The Dale Velzy Memorial was held at Doheny State Beach,
June 14th, 2005. More than three thousand of surfing’s elite made this
the largest gathering of the tribe since the passing of Duke Kahanamoku
in 1968. The man credited for starting the surf industry opened the
first surfboard shop in 1951 and was the first to put his name on his
boards.
Besides the salt water
that ran in his veins, there was a drop of oil that powered his hot rod
side and an equal dash of gunpowder that sparked his cowboy lust.
As a boy, Velzy would ride his horse to the beach and tie it to a
piling under the pier. A few years later, he was shaping surfboards
under the same pier. Born in Hermosa Beach in 1927, Dale was the classic
“California kid”. Besides the salt water that ran in his veins, there
was a drop of oil that powered his hot rod side and an equal dash of
gunpowder that sparked his cowboy lust. The gathering brought out every
one of the “Hawk’s” classic board designs, from the Pig, Banjo, Stinger,
Swastika, etc. to his race-proven paddleboards. These historic pieces
were proudly displayed.
There was talk-story from Bruce Brown, Allan Seymour,
Hap Jacobs, Greg Noll, etc. All were sharing their memories, regardless
of how small a piece of Velzy they had. The paddle-out of six hundred
was the largest in history. News helicopters circled the huge ring of
surfers and a WWII P-51 buzzed over the top of it all, getting a hoot
that could be heard a mile away.
This gathering of the Hui Nalu will never happen again. The king is dead. Long live the king.
JUICE MAGAZINE 13 YEAR ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL HERBIE FLETCHER INTERVIEW BY JAMES O’MAHONEY INTRODUCTION BY JAMES O’MAHONEY PHOTOS BY ART BREWER AND THE FLETCHER FAMILY ARCHIVES
With the avalanche of media that is shoved down our throats daily and
with the millisecond attention span of the average geek, things are
usually lost to a gum commercial. If nothing else, Juice Magazine has a
shelf life and has documented these historic people and what they have
contributed to the sports that they have loved and dedicated their life
to. Let’s hunker down with Herbie Fletcher. Here’s a chap that’s
basically your mild mannered, true blue guy, sorta like Andy of
Mayberry. But the minute you put him on any device, whether it floats,
rolls, slides or revs, he turns into a monster. He is a pioneer of
sports, sports that he had to write the rules for. Herbie’s act will be
impossible to follow (There is only one first golfer on the moon.) He’s a
natural athlete that can charge Waimea, tuck in at Teahupoo, or get
past vert at Mt. Baldy. He is one of those people who can adapt to any
physical activity with soul, starting 50 years ago. If they ever do a
U.S. stamp of a pre-X Game pioneer, they will have to use Herbie’s
picture on it… or mine. “I WAS MAKING SURFBOARDS AND GOING SURFING
ALL THE TIME. WE WERE PARTYING AND WORKING ON A MOVIE CALLED “RAINBOW
BRIDGE” WITH JIMI HENDRIX. THAT WAS AN EXCITING TIME.”Hello, Herbie.
Hello, James. Did you get that swell down there?
Yeah, I did. Where?
Middles.It was offshore and perfect and sunny and beautiful. It was about a foot or so overhead, peeling off. Cool. Was it crowded?
No, not bad. Nobody knew how to surf. It was going down the beach. It’s not snappy, but it’s right in my backyard. Are you ready for your staff interview? People want to know who’s behind this magazine.
Who makes it up and what they’re going to make up? [Laughs.] Yes. Juice is honored to have you and Dibi on
board. You guys are vital. How do you like being a Features Editor for
Juice?
I’m stoked. We have fun with it. I get to talk to my friends and see what’s going on and watch them grow up. Let’s talk about your life. Do you promise to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?
[Laughs.] No. When and where were you born?
I was born in Pasadena, California in ’48. Do you have any brothers or sisters?
I have a couple of brothers. Do they surf or skate?
