or 38th Avenue.

It also sits near the former home of Jack O'Neill, whose influence on modern surfing extends far beyond Santa Cruz.

Initially, the proposal attracted support from many local surfers, artists, board builders, and community leaders.

Santa Cruz County Supervisor Manu Koenig publicly backed the idea, and later said a poll he conducted showed 78 percent support among respondents.

But opposition soon emerged.

Residents living near the proposed site raised concerns about preserving one of the area's last undeveloped bluff-top spaces.

Some argued that the project would alter the character of the landscape and create additional pressure on a location already dealing with parking shortages and traffic challenges.

Others worried that benches included in early designs could encourage late-night gatherings, noise, and other neighborhood problems.

Environmental concerns also became part of the conversation.

Critics questioned whether development on a coastal bluff was appropriate, given ongoing erosion issues affecting parts of the Santa Cruz coastline.

Importantly, many opponents stressed that they were not against honoring women surfers. Their objection, they said, centered on the location rather than the statue itself.

Several community discussions reflected that distinction, with supporters of open-space preservation arguing that a monument could be placed elsewhere.

The debate grew increasingly heated.

Organizers said misinformation and online criticism began to overshadow the project's original goals.

Lochhead later described the experience as disappointing, saying the discussion had become far more negative than she expected for what she viewed as a celebration of women in surfing.

A new home in Capitola

In May 2026, organizers announced a major change.

Rather than continue pursuing approval in Pleasure Point, they withdrew the application and shifted their focus to nearby Capitola, a small coastal city just south of Santa Cruz.

The new proposed location is along Capitola's Esplanade, a busy public area near the beach. Supporters quickly embraced the move.

Capitola officials signaled enthusiasm for the project, and local leaders described the city as a welcoming place for a public monument celebrating women surfers.

Vice Mayor Gerry Jensen said the statue aligned with the community's character and could inspire young girls who spend time around the ocean.

The relocation also carries symbolic significance.

In 2025, Capitola's surf breaks were added to the Santa Cruz World Surfing Reserve, expanding the protected surf zone to roughly seven miles of coastline stretching from Capitola to Natural Bridges State Park.

If the female statue is built there, it would effectively bookend the reserve with the existing male surfer monument on West Cliff Drive.

Organizers say the two figures would frame the region's surfing story from opposite ends of the coastline.

The project remains privately funded and still requires reviews and approvals from Capitola's arts and city commissions before construction can begin.

Organizers have targeted 2027 for installation if the necessary approvals are granted.

One of only a handful in the world

Part of the project's appeal comes from how rare such monuments remain.

Supporters say the Santa Cruz-area statue would be only the third public statue in the world dedicated specifically to female surfers, among many others featuring male figures.

The first was unveiled in Dana Point, California, honoring surfing champion Joyce Hoffman in 2022.

The second was installed at Australia's Bondi Beach in 2025, celebrating world champion Pauline Menczer.

That small number surprises many people, given surfing's global reach and the growing influence of women in the sport.

For supporters, the scarcity underscores the reason the project exists at all.

Maybe it all makes sense and is more than fair.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

The odds that I would ever have had the opportunity to try surfing (and fall in love with it forever) were stacked against me.

I am the eldest son of a university professor and a high school teacher.

As far back as I can remember, I have lived surrounded by books. 

Hundreds of them, scattered throughout the house, from the dining room to the study, from the bedrooms to the entrance hall.

To make matters even more unlikely, both of my parents are published authors.

I certainly cannot say that they embodied the old saying: "A sound body in a sound mind."

I rarely saw them play sports. In fact, I do not remember ever seeing them run, swim, play tennis, or take part in any other sport.

They were always intellectuals, and all the emphasis was placed on exercising the mind.

As a result, sport was something I only discovered at school, since Physical Education was a compulsory subject from the 5th to the 9th grade.

I was fortunate enough to have some talent both for subjects that required intellectual effort and for a variety of sports.

I have always loved the water, too. I learned to swim out of necessity, like many children my age, but later also for enjoyment, pleasure, and fun.

I spent my pre-teen and teenage years largely during the 1980s.

At the time, you could count on your fingers the number of surfboards you saw on Portuguese beaches, whether in winter or summer.

The few memories I have are of Styrofoam boards that resembled a hybrid model somewhere between a bodyboard and a surfboard.

Some of these models even had a kind of fin setup. They were relatively inexpensive but very fragile.

