Proximos dias...

11:00 p.m. Estou no Moondoggies em Pacific Beach, California, quando recebo um telefonema de um numero que nao conheco. Atendo o telefone, mas nao consigo escutar nada por causa do som alto. Caminho ate perto dos banheiros, consigo ouvir uma voz bem fraquinha quase insuficiente a audicao. E' James Santos que acabou de chegar em San Diego vindo de Santa Barbara. Ele esta acompanhado de Fernando Moura (Fanta), Cassio Sanches e Geraldo. Eles me pedem pra busca-los no SevenEleven e leva-los ate a casa quais eles vao ficar hospedados. O bar esta cheio de mulheres lindas, mas eu nao poderia deixa-los na mao.
Dia seguinte, o mar esta flat. Neco Padaratz chega na California amanha, e entao com a colaboracao do oceano, eu vou publicar aqui todos os momentos desses grandes nomes do surf brasileiro desbravando cada canto da costa sul californiana. Fica ligado!!!

A little talk...

My house, Pacific Beach, San Diego, California, 2:02 a.m. I'm drinking some good chardonnay. I love to cook at home, so I'm cooking some chicken with a mix of different exotic potatoes. At the same time, I'm painting t-shirts. Now, I'm sitting down enjoying one of the best meal I ever had. I'm like a bat, I love to work in the silence of the night. Few weeks ago I was pulling my brain out of my head at the Coachella festival, watching Bassnectar and jumping like a kangaroo. I still didn't recover. I watched on my computer Andrew "Droid" Doheny win Lowers Pro Jr. contest riding self-made surfboards. Awesome! I love that kid! I also like to watch Mitch Coleborn and Dane Reynolds freesurfing. Not as much as I like to watch the schizophrenic Nathan Fletcher. I still rather watch Nathan surfing Pascoales in the afternoon onshore wind than the whole new Modern Collective surfers. I rather watch Rob Machado surfing Seaside reef than check out the Lowers Pro. Everybody is saying airs are the future in surfing. I believe combos are the future. Linking radical turns together without breaking the line. There where surfing should go. Or it gonna get boring. I remember when floaters were the new thing. Richie Collins extended floater at Backdoor and Martin Potter "rock n roll" variations. These days, basically, floaters don't exist anymore. I hate the confused new ASP judging system, but I still like to watch the ASP contests.
Next day, 11:33 a.m. I'm wearing red Vans shoes with black laces, black paints, hand-painted OutraCultura t-shirt, flannel and Evoke black sunglasses while I check surfing conditions. It's sunny, but windy, so it should be warm, but it's kinda could. There's some fun out there, but I feel so tired. I've been working my ass off. The waves are small, though. I'm texting my ex-girlfriend 'cause she wants me to go pick up stuff that's still there. I still like her. But at this point I like my freedom more than I like her. It's probably good for me 'cause she still likes me too. You know what??!! I'm gonna go surf. There is where I find myself in this world. There is where I feel like I'm living my life. And after surfing, everything make sense. As simple as that.

Surfistas viajam...