My oldest brother is a sailor. He’s sailed around the world, and hung
out for 30 years on the ocean. Now he’s a rancher in Missouri. My other
brother was probably the most underrated surfer when we were kids. He
was really good. He’s a big guy. He liked big waves. And your parents? Did they do anything?
[Laughs.] They had me. My dad was a salmon/albacore fisherman. My mom was a housewife. She loved the beach. Did you ever go fishing with your dad?
I’ve been fishing with my dad and my brothers, when we were young, growing up, and all the way up. Did you get into a lot of mischief as a kid?
[Laughs.] I didn’t get caught. [Laughs.] What did you do first, surf or skate?
I skated first, in ’55 in Pasadena. My brother was like, “We can put our
roller skates on the bottom of a 2×4.” So we did that and skated on the
sidewalks. I remember one time my skateboard locked up on a rock and I
landed on my toes I was barefoot, of course, and I broke my toe. I kept
on skating. That didn’t stop me. Did you ever play baseball?
I was a little leaguer. I was a catcher. That’s where the action was. Football?
I was a halfback. I was fast. I played everything at school, including dodgeball. Where did you go to grammar school?
Pasadena. It was wild. It was a heavy mixture. It was pretty crazy, but
it was a lot of fun. I lived right across the street from the rec center
and the school, so I was over there all the time playing. Were you in a “Little Rascals” type of gang? Did you have buds that you’d light firecrackers with?
[Laughs.] Oh, yeah. We’d throw rocks and stuff like that, and beat up people. [Laughs.] Throw rocks at cars?
[Laughs.] And not get caught. That one guy almost kicked my ass. I
couldn’t believe it. I thought it was all over and this guy came up from
behind me and grabbed me. It scared the shit out of me. That was the
last time I threw rocks at cars. When did you move to Huntington Beach?
’62. I was doing anything I had to do to go surfing. First stop was
Huntington Beach after I talked my parents into it. It was a rough group
down at the pier, but it was also where everyone came that was anyone
in surfing. They also had the Huntington Beach surfing contests at the
pier. It was really great to see everyone come through. I wanted to be
like those guys. I wanted to go surfing and ride the best waves. I ended
up down at Hobie’s watching Phil Edwards make surfboards, and then I
got enough money to move to Hawaii and surf Pipeline. My goal was to be
able to surf Pipeline. You’ve done it.
I’m still doing it. You never wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer?
I wanted to be a surfer. Where did you go to high school?
Huntington Beach. Did you go to the prom?
No. Who was your first girlfriend?
[Laughs.] I don’t know. Who was yours? Barbara Summers. That was in third grade.
[Laughs.] Third grade? You must have liked that, huh? Chicks are hot. When did you realize that surfing was the life for you?
I was 14. I didn’t know anything else, so I started making surfboards. What was your first job?
Bruce Brown and Hobie hired me to do the wet set. I made enough money to go to Hawaii and that was the end of it. You never had jobs like delivering newspapers?
I had a paper route when I was nine. That’s how I bought my first surfboard. It cost me $27. It was a balsa Velzy-Jacobs. How did you transport it around?
My dad carried it at first, and then I made a little rack so I could wheel it to the beach. Those little rickshaw things?
It had two wheels and I’d guide it by the fin. It was pretty low to the ground. Which surf shop were you a rat at first?
Probably Greek’s. Not Jack Haley?
No, Jack’s was second. That’s when I had that photo of me skating at that pool in ’63. Did you go to the Rendevouz Ballroom?
Yeah, and I’d see Dick Dale there. I used to watch Stevie Wonder at the Airport Club. What about the Cinnamon Cinder? That’s where Katina would play a lot.
She’d come down to the Pavalon at Huntington Beach Pier. Cinnamon Cinder was in Garden Grove. The big deal was to be one of the first guys at the front of the stage so you could look up her dress.
[Laughs.] Oh, boy. I was dancing and having a good time. When did you start competing surfing?
It was at Huntington Pier when I was 14. Was that the Huntington contest?
Yeah, it was the only one, the Cove contest. What team were you on?