I doubt that, before getting my first surfboard, I had ever actually seen someone surfing in front of me.

Surfing in Portugal is a very recent phenomenon, perhaps also because democracy only replaced the dictatorship in 1974, and the importation of foreign products began relatively late.

Fate made me a surfer for life

I started surfing by chance. It was pure coincidence.

During a break between classes, one of my best friends showed me a copy of a Brazilian surf magazine called Fluir.

He wanted to show me how incredible it must be to experience this sport - surfing.

The images were amazing. You could see lines of perfect waves with a human being riding them.

Because they were photographs, they left plenty of room for our imagination. "How would that wave end?" I would ask myself.

I remember becoming obsessed with surfing. Mind the common place, but it was really like an incoming wave growing inside my brain.

My friend eventually bought a second-hand Mike Davis surfboard from the only store that sold related products.

It was a windsurfing shop called Top Sport.

When I saw my friend with his new toy, I decided that I wanted one too. I wanted to dream of being featured in surf magazines and living that incredibly cool lifestyle.

I spoke to my parents.

Unfortunately, they were not very enthusiastic. I think they suspected it might be dangerous and impractical. After all, it is not like carrying a tennis racket.

Of course, if I had asked for a collection of books, they probably would have gladly bought it for me.

All roads lead to Rome

But fortunately, I did not give up.

There was another possibility of getting my first surfboard. What if I earned the money to buy it? Would they stop me from doing so?

Fate had already decided that I would learn to surf and continue surfing until the end of my days.

When I finished the school year, I was informed that I had been the top student in the parish where I lived.

In other words, I received the highest grade in every subject. The grading scale up to the 9th grade ranged from 1 to 5.

The result was the best I could have hoped for: a check.

The amount gave me the kind of financial freedom that allowed a 12- or 13-year-old boy to dream about the world.

My parents immediately realized that they had won a battle - the first one - but lost the war.

It would have been difficult to explain to me that I could not do whatever I wanted with the money I had earned through my own effort, sweat, and… homework.

I could hardly believe it. I was going to buy my first surfboard!

And so I did. The Mike Davis 6'2" available in the store was finally mine!

I was also able to get my first block of wax - it smelled amazing! And a short wetsuit - without sleeves or legs - from the French brand Piel.

Grateful for earning it the hardest way

Nowadays, I must admit, I am glad it happened that way.

Something always feels more rewarding when you have worked to achieve it yourself rather than having it handed to you on a silver platter.

At least when it comes to certain objects that become special to us and that we carry with us throughout our lives.

And then I taught myself how to surf. I still remember the day I first stood up on a surfboard as if it were yesterday.

The indescribable feeling of yet another personal achievement is priceless.

Moreover, as someone who has been nearsighted all my life and went into the ocean seeing very poorly, with everything blurred and out of focus, it was undoubtedly a memorable milestone in my life.

Surfing educated me and helped shape me as a person. It connected me to Nature, to the protection of beaches and oceans, and gave me a confidence I had never had before.

The shy and reserved boy I once was opened himself to the world and challenged it.

Surfing continued to transform my adult life, and even today, I use it to help change lives for the better.

Being a good student paid off, of course. That is why I recommend being the very best we can be at school.

And that is a lesson for surfing and for life. The rest we leave to fate and to the inevitabilities of our short journey across this planet.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

If you're familiar with tube riding and barrels - small or big hollow ones - the next step is backdooring them.

The move involves taking off deep behind the peak, often beneath a section that already appears to be pitching over, and slipping straight into the barrel.

Done correctly, it allows a surfer to enter the tube almost instantly and emerge on the shoulder while everyone on the beach wonders how it was possible.

The term comes from entering the barrel through its "back door" rather than approaching it from the open face.

The name is also linked to the famous North Shore of Oahu wave known as Backdoor, a shallow right-hand reef break that shares a peak with Pipeline.

There, surfers often take off from a critical position and disappear into a tube almost immediately after standing up.

But here, we're mastering the art of backdooring a wave anywhere in the world, be it in Hossegor, Supertubos, Lower Trestles, or Margaret River.

What makes a backdoor ride different?

In a conventional barrel ride, a surfer takes off on a more open section of the wave and works into the tube as it forms. A backdoor entry reverses that sequence.

The surfer starts deeper, closer to the spot where the lip is already beginning to throw.

Instead of racing down the line to catch the barrel later, they aim to enter the hollow section immediately.