Nao vou ficar falando o quanto e' bom tirar o tenis e colocar um calcao de banho depois de 24 horas em avioes e aeroportos, passar parafina na prancha favorita (se chegar inteira) e pular na agua de cabeca para limpar todo aquele ranso da viagem. Nao vou ficar dando conselhos de como viajar barato, ou como evitar ser perseguido por um local que parece jogador de futebol americano. Nem vou mencionar que no final das contas parece facil falar outra lingua (depois de muitos anos parece ficar muito facil). Nao existe a minima chance de eu contar meus romances durante a jornada. Primeiro com uma gostosa modelo brasileira que desapareceu na distancia, depois com uma barbie americana qual a mae dava em cima de mim, depois com uma jovem-elegante estudante francesa que tem uma tia brasileira, depois com uma linda gerente de um restaurante italiano que fazia eu me sentir o rei de Roma, depois derramei lagrimas por uma brasileirinha sarada que partiu meu coracao...
Tambem nao vou contar como e' acordar no Hawaii com o barulho das ondas explodindo nos corais, e olhar para o mar e se dar conta de que as ondas estao duas vezes maiores do que o barulho que fazem.
Este ultimo inverno na California parecia um sonho. Para muitos este foi o melhor inverno de ondas da historia. Foram varios dias que eu saia do mar exausto, parava, olhava pro outside e pensava: "Minha vida e' um sonho!!" A temperatura da agua, que geralmente atrapalha de tao gelada, nesse ultimo inverno so' comecou a ficar congelante no final de fevereiro. Inumeros dias de alta qualidade de surf sem crowd. Picos quebrando com qualidade internacional a cinco minutos da minha casa. Teve dias que eu quase chorei por nao ter mais forcas de continuar surfando depois de uma sessao de duas horas e meia. Dizem que Blacks quebrou classico por 60 dias seguidos. Eu acredito porque os unicos dois dias que eu resolvi descer a montanha estava epico.
Nada que eu possa dizer aqui chega perto da real experiencia. Lembro de ter tomado banho de mar pelado no meio da noite com uma chilena em Montanita (Equador). Lembro perfeitamente do meu tubo em Uluwatu. Lembro do tubo que eu nao completei em Bingin e explodi nos corais tres vezes. Lembro de estar surfando 2 metros de onda, sozinho e salvar um nadador em Bondi beach, Sydney, Australia. Lembro de quase ter morrido na Praia da Joaquina surfando 10 pes com o Koy, Cabecinha, Viegas e Pokoto. Lembro de perder minha Rusty zerada para os pescadores da Praia do Rosa durante a epoca da tainha (Rafael Ramos foi o unico que saiu ileso desse ataque brutal). Lembro de uma sesssao no parcel de Baln. Camboriu com o Neco Padaratz, Charles Padaratz, Saulo Lyra no qual eu peguei as duas maiores ondas do dia (12 pes) segundo testemunhas. Lembro de uma sessao no meio do invernao, muito frio, nenhuma alma ao redor, so' eu, Viegas e Alemaozinho da Brava, ponta da Feiticeira com 8 a 10 pes. Lembro de uma sessao na laje no canto esquerdo do Naufragados com Marquinho Goncalves. Lembro que o tubo mais largo que eu ja peguei foi no Matadeiro, e o mais profundo e longo foi na Guarda. Lembro que meu melhor tubo de backside foi no meio da Joaca, com a rassa toda comentando. Lembro de quando surfei Raglan (NZ) classico com o sol se pondo no horizonte e a lua nascendo atras das montanhas. Lembro de muitas coisas. Muitas ja' nem lembro mais.
Nao interessa como, surfistas viajam. De uma forma ou de outra. A pe', de carro, de trem, de barco, de aviao, de onibus ou atraves de substancias toxicas, eles viajam. Derramei vinho na minha camiseta favorita e usei ela por uma semana sem tirar do corpo.
Tanto faz o que voce faz, tanto faz onde voce vai, tanto faz como voce vai fazer pra chegar la'. Vai!! Porque no final das contas quem nao viaja le apenas uma pagina.

Christian Fletcher

Thanks in large part to Christian Fletcher, our medium has largely transformed into a liquefied skate park. "When I'm riding down a wave," he says, "I just see little launch ramps, little pockets, and it just feels comfortable to fly right up into the air and land again." While never striving to be a leader -- rather, he was simply bored with the status quo -- Fletcher turned his vision into reality. Even if leaving the wave face isn't your bag, there's no escaping them these days. You can't open a magazine or paddle out at your local beach without witnessing flight (or attempts thereof). Fletcher forever changed the way we look at waves.

Born on Oahu to '70s charger turned longboard revivalist Herbie Fletcher and wife Dibbee, Christian Li Fletcher had little choice but to go surfing. He was a year old when he received his first board, and remembers "going to the beach pretty much every day." The watery roots on the family tree go even deeper, with his grandfather Walter Hoffman (along with brother Flippy) among the first California surfers to brave large Hawaiian surf in the '50s. In addition, aunt Joyce Hoffman was a four-time female world champ in the '60s and uncle Marty Hoffman was a longtime Waimea standout.

After two years in Sun Valley, Idaho, the Fletchers landed in Capistrano Beach in 1974, and Christian quickly immersed himself in the Pacific. He won his first event at age 5, stealing the 8-and-under title at a San Onofre Surf Club Contest (he would go on to win his division nine of 10 years). He placed second behind David Eggers in the 1982 U.S. Championships and finished the 1985 NSSA Open Season ranked third in Juniors. The same year, at age 14, he turned pro.

Even at that early age, he was bored by much of the surfing going on around him. "I just grew up skateboarding," he recalls, "and it seemed like, you know, I was doing airs on my skateboard and it just seemed natural to do on the surfboard, too. And I just couldn't stand doing what everybody else was doing." He tried his luck in selected events on the ASP world tour for several years, but failed miserably. If contests could not provide an avenue for his progressive approach, surf videos could. Herbie, who founded Astrodeck traction pads, featured both of his sons (Nathan is a few years younger but at least as talented) prominently in the company's Wave Warriors series, insisting that the next frontier for surfing was in the air.

In 1988, Christian first appeared on the cover of Surfer magazine, boosting an aerial on what the magazine billed as the "Anti-Standard Issue." At the time, Fletcher and his airborne antics seemed decidedly bizarre; any photo depicting a surfer not connected to wave face still drew quizzical looks. The next year, Fletcher's flying mug appeared simultaneously on both Surfer and Surfing, establishing him as a one-man lobby of change. The media blitz set off a backlash by more conventional surfers, including a petition signed by nearly the entire ASP Top 16 questioning the magazines' integrity in ignoring the traveling pros in favor of "a guy who spent his summer at Trestles."

Then came the 1989 Body Glove Surf Bout, a PSAA event at Lowers offering a huge sum for the winner. In preparation, Fletcher hit the skateboard ramp and psyched between heats by playing the video game "Skate or Die." In his backyard, the 18-year-old anarchist torched the competition from Round One of the trials straight through the final, reaping $31,725 for his efforts. By beating what he called a bunch of "weak" surfers, guys "butt-wiggling and riding all the way to the beach," he became the ultimate Anti-hero. Through it all, Christian just wanted to go his own way, even though his parents had a big part in cultivating the look and media perception. But either way, he had started a revolution. "I don't look to be a leader," he insists, "but I'm not gonna go out and do the same tricks as everyone else. It's like beating a dead horse."

Christian capitalized on the uninvited attention with a line of surfboards and clothing bearing his name. Nobody was more closely tied to the aerial movement, and in terms of height, innovation and variety he was -- and largely remains -- untouchable. He got married, had a son (Greyson Thunder) in 1991, and was earning a healthy salary from surfing. He played bass in several death metal bands, including such classics as Bloodshot, Mutilage, and Axefukk. He soon tired of the surfing scene and took shelter in a life of drugs. According to Fletcher, "I was just so fed up with the whole deal and everything. I had a bad marriage and hated the whole surfing community. One thing lead to another and things got ugly." For several years, he all but quit surfing as he spiraled down the well-trod path of self-destruction.

Having lost everything, he grew to appreciate what he once had. "I woke up one day and I was like, 'This is a joke. I'm not happy, not having any fun, not surfing and stuff,'" he remembers. "And I knew I still had a chance, you know. I was only 25, so I still had some sort of career left for surfing." He straightened himself out and jumped aboard the scene. He got on some photo trips, entered and won a couple or air shows, and emerged as a more relaxed, contented adult. But in his absence, the wheels he had set in motion were steaming out of control, and on beaches around the world kids were launching ugly aerials before they'd learned to do a decent cutback. The clumsy toddler that Fletcher had nurtured into acceptance had grown into a monster. "Learn how to surf before you start trying to launch airs," he instructs to the trigger-happy kids he sees hopping around the lineup.

These days, Fletcher is making the rounds as the elder statesman of air, living in Hollywood and pursuing speed in all forms -- from surfing to skateboarding to wakeboarding to snowboarding to street luge. "I don't make money like I used to, but I'm a lot happier," he contends. Unlike his earlier days, he even misses surfing when he stays away from the beach for any length of time. "It's like an addiction, you know, the adrenaline or something. I mean, because if that's what you love to do, it hurts you to know there's waves when you're somewhere and you can't surf." -- Jason Borte, October 2001

Tom Curren

Uma vez ambos heroi e anti-social. Massas de fans amavam ele. Ate mesmo hoje em dia meio underground, ele ainda e' um idolo. Seu delicado estilo e linhas precisas definiram uma era no mundo do surf. Seu surf sempre num compasso brilhante que somente alguem que cresceu no mar poderia capturar. E' como surfar com a mente. O jeito perfeito que uma onda deve ser surfada. Eu me lembro nos assistindo os filmes The Search mais de cem vezes. Tom Curren venceu quatro eventos consecutivos da ASP, um recorde que provavelmente nunca sera batido. Durante anos ele obteve o recorde de maior numero de vitorias na ASP, 33 vitorias, superados por Kelly Slater somente depois de Kelly ter sido 8 vezes campeao mundial, contra tres de Tom Curren. Outro feito do mestre, ele e' o unico campeao mundial vindo das triagens. Ou seja, algo que jamais podera ser feito novamente. Ele redefiniu o surf de ondas grandes usando um fish 5'7" na Indonesia. Ele ganhou um evento muito importante no Hawaii, em Haleiwa sem o logo da OP na prancha, como se estivesse virando as costas para seu patrocinador. Tom Curren parece fazer coisas que mesmo parecendo erradas, de algum jeito acabam se tornando certas.
Em 1991, um swell typhoon atingiu o Japao durante o campeonato da ASP. Varios picos estavam quebrando enorme e prefeito, mas o campeonato foi realizado num beach break (fundo de areia) horrivel. Tom Curren remou para sua bateria, e nao pegou sequer nem uma onda, em boicote ao que estava acontecendo. Ele nunca falou absolutamente nada a respeito disso. Todos os reefs da costa do Japao estavam sendo encinerados pelo swell e completamente vazios. Ninguem surfando.
No dia seguinte, Curren remou para o outside numa 6'9", sozinho. Prancha extremamente pequena pra as condicoes. Ele pegou uma onda de 18 pes, consegui completar o drop e correu para uma surfshop procurando por uma prancha maior. Ele encontrou uma 8'0" que parecia terrivel. Ele pegou a prancha e remou para fora novamente, sozinho.
Mais tarde, Kelly Salter nos seus 18 anos de idade e Tom Carroll caem no mar para fazer companhia a Curren. Kelly pega uma onda e sai da agua alegando medo. E assiste Curren e Carroll pegar uma onda apos a outra, um de backside, o outro de frontside. A onda era um tipo de Haleiwa quando esta muito perfeito, porem maior, sem correntes e sem crowd.
Existem milhoes de historias sobre Tom Curren deixar cheques de 10.000 dolares jogados debaixo do banco do carro e nunca sacar o dinheiro, entrando nos avioes mas nunca chegando ao destino. Nao aparecendo pra sessoes de fotos depois de fotografos viajarem meio mundo para fotografa-lo. Ou simplesmente desaparecendo.
Ele encontrou paz de espirito num nivel de necessidades basicas suficientes para viver bem. Sem dor de cabeca.
Todas as sementes que ele plantou em nossas cabecas...

Mikki Dora

Na verdade, ninguem nunca soube exatamente compreender a personalidade desse rebelde do surf. Rebelde social. Com ele era amor ou odio. Sua ambiguidade fez ele um dos maiores icones do surf moderno. Nos anos 60, enquanto muitos tentavam transformar surf em pop, ele fazia o que fosse necessario para manter a verdadeira essencia. Ele sempre dizia que os computadors seriam o inicio do fim. Ele falsificava passagens aereas quando ainda nao existiam computadores nos aeroportos para patrocinar suas viagens internacionais. Ele alugava carros na Europa, desaparecia e vendia em outro pais. Tudo pelo amor a arte de surfar ondas perfeitas pelo mundo e viver suas culturas.
Mas toda sua insubordinacao gerou consequencias e ele acabou pagando o preco. Adorado pelos fans, porem sofrendo de paranoia e solidao. Sempre achando que estava sendo seguido. O que poderia ser verdade pois ele era procurado pelo FBI por sonegacao de impostos. E depois de anos mandando todo mundo se fuder, ele acabou sucumbindo e foi parar na cadeia.
De tudo que ele fugia, tambem era sua razao de viver. As pessoas que ele passou a vida interia evitando, la' no fundo, ele nao conseguia viver sem elas. Ele tentava desfazer seu status de celebridade, e com isso ele so' aumentava. Mikki Dora e' um mito (e ele cuspiria em mim por escrever isso).
Ele tirou onda com a sociedade a vida inteira. Nunca mudou seu carater e sua personalidade ate' o dia de sua morte. Ele criou uma indentidade. Ele forcou as pessoas a pensarem diferente, mais alem.
Apesar de ele ter roubado uma estatueta do Oscar numa festa em Hollywood nos anos 60, ele mereceria um Oscar de verdade. Ele foi o melhor em tudo o que fazia, enganando, traindo, se escondendo, viajando, surfando... e mesmo pagando o preco, ele nunca deixou ninguem tirar dele o que ele tinha de melhor.
Amado e odiado, o surf necessitava de uma mente como a de Mikki Dora.

Pacific Swell

Purple permanently planted in the North Pacific. Magic Days. If we look tired/happy/sunburned/stoked, it's because we are. We been swimming through a chorus of a beautiful song all winter. No longer matters how extremely different our lives may be on land, we're all still searching for the same thing: a surf to get us through the day.
Rubbing hands together to stay warm in the crisp air. Cold water, sharks. Sitting alone in the water, vulnerable. Weirdo.
The wave approaches, boiling over the outside rocks. The afternoon light turns the wave an olive oil.
Why does food taste so much better when you are on the beach? The flavor dance on my palate. We are at a creepy place, ideal for watching the sunset. Beer time, story time. Then he reaches into his breast pocket to extract a small bottle of whisky. He takes a nip, then offers it around. Everyone takes a sip. The liquid burns my throat, but I am thankful when it hits my chest and stomach spreading like lava around my core.
We are no longer the rustic boys hanging in the wild. We sit on the curb. Salt hardening on our eyebrows and watch people cruise the boardwalk. Watch girls in UCSD shorts jogging by.
Our day starts late. Surfboards in the back of the truck, Concrete Blonde blathering on the radio, and my best friend since high school (happens to be Neco Padaratz) biting his nails and loudly sipping a strong energy drink.
And, between 2 a.m. and surf there will be girls. Surfing was created for man, not man for surfing.
Well, I woke up somewhere I don't know and have no real idea how. Empty champagne bottles all over the floor. Head pounding and naked. Born to be hip and smoke hand-rolled cigarettes. Surfing is an aphrodisiac. The water is as gray as the sky but multiple degrees colder. The first duck dive feels like a naughty punishment. The second feels worse. But sitting in the line up, urine coursing down leg, and the night getting washed away, everything makes sense. The muscles feels alive, tender.
Beer time again. A beer can be better than not paying taxes. A very cold beer is better than relationship stability. Now it's girl's time. I'm shopping at VONS... Then this gorgeous blonde with little piercing on her nose, wearing a tiny skirt and probably a little drunk... she is so fine and can't stop looking at the salt water-dusted hair and cold water-refreshed skin. A surf session can be worn more nattily than a vintage Bell and Ross. She smile and stares unashamedly now. I grabbed a 18-pack, she is winked over. The confidence of a surf session. She says: Where you gonna drink all those beers??!