The Haley, the Gordie, the Hobie… I won of all the Huntington boys, but
David Nuuhiwa would always win the contests, and I’d get second. Corky
moved up to the Men’s so he didn’t have to surf against David. David was
the man. Who gave you your first money for surfing?
Hobie. Were you on the Hobie skate team, too?
No, just the surf team. Weren’t you in that movie with Davey Hilton?
That was after I was on the surf team. I was a surfer, but I did skate. I
skated the San Clemente hills when they were building those places.
We’d skate Laguna and Portofino. Where was the first pool?
Stanton. The Pool. What were you riding?
I got clay wheels from the Pavalon skating rink, and my friend Bob
Leonardo got a pair of skates and we put them on these boards we made in
wood shop. Were you riding barefoot or with shoes?
We always rode barefoot. Were there any skate heroes then?
No. There was Phil Edwards, Skip Frye and Hynson. Joey Cabell, and a few kids like me. The Jaks team wasn’t even around yet. Who were your surf heroes then?
Phil Edwards, Ilima Kalama, Jeff Hackman, David Nuuihwa… Do you want me to go on? [Laughs.] What was the first time you had too much to drink?
Oh, boy. That was a bad scene. Bob Leonardo and I were on our way to the
Pavalon, and we got really drunk. We drank a fifth of Kentucky bourbon.
We’d fill a glass up halfway with Coke and then fill it up with
bourbon. We’d have a race to see who could drink it the fastest. How long did it take?
Not long. Then I couldn’t feel anything. I almost died that night
crossing Coast Highway. I just remember seeing lights and hearing horns
honking. Who gave you your first joint?
Bobby. Did you laugh and get hungry?
No, but after that we did. Who told you to always keep stuff swirling in your stomach?
Walter. He says, “You’ve got to keep your stomach working.” But you get fat that way. Do you know a bigger food pirate then Walter? Remember at
Rick’s wedding, he wrapped up a whole prime rib in a tablecloth and
tried to sneak it out? And that was before the reception. That was
really a howler.
[Laughs.] That was funny. You brought the thrill back to surfing. How?
The Thrill is Back! When I came back from Hawaii, there weren’t any
waves. I always had a longboard in my quiver, so I started riding it.
You’d come down and we’d go surfing at Doheny and have a good time. Yep.
So I just started making longboards and having a lot of fun. I was getting people surfing when there were no waves. Your boards worked well with the square noses.
With short boards, it just got too technical. Guys couldn’t surf and
have any fun. They got older. They couldn’t use their boards anymore.
Those little boards were like sinkers. They’re called buoys. What’s your favorite spot to surf?
Pipeline. Where’s the scariest?
Teahupoo. What’s the biggest wave you ever rode?
Outside Logs. How big?
Big. I’ve ridden closed out Waimea on my jet ski. In the days of riding
the waves, getting in the waves, standing up, not on the couch. That sit
down thing is like sitting on the couch. What was your worst wipeout?
I’ve had a lot of them. Probably Honolua. I was down for a few waves.
When I came back up another was hitting me. I hit the bottom and it was
square on the outside on a big giant set. And you rode the jet ski on closed out Waimea?
I made it. I held on with both hands, I just didn’t have any feet on it.
I was flapping like a flag on a pole, blowing in the wind. Jet skis were fun in the waves.
Yeah. You just have to keep ‘em going. There was some guy that upset you out in the water once. He
made the mistake of trying to grab you around the waist and hold you
under for while, but you took him down and reversed the role on him.
Yeah, that happens every now and then. Some guys think they’re big shots. They learn their lesson though?
They usually do. What am I supposed to do? This guy was drowning me.
It’s scary out there. You don’t want to almost drown because someone is
being an asshole and wants to mess with you. They were trying to hold down the wrong guy.
Right. The trick is they hold you down, but you keep going down. Then
you drag them down. They keep going down. They’re like, “Where are we
going? I need air.” And they just keep going down. Then they panic and
you’ve got a hold of them. And they just keep going down. [Laughs.] That’s a good one. What’s the most vert you ever skated?