It's an approach that is especially useful on fast, hollow waves where the barrel forms so quickly that a traditional takeoff leaves little chance of making the section.

Many reef breaks and steep sandbar waves reward this deeper positioning because the tube appears almost as soon as the wave stands up.

A-frame waves in beach breaks are also great for trying out this advanced surfing maneuver.

But it's not easy. You'll need to fine-tune the timing and read the wave well.

Position yourself too deep, and the lip will pitch directly onto your head. Sit too far from the peak, and the barrel runs away without you.

Reading the wave

Backdooring starts long before the takeoff.

A surfer must identify a wave that will hollow out rather than collapse into a closeout. The best candidates are powerful waves with a defined peak and a lip that throws forward cleanly.

Many surfers look for a wedge-shaped section where different lines of swell combine to create extra thickness and curvature.

In these situations, it is often possible to paddle to the far side of the wedge and angle into the hollow section near the apex of the wave.

Wave reading becomes the most important skill.

You need to know where the lip will begin pitching, how quickly the section will run, and whether there will be an opening at the end of the ride.

The decision happens in seconds or maybe less.

The deep takeoff

A backdoor takeoff can feel uncomfortable even for experienced surfers.

The wave face is often already steepening when the surfer commits.

Instead of paddling straight toward shore, the board is angled down the line toward the direction of the breaking wave.

It's a technique that helps the surfer match the speed and direction of the section they hope to enter.

You're "knifing" into the wave. The board drops into a steep face while the lip begins to fold overhead.

Hesitation usually ends the ride before it starts.

The pop-up must be quick and clean. Once on their feet, surfers immediately engage the rail and establish a line beneath the pitching lip.

Inside the green room

The moment after takeoff is where backdooring becomes barrel riding.

The surfer compresses into a low stance to lower the center of gravity and maintain stability. Frontside surfers often use the classic pigdog position, grabbing the outside rail while crouching beneath the lip.

Speed management becomes critical. Contrary to popular belief, the goal is not always maximum speed.

Sometimes the surfer needs to slow slightly to stay inside the tube. Small adjustments with the rail, a trailing hand, or subtle body movements help maintain the correct position.

Some surfers lightly drag a hand, arm, or thigh against the wave face to create resistance and act as a brake, preventing them from outrunning the barrel.

Vision matters as much as technique.

Experienced tube riders rarely stare at the collapsing lip. Instead, they focus on the opening ahead, often called the "dog door."

Looking toward the exit naturally guides body position and line choice.

Surviving the foam ball

Starting deep often means encountering the foam ball.

The turbulent mass of whitewater forms inside the barrel as the lip impacts the wave face. It can either help push a surfer forward or knock them completely off balance.

The key is staying compact and flexible. Bent knees work like shock absorbers, allowing the surfer to absorb sudden bumps and changes in speed.

Large body movements usually create instability. Small corrections are far more effective.

A surfer who maintains speed and control through this chaotic section often finds the wave opening again on the other side.

Step by step: how to backdoor a wave

Ready to backdoor a barreling wave? Here's a simple tutorial on how to do it:

1. Choose a fast, hollow wave with a clearly defined peak and a barrel section that appears likely to stay open;
2. Position yourself deeper than normal, close to where the lip will begin pitching:
3. Angle your board down the line rather than straight toward the beach:
4. Commit to the late drop as the wave stands up beneath you;
5. Pop up immediately and set your rail;
6. Stay low and establish a clean line beneath the lip;
7. Use subtle speed adjustments through rail control or hand drag if necessary;
8. Keep your eyes focused on the opening ahead rather than the collapsing section;
9. Remain compact when passing through turbulence or the foam ball;
10. Continue driving toward the shoulder until the barrel releases you into open water;

Commitment, baby

Backdooring is often described as an advanced maneuver, though many experienced surfers argue the technical movements themselves are relatively straightforward.

The real challenge lies in the commitment required. The surfer must trust a section that appears, at first glance, impossible to make.

They must paddle toward a breaking lip rather than away from it. They must make decisions before the shape of the wave is fully revealed.

When everything aligns, the reward is one of surfing's most memorable experiences.

The barrel is already standing when the surfer enters, the walls wrap overhead, and the exit appears as a bright opening down the line.

For a few seconds, the entire ride takes place inside that moving room of green water.

And it's so beautiful and mesmerizing.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com