WELCOME TO SALTBURN – CHRIS NELSON

Cresting the top of the cliff at Saltburn, the split second before the North Sea is laid out before me, my heart rate still increases palpably as the rush of adrenaline hits. In my early days of surfing, before I figured out how to read a chart and before the Internet brought swell forecasting to the masses, this drive was my beat. Cresting the top of Saltburn Bank the conditions would be revealed for the first time, framed between the pier and towering headland. There was always sense of apprehension that built as we passed the petrol station on the A174 and built as we drew closer to the hotel and the big reveal. Would the drive have been worth it? But we knew all the time that we’d be getting wet whatever kind of welcome Huey had arranged. For as with so many surfers from the northeastern reaches of England, Saltburn was where I was baptised into the surfing tribe, where I rode my first wave, where the hook was set… (Cont.)

This article appears in the Evolution Issue, Wavelength Magazine.

Michael Peterson / The Missing Link

The young policeman looks down at the sheet he’s tapping out letter by letter on the heavy, black typewriter. M-I-C-H-A-E-L space P-E-T-E-R-S-O-N. As he hits the shift key, the name literally rings a bell. He leans back, the chair rising onto two legs. He studies the features of the thirty year old guy slumped at the next table. He looks tired, grey, his eyes sunken, but there is no mistaking those features that defined a generation – handsome face, long hair, trademark moustache. If the enduring Che Guevarra poster was the icon of 70′s politics, MP was the icon of 70′s surfing. As a grommet the policeman had watched Peterson from the rocks, he’d seen him shine at Kirra in the classic cyclone swell of 1970. But how did he get here, thirteen years later facing a very different line-up.

Alby Falzon has a problem. Editing the cyclone footage from Kirra is proving harder than he thought. He is watching the same waves, the same moment in time – not to the hoots and the cheers of the on-looking crowd but to the sound track of the whirring projector. The sixties has faded into a new decade and this footage will be one of the highlights of his new film ‘Morning of the Earth’. “It is very difficult to know exactly what to do with the 25 minutes of Kirra, because there is quite a variety of good surfing from several surfers,” explains Falzon. “The more I look at it, the more interesting Michael Peterson’s waves become. His timing, his choice of waves, his positioning is just so much better than anyone else’s that I’ve found myself gradually eliminating all but his rides. He knows exactly what each wave is going to do. He doesn’t fight it but seems to fit into its curves and flow with its energy. He has a beautiful feeling for the wave and the wave for him.” The end result is three classic minutes of Peterson, pushing boundaries, opening new doors.

In the early seventies Lopez took the surf magazine reader into the barrel and suddenly there was a new Holy Grail. Get inside; get deep; make it look casual and surf movies led the retreat back into the shadows. But MP’s performances at Kirra were making people scratch their heads. Why was he out on the open face when he could be inside? Power surfing had arrived and they had seen nothing like it before. Big turns and hard carves, buried rails and fans of spray. Australian surfing was out there and Peterson took his show to the huge walls of Hawaii. Cairns, Townend and Rabbit followed suit and for three years MP was the man to beat. Focused, determined and aggressive in the water, surfing was not prepared for his onslaught. Between 1973 and ‘75 he won every major event he entered from the Coke Surfabout to a hat-trick of Bells titles. In 1977 he won the pro tour’s first ever event, The Stubbies, beating Mark Richards into second and Rabbit into third. He was the most successful competitive surfer of that era, the missing link between Wayne Lynch and Tom Carroll. But MP was a much more complex character than the others. It was the dawning of the new age of professionalism and while most were seeking out the limelight and all the opportunities that came with it, MP went from missing link to missing in action.

“MP: from missing link to missing in action”

Accepting a ‘Bell’ is supposed to be the highlight of a surfer’s career. But Ian Cairns is looking a bit sheepish, not something he does very often or very well. In a world dominated by small, skinny guys, Cairns – with his huge frame, huge surfing and huge attitude, would look more at home as the event security. He cradles the 1975 Bells Easter Classic trophy on behalf of the actual winner. Peterson should be taking the plaudits, but is instead taking cover, ensconced in the nearby shrubbery. To some in the surfing world, he is merely taking the piss.

There were those in MP’s peer group, those embracing surfing’s new polished image and the rewards it brought, that felt he was holding the sport back. But they were missing the point. Surfing has always been a haven. Those who did not exactly fit in with the rest of society always found a home in the surfing family. They were accepted for all their faults, or may be because of them. Surfing was never about conforming. In the fifties some surfers even wore Nazi uniforms; not because of any political views, but because it was the most offensive thing you could do in an America fresh out of WW2. It was the equivalent of wearing a pro Bin Laden T-shirt in post 9/11 New York. Surfers have always admired both the achievers and the rebels. It’s the reason why many didn’t relate to the hippie movement. Although the flower children were non-conformists, they weren’t motivated to actively achieve anything. Peterson, however, fulfilled the criteria on both counts. He was the ultimate achiever; he pushed surfing to new places, drew new lines. Then, at the dawn of professionalism, he was gone. To the core surfer looking on it was simple; he wasn’t in it for the money or the fame, it was all about the surfing. But privately for MP, the glare of publicity burned like sunlight through a magnifying glass. He had a new struggle to contend with; he was now battling his own demons.

“Would I have achieved what I did had I not been through the experiences of drug addiction? That’s a good question.” He stops for a minute to think about his reply. “I suppose you’re right. If I hadn’t been through all those low points I might not have found the strength to go on and achieve what I did in my personal and business life.” Jeff Hakman pauses, reflecting on the question some more. In 1976 he won at Bells breaking Peterson’s wining streak. Although MP won the ’77 Stubbies, he was never the same again. Jeff went on to battle heroine addiction for 15 years, but won out in the end and is now one of the most respected members of the surf industry. But Peterson had a more complex struggle on his hands, one that was less black and white. While MP’s new power surfing of deep carves and effortlessly graceful tuberiding had made him the hero of the Australian surf community, the late seventies saw him spiral down a dark, shadowy road of despair. While Hakman came out and openly talked about his problems, the silence from Peterson was filled by the whispers of others. Although MP’s dislike of media intrusion has been likened to that of Tom Curran, we at least we know some of Curran’s opinions; on surfboard design, professionalism, the environment. MP only gave a couple of interviews in his time. Even these were vague. “I don’t know the reason why I have a lot of these problems,” Peterson told Backdoor in 1975. “It’s mainly because it’s the way I look. It’s the way I act. I try to be like everybody else, but it’s hard…. I can’t be bothered being that exposed to the media, because then it seems like I’m being…condemned to live like a hermit, to live in a dark room, and just survive. And not come out because as soon as you come out the people start to pick at you.”

“The glare of publicity burned like sunlight through a magnifying glass”

At first the details were sketchy. ‘Former Surfing Champion Arrested Following Car Chase,’ ‘Queensland Police Arrest Surf Star’. Rumours spread through the surf community. After Peterson dropped out in the late 70′s, rumours of drug problems persisted. Then in 1983 he was making the newspaper columns again. But there was to be no comeback. No Occy or Curran style return. What became clear was that Peterson needed help more than detention, he was diagnosed as suffering from paranoid schizophrenia. He now lives with his mother and stepfather near Kirra, the surf break where he first came to the attention of the world, where the seeds of his dramatic rise and downfall were sown. He no longer surfs. At the time of his arrest many still thought of Peterson as a very gifted individual who had just thrown it all away. In the black and white world of right and wrong, some had thought him a disgrace. Today we understand more about the complexities of psychiatric disorders and, gorged on a diet of Hello magazine and OK, we read minute by minute updates on the pressures of celebrity.

Many try to fit surfers into neat pigeon-holes. Gerry Lopez ‘Mr Pipeline’, Christian Fletcher ‘Aerialist’ or Joel Tudor ‘Old Skool’. Some fight classification while others, like Gary ‘Kong’ Elkerton, demand their label – ‘Power Surfer’. There are a few, however, who just can’t survive in a specimen jar. Michael Peterson is one of those men. He changed surfing, but more than that, he became an icon – an enigma. Despite the lack of interviews, it’s MP’s achievements that speak for themselves. A letter in an old Aussie surf mag once read “Michael Peterson is possibly the most mythological of all Australian folk heroes. I’ve heard Michael’s name silence parties. That’s when the stories start. Him at Kirra in ’74, blokes who gave him a lift and were too afraid to ask if it was him and drove all the way to Tweed in reverent silence. MP is the reason I’ll be getting up tomorrow, checking the surf. The challenge of individual excellence, the pursuit of something you actually believe in. Michael Peterson’s not an embarrassment, he’s a role model.”

November 1992 and a Policeman stops his patrol car at the curb, walks to the kiosk and asks for a packet of Horizon’s. He scans the magazine rack and sees the latest ASL. “Australia’s Fifty Most Influential Surfers” announces the strap line. He picks it up. From the cover, a young, tanned surfer wearing a front zip wetsuit with a safety pin fastening the top is staring back at him. He recognises the handsome face, the long hair, the trademark moustache. He smiles, placing the magazine on the counter. “And this as well.” For this is truly where MP belongs. If not in the line-up at Kirra, then in the line-up of those who changed the art of surfing forever.

Chris Nelson.

This article first appeared in Issue 18; Adrenalin  Magazine, 2003.

Andrew Forrest is a guy I used to nod hello to: a silver haired, silver surfer. We’d shoot the breeze about the tide or the last session – surface chat. One day the conversation drifted off topic through books, into the realm of photography. A back-story broke cover and, like a kite emerging from the shadow of a cloud, another person was revealed. A history unfurled in glorious monochrome detail across stacks of contact sheets, a volume of work that has somehow avoided exhibition spotlights, the inky press and the flickering screen. “It developed while travelling around India and Nepal in ’69,” Andrew explains of his passion for photography. This obsession propelled him towards intense, focussed reportage. The 31 bus route in London, the Les Halles community in Paris, five months spent recording the lives of truckers across the US States – he immersed himself in places and subcultures.

While many photographers capture spontaneous moments, their presence unnoticed, what is indicative of Forrest’s personal projects is the intimacy of the images. Andrew’s newly acquired Mac is a late concession to the all-consuming digital onslaught, translating languishing negatives into tangible stills. “Who’s this?” I ask of the blond girl, eyes smiling through the lens, hand suppressing a laugh – a furtive moment captured. “Just a girl in the park,” he shrugs. “Looking back I don’t know how I did it – I had such self confidence. I guess I was kind of pushy.” But these scenes don’t feel forced. The ballerina in her dressing room, caffeine-loaded hauliers at a Kansas truck stop, kids on bikes, prostitutes, cowboys – there is an easiness to their demeanor, lost in the moment, moments now coming to light after three decades in the dark.

Andrew Forrest is a guy I used to nod hello to, but now when we meet, we talk Apple Macs, apertures and authors.
C.N. (First published ‘The Good Times’, 2012)

“The human geography and architectural landscape was in a state of renewal. I photographed the inhabitants, the street life, the citizens, the mechanics, entrepreneurs, prostitutes, tradespersons, tramps and families. They became the DNA of the story.” Andrew Forrest

The voice is rich, well spoken – expat with a southern African lilt. “So there I was, naked, and I turned around to see this Portuguese guy running off with my mini-malibu under his arm. So I grabbed my revolver and loosed off a couple of rounds – well the old Northern Ireland training kicks in.” He is the kind of guy I always seem to pitch up next to on my travels. No sooner have I parked up the van than he is on me, life story at the ready. “He dropped the board and sped off in his car.” The orator is in his fifties, his grey hair tied back in a ponytail. He is half way through explaining how someone had tried to steal his surfboard as he changed at the local beach. He offers me a coffee black as coal and just as thick. “When I told the police, they said using a gun probably wasn’t a good idea; unless he’d had a knife. It could be considered an ‘escalation of the conflict’, and was technically illegal. I asked if it would have been ok if I had used my crossbow?” My immediate thought is ‘He has a crossbow as well as a revolver?’

He lifts the veil on a life of tangled adventures, perhaps one too many brushes with death to remain fully compos mentis. “When you’ve seen your best friend blown to pieces before your eyes… it changes you,” he said during our opening conversation. But what is he doing here, in this tiny campsite, this tiny village that hangs on the cliff-top overlooking the Atlantic coast of Portugal. “I’m waiting for the engine of my Microlite to be fixed,” he explains matter-of-factly. “It seized on me and I had to make an emergency landing. They do it all the time apparently – something to do with the wrong mixture in the carb.”

And so we sit, sipping tar, an impressive quiver of boards scattered around my neighbour’s tricked-out Land Rover. His agenda unfurls as he rails against ‘The Adjusters’ – the nine-to-five people, folk who adjusted to their soul-destroying way of life: to the system. They’ve settled for society’s rules and regulations – obedient and unquestioning. His views follow no established political doctrine; they seem a blend of right-wing libertarianism and pure left-wing anti-establishmentism, but with a generous sprinkling of weapons and surfing. “But I have my day coming up in the High Court in London. And I shall be arriving bareback, on a white horse, with the trusty sword of truth in my right hand. And they shall rue the day!”

I never did find out why he would be appearing in country’s highest legal arena. I sure would have loved to see his day in court. But by then I would be a thousand miles south riding African point breaks, in the back of my mind wondering if I’d stumbled upon the real life Tyler Durden. C.N.

Image: Demi Taylor

2001/02, Tales From A Year On The Road. The Atlantic coast from the northern Orkeney Isles to the desert south of Morocco.

AGAINST THE CODE – CHRIS NELSON

The ground is shifting under our feet. The fault creep rumbles on, inexorably. The Digital Revolution, that all encompassing subterranean shift, is changing the landscape around us. It is pushing before it a ridge of binary code, an upwelling of online information as moving images spill from the screen of laptops, iPhones, tablets, demanding our attention. Every session is captured instantly and fired around the globe, brand backed expeditions distribute glossy travelogues for free to the masses which are proliferated via social networks. The big question is with such a plethora of surfing competing for our limited attention, just how is the modern independent surf filmmaker going to survive?

Shoot the film, screen it in front of amped crowds. Moviemaking used to follow such simple lines. Then came Betamax, VHS, DVD. Stack ‘em high in the surf shop, cross your fingers and pray you recoup enough to fund the next project. But what now? The indie producer is faced with a new dilemma – outside the traditional distribution model, how do you monetise your output, how do stay afloat while shooting in the line-up? “We’re at a crossroads regarding the future of the surf media,” explains Cyrus Sutton, whose prolific output centres around Korduroy.tv and includes award-winning movie Stoked and Broke. “It’s really the corporately-backed vs. the independent “passion projects.” ...Cont.

Click HERE to continue reading on line at HUCK Magazine

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Sunday the 22nd of January 2012 sees the first ever SAS Samba Cup 6-a-Side Football Tournament take place in Truro, Cornwall. 10 teams will do battle for the honour of claiming this prestigious title and lifting the mighty trophy reserved for the south-west’s finest team of waveriding, footballing talent.

“The SAS Samba Cup sits snugly alongside the 2012 Olympics and European Football Cup this year as one of the sporting highlights to look forward to,” says Surfers Against Sewage head honcho Hugo Tagholm, flying winger and captain of Team SAS. “We look forward to seeing some of the nation’s favourite players gracing the astoturf at Truro School Stadium, or the ‘Field of Dreams’ as it has more recently been called. The tournament will be played in the spirit of the now legendary Wednesday night games; camaraderie, friendship, inclusiveness and fun – with a strong vein of competitiveness, performance and skulduggery. SAS will not be adhering to the ‘family hold back’ ethos and look forward to lifting the trophy.”

The 9 teams hoping to stop the pre-tournament favourites are St Agnes based Finisterre, The We Are The Fold Allstars, The Newquay Untouchables, Eden Project A Team, Eden Project B Team, RNAS Culdrose, Wavelength Magazine, Vision Financial Planning and The Bay Hotel. Teams need to be on site to register at 10.30 and lunch is provided for the players. Games are 20 mins with roll on/ roll off subs. Remember lads: SHIN PADS ARE MANDATORY.

Skinners Brewery are supporting the event, providing post-tournament refreshments to revive the players and hosting the prize ceremony while Finisterre, creators of ethically produced, cracking technical wear are on board as prize sponsors. Aside from the shiny medals, here’s a glimpse of some of the prizes up for grabs:

Man of Tournament: Case of Betty Stogs, Trophy, Finisterre hoody & base layer
Golden Boot: Case of Betty Stogs, Trophy, Finisterre hoody & base layer
Golden gloves: Case of Betty Stogs, Trophy, Finisterre hoody & base layer

First games kick off at 11 am so come along and enjoy the silky smooth skills and the astonishing untapped talent that somehow slipped by the Premier League’s scouting network.

The event aims to raise money for SAS and support the excellent work they do on our behalf – raising environmental awareness and fighting on the issues that confront water users.

SURFERS AGAINST SEWAGE