That was probably Mt. Baldy. Mt. Baldy is the most photographed skate destination in the
history of the sport. You were one of the first people to skate it back
in 1974. Tell me about that.
It was so fun. I couldn’t believe it. I went with you, Waldo Autry, Jim
Freeman and Greg McGillivray. Waldo was killing it. I’d never seen
anything like that. That photo was the most published photo ever in
skateboarding, because it was the first picture to show that you could
get past vertical. You did it.
I got vertical, first time. You were in “Skateboarder” magazine in ’75 skating Baldy, and
there was another picture of you in there doing a 2-foot manual. How
much practice would it take for you to do that again?
Five minutes. The first time I got on it probably. Have you broken lots of bones?
I lost count at 33. Was there a Herbie Fletcher model skateboard?
Yeah. I have a couple of them left. I made them for Dana Point for
Herbie Fletcher Surfboards. We put Road Riders on them. The urethane
wheel was out and precision bearings were right around the corner. How about the first Herbie Fletcher surfboard?
The first one was the Soul model we did with Harbor in ’66. After that?
I quit riding for other people and did my own thing. We were
anti-establishment back in the ’60s. We made our own surfboards. The
older guys got older and they lost contact with the beach and they
didn’t know what was going on. We were changing the world. Do you
remember? You were there. We were all generals, right?
The establishment was the enemy. That’s true. How did you meet Dibi?
I met her at the beach at Makaha. She was the hot little chick running around. How old?
13. Is that old enough?
No. Did you have to wait six months?
I saw her that summer and she was pretty hot, so we dated. Who pursued whom?
I think we both pursued each other. Whose idea was it to run away to the Islands?
It was hers. How was life then?
Life was on the edge, heavily. Where did you surf there?
I surfed mostly Pipeline, Honolua Bay, Sunset, Velzyland, Haliewa, or whichever way the swell was coming. You started pumping Grubby’s blanks?
We opened the blank business in ’69. It was a pretty stable thing. I was
making surfboards and going surfing all the time. We were partying and
working on a movie called “Rainbow Bridge” with Jimi Hendrix. That was
an exciting time. Did you have anything to do with the movie?
I surfed in it and hung out. You didn’t get high did you?
[Laughs.] Never. Nobody did. Is that movie still around?
You can go rent it. It’s funny. It’s great. It was like, “Turn on the camera, come back in a year and let’s make a movie”. That’s cool to have Hendrix play.
Yeah, that was really bizarre. Your boys became great surfers and skaters. Was that heredity?
I guess so. I took them along with me. I hung out with them. You hung
out with them. All of my friends hung out with them. They just hung out
and did what all the big guys did. They had skateboards and surfboards
and listened to music. What are they doing now?
The same thing. They’ve had rock n’ roll bands, which you probably know. You’ve kicked the guitar and drums around. You auditioned for my band with Rick, playing harmonica.
[Laughs.] I even sang “Night Rambler”. That was the one, right? The one you’d never seen before. [Laughs.] When did you live in the mountains?
That was in the mid ’70s. I loved it, but I’d always go to the beach in
the summer. I’d go to the mountains in the winter. I couldn’t handle it
year round. When did you first snowboard?
That was in the mid ’80s. I did it locally at Snow Summit with Damian
Saunders and all those cats, and Christian and Nathan. I hit my head
twice, so I went skiing. Then I went to Mammoth and it snowed about six
inches, and it was great snowboarding. I haven’t gotten on my skis
since. Powder is king.
It’s unbelievable. We’d go up on powder days and it would be me,
Christian, Nathan, Hosoi, Alva, Reategui and Duncan. Hackett would show
up. It was fun. It was a bunch of skaters on snowboards. What’s been your best snow day?
That was in Valdez, Alaska, for sure. Fresh powder. We were going off
jumps and lips. I was having a good time with Farmer and Palmer. They
were doing the King of the Hill, They would go a couple runs with me and
have some fun and they’d go off on their own and climb peaks and jump
off of ice things and go crazy doing flips down the mountains. When did you start Astrodeck?
1976. Can you still get to the nose?
I fly on the nose. Are you kidding? At Backdoor. Nobody else can say that. They can’t.
They don’t even want to attempt it. They go, “I can get in the tube, but not on the nose. No way.” Let’s got to Cabo for a second. How do you play King of the Rocks at Zippers?
You get on there with a bunch of kids and play. Waves come over it and
knock you off, then someone else climbs up and thinks they’re king for a
second. Then you pull them down in the waves and someone else climbs
up. Sometimes you can take the wave and end up landing on the rock and
push them off. Christian jumps over the rock with his surfboard. What about the time you saved a certain Mr. Brown from being
killed at the Palmera Restaurant by one of the Green Bay linebackers.
You flew down the stairs and took the guy out with a gravy boat or
something?
The guy was hassling me and Rick butted in. Then the guy was like, “Oh,
you’re a wise guy, huh?” He drew his hand back to punch Rick and I
slammed him in the head with two plates of chicken dinner. They were
big, thick Mexican plates. I slammed him in the side of the head. He was
falling forward and Rick hit him in the forehead with a bottle of wine.
He went down hard. Then the cops jumped up, and the bar guy jumped up.
He had three other guys with him and they jumped up, but then they saw
everybody. The cops were like, “Pick up your buddy and get him out of
here now.” The cops had billyclubs and guns. That was pretty heavy. The
guy was 6’4”. He looked like a door, and he was hassling me. He was
calling me a wise guy. Then Rick butted in. When the guy drew his arm
back, he was like a sitting duck. He went down and didn’t get back up. Those Mexican plates are thick.
Yeah. And then we went outside to where they were doing construction. I
had a pipe and a piece of rebar. We saw the guys the next day and they
didn’t even recognize us. [Laughs.] They were probably drinking that whiskey and coke combo.
[Laughs.] They were just assholes. They wanted to fight somebody. And I’m not a big guy. That guy was huge. [Laughs.] David and Goliath.
[Laughs.] I don’t fight fair. I’d get my ass kicked. What music do you listen to now?
I like the blues. I like Bo Diddley and Ron Wood in South Beach. We put a
little show on down there. I like The Rolling Stones, Ozzy, Dylan, the
list goes on. I was listening to Janis Joplin the other day and she is
one bad-ass chick, huh? She rips. Jeff Beck just played here a few weeks ago, and he
had a girl that opened up for him and she reminded me of Janis. She was
really good. Let’s talk about the movie “North Shore.” Did you have
anything to do with that?
I had a little bit to do with it. The director did my first movie “Wave
Warriors”. He used that movie to get the job on “North Shore”. Then he
stuffed us. He almost got his lunch served in Hawaii trying to pull it
off, but he got away with it. How many “Wave Warrior” movies did you do?
We did five. Are you still shooting movies?
I still have a lot of movies in the can, but I haven’t edited them. I
have one that’s almost finished. I have about three days to go to do the
credits and title. Then I have a bunch of other stuff in the can. I
guess I’m just collecting now. When did you get into photography?
When I lived with Greg McGillivray and Jim Freeman on the North Shore.
Jim used to show me his camera and teach me about photography. I thought
it was pretty interesting. What are you shooting with now?
I shoot with a bunch of different cameras. I mainly use the EOS-1V Canon. Digital or film?
Film. It’s fast. Then I have a Pentax medium format. That’s pretty much
manual. Then I use different movie cameras, super 8s and video cameras. Was your buddy Julian Schnabel responsible for you putting on the beret and painting?
No. I used to paint a lot when I was a teenager. When we lived on the
North Shore, I’d paint the inside of the house when it would rain. I’d
do album covers and t-shirts. I really appreciate art. Finally, after
the kids grew up, I got time to paint. Julian has been a big
inspiration. He’s helped me and trained me. I pay attention. We do some
collaborations now and then. He’s been a big inspiration. I study with
him. He’s like a heavy professor. And he’s around a lot of those types
of people, too. I see a lot of artists when I’m around Julian. I’m
around a lot of art, from Andy Warhol to Picasso. There are critics that
come by also, and museum curators and gallery owners. It’s pretty
interesting. We just did a show in New York where Julian blew up some of
my photos twenty feet high and painted on them and then put them in the
old PanAm Building. I believe it’s in the Rockefeller Center in New
York. There were eight of them. They had class and lectures and they
were talking about the art. It was pretty cool. That’s really neat. 20-feet? That’s big.
You know what? The waves weren’t even life size. In real life, those
waves are much, much bigger. Those waves are big and powerful, Jaws and
Pipeline. You’ve seen it in the magazine. You’ve seen it in the “Juice”. That’s the really good stuff. That show you and Schnabel did in New York sounds really cool. Good luck with that.
I was so stoked. They told Julian to make as much art as fast as he
could and never stop. Just keep making it, because when you’re gone,
there will never be enough of your art. Ingrid Sischy from Warhol’s
“Interview” magazine said, “First we had Picasso, then we had Warhol and
now we’ve got Julian. We’ve only got three of them. ” I’m like, “Oh, my
God.” That was a heavy statement. When he painted on my pictures I was
totally jazzed that we could collaborate. And he gave me credit. He put
it right on the wall. You guys are all royalty.
Peter Beard was there. He was loving them. He thought they looked like
Monet’s “Water Lilies” with the way the white water looked. I didn’t use
a real tight lens, so you could see the whitewater at Pipeline. The guy
is in the tube coming out of the tube, but you can see the wave in
front of him and it looks like white froth. The lip is giant with
offshore with the waves behind. Then Julian painted on it. The
whitewater is broken up and goes out towards the wave and then sort of
goes up the face of the wave. It was black and white photos, so those
things looked like lily pads. That’s why he was saying that and I was
sort of blown away over it. That’s huge.
There were a lot of people there, congratulating me and wanting to talk to me about my photos. Were you wearing a suit?
No, I was just wearing what I wear. I was just me. Nice. I saw your part in Bruce Weber’s movie, “A Letter to True.” Do you think you could ever be a serious actor?
I think so. I could pull it, if I had to, and it was open, and I wanted to do it. I know I could do it. You could do anything. What do you think about Dibi’s HBO thing?
I think Dibi is hot. She’s genius. There’s no one like her.
She can write and she’s got the stories because she’s had the experiences. She’s really witty and smart and fun. You’ve done every action sport that exists. Is there anything left to try?
[Laughs.] I’ve never hang glided or jumped out of planes. I got tired of breaking my bones.
You went down like three times, huh? A hip and an ankle.
When they were taking you to the hospital in the helicopter, didn’t they
drop you out of the basket on the roof with a crushed hip? Oh, yeah. That really hurt, too. That’s probably grounds for a lawsuit.
But you never did that. No.
Too much of a hassle. Yeah. Do you have any future projects?
I’m going to keep surfing, because I love it and enjoy it. I’m going to
keep snowboarding, painting, taking pictures and making movies. I’m
going to keep writing for “Juice” because it’s such a fun magazine. It
lets you talk shit when it’s real, and not hide it. They are very
liberal. They let us opinionated people talk. [Laughs.] Do you have any last words?
Keep on keeping on. Get up off of that ass and get going. Go play. Keep rock n rolling. Thank you my friend. I’ll see you soon.
Well, it’s Rincon time.
image: http://stwww.surfermag.com/files/2010/11/wpid-040103_wngnut_mug.jpg Robert “Wingnut” Weaver is a modern version of a Sixties Surfer.
Or at least what we like to think of as a Sixties Surfer. With masterful
flow, power and control, he is reminiscent of heroes like Phil Edwards,
Mike Hynson and Mark Martinson. And it’s a tribute to the man’s style
and soul that his unique, totally professional approach to having fun
offers no contradiction. Because for Wingnut, it all seems to be about
fun, a happy-go-lucky aura that belies all the hard work and dedication
he’s logged creating–with virtually no help at all from the mainstream
surf media–one of the most enviable surf lifestyles in the business.
With a grin and a good drop-knee cutback, he thrust into the limelight
with a starring role in 1994′s Endless Summer II. Flushed with success,
Wingnut, now 37, parlayed the exposure into the kind of existence most
of us–even other pros–could only dream about: a sponsored, traveling
surfer and professional international surf guide for very affluent
clientele. Then came a blunt twist of fate. In 1997, shortly after his
son Cameron was born, Wingnut was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a
degenerative disease of the nervous system that, among other things,
affects one’s balance and equilibrium. But characteristically
irrepressible, Wingnut fought on. And hearing him tell about it is a
reminder of how sweet life is. In his Santa Cruz home, just back from
work in Surftech’s marketing department, he sat down with his wife,
Janice, son Cameron and beloved dog, Sheila, to spell it all out. SURFER: How did Wingnut get to be Wingnut? We won’t even ask about the nickname. WINGNUT: My family moved from Cologne, Germany, to Newport
Beach back in the 1970s and I basically grew up right in front of
Blackies riding longboards, watching classic Newport guys like Don
Craig. From that I developed an affinity for what I like to call
“classical” longboarding. I did the longboard contest circuit in the
late 80s and early 90s, but it was never a good fit. The club contests
were fun, and I was winning. I won Oceanside and I won at Malibu…I was
right there, poised for God knows what, because there was no money in
it. I was competing against any and all of the 25 different Paskowitz
brothers and sisters and then came Joel. Joel was like 14, and if he
kept his head about him, he could’ve won anything he wanted to. But he
was still flustered. It was funny, because you’d have Donald Takayama or
David Nuuhiwa on the beach with Joel’s mom and dad and they’d all be
yelling separate instructions to this poor little kid who could surf
better than all of them. I especially remember the Malibu contest
because Joel finally just stood up on his board, tears streaming down
his face, yelling back at them to all shut up. Seeing the state he was
in, I pressed my advantage and won the event. Still, I knew competing
exclusively just wasn’t for me. SURFER: If not the traditional path of a surfer who wants to make it his living, then what? WINGNUT: Well, then what happened was Endless Summer II. There was life before, then life after the movie. SURFER: How did it happen?
image: http://stwww.surfermag.com/files/2010/11/wpid-040103_wingnutintr.jpg WINGNUT: Well, I graduated in 1991 from UC Santa Cruz with a
degree in economics and marketing. So at that point, as a longboarder,
there was no real way to make money surfing competitively. I mean,
O’Neill was giving me wetsuits and I was getting free boards, so at
least my hobby was free. The club contests were fun, you know, it’s all
about the barbecue, but making a living? I think back to a low moment
when I was at one Oceanside contest. It was Friday at dawn and I already
lost my heat. In an announcer’s voice: “How bout a hand for Wingnut,
all the way from Santa Cruz. Great to see you; see you next time…the
beer garden will be open at noon.” Something had to be done. So I
graduated, Janice and I got married that October, came back from
honeymoon and said, “What now?” SURFER: How did you pay rent? WINGNUT: Waiting tables down at the Crow’s Nest, like all good
little surfers. The only thing I was sure of was I wanted to make
surfing my life. So my plan was to save up and go down to the January
Action Sport’s Retailer trade show in San Diego to get a job. I wanted
to work in the industry. Then it happened. It was January 14th, 1992 at
1:15 in the afternoon. The phone rang and it was Bruce Brown.
Impersonating Bruce Brown: “Yeah, uh, Wingnut? Yeah this is Bruce Brown
and we’re gonna be doing a sequel to Endless Summer and were wondering
if you would want to be one of the guys.” So I said, “Well, gee, I don’t
know, I gotta mow the lawn and do some laundry but if I hurry I think I
can make it down there by three.” Bruce got a kick out of that. So I
went and saw him on the way to the trade show and he told me I had the
job. And that’s what allowed me to get out of the dead-end competition
scene. The movie contract was a two-year, 24-hour notice deal. And Bruce
allowed me to negotiate my own contracts within the surf industry. SURFER: A surfer’s version of hitting the lottery.
For
some surfers and SUPers, hanging ten is the holy goal—toes on the nose,
nothing in front of you but pure green wave. With a nerve disorder
threatening to destroy his balance, longtime kook Erik Hedegaard asked a
waveriding genius to train him for one last shot.
Surfer Robert "Wingnut"
Weaver on the water. Weaver was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in
1997 and went into remission five years later. Photo: Paolo Marchesi
The only thing I’ve ever wanted to do as a surfer is walk
to the nose of my board, hang ten, cruise along like that, every little
piggy happily dangling off the tip, me just minding my own business, not
a care in the world, before cross-stepping back to the tail and kicking
out, mission accomplished, all eyes on the beach on me, a couple of
hoots received from my fellow surfers on the paddle back out, and then I
do it all again. Is that too much to ask?
And yet, time and time
again, I am denied. Whenever I try to move forward, my feet either
refuse to lift, or tangle up with one another, or suddenly propel me
backward off the board, windmilling into the drink. It’s the damnedest
thing.
In fact, I am one of the biggest klutzes the surf breaks
around my Wakefield, Rhode Island, home base have ever seen. It’s
embarrassing. Taking off on a wave, I’ve heard snickers. Once, this
hot-stuff longboarder named Carl paddled up to me and said, “You
shouldn’t be out here, man. You can’t even surf.” And sometimes, during
my bleakest moments, I have to agree. But I don’t plan on giving up
anytime soon. You’ve got your ridiculous, far-fetched, half-baked dreams
that won’t go away, I’ve got mine. I want to nose ride.
Which is what has brought me to Costa Rica, to the dusty, stray-dog surf town of Tamarindo,
where I am nervously slurping down some predawn coffee poolside at the
lovely Vista Villas hotel, looking over the railing at a few nice waves
peeling in the distance and wondering just what I’ve gotten myself into.
My traveling companion is a sandy-haired, 48-year-old surfer named
Robert Weaver, from Santa Cruz, California, but everyone calls him
Wingnut. For the most part, we have nothing in common. He starred in Endless Summer 2, the highly successful 1994 sequel to 1966’s Endless Summer,
the greatest surf movie of all time, and is considered one of the best
longboarders and nose riders of the modern era. Also, he’s always
cheerful, always peppy, always entertaining, and always optimistic—one
of his favorite sayings is “In my world, the glass is half full all the
time”—while I’m more Danish and really have no idea what he’s talking
about. He’s got muscles, I’ve got skin and bones. He’s well tanned, I’m
deeply pale. You get the idea.
Yet for all our differences, we do share one thing. Both of us have a serious autoimmune disease. In Wingnut’s case, it’s multiple sclerosis
(MS), which was first diagnosed in 1997, went into remission five years
later, and hasn’t come back since. Mine is something called chronic inflammatory demyelinating polyneuropathy
(CIDP), and it’s been having a field day with me for at least the past
ten years, turning my immune cells against me and destroying the
protective covering—the myelin sheath—that surrounds the nerve fibers in
my legs and feet. As a result, many of those nerves are now dead,
leaving me with calf muscles that are atrophied and as thin as
cornstalks, toes that won’t wiggle, and feet that are so insensible they
sometimes flop around of their own accord. I have scars on my knees
from the times I’ve fallen.
All toes on the nose.
As it happens,
CIDP is a fairly rare disease, afflicting at most 8.9 people per
100,000—MS is 30 per 100,000—and in my case is idiopathic, with no known
cause and no way to stop its progression. It’s almost never fatal, but
there’s a 30 percent chance a wheelchair is in my future and an almost
zero percent chance I’ll be surfing ten years from now. At the moment,
the worst thing is how it has messed with my balance. The remaining
millions of nerves in my feet are incredibly slow to tell my brain how
to get my body to react to the world around it. Hence all my clumsiness,
and why I can no longer ride regular surfboards—they’re far too tippy
for me—and have happily taken to SUP boards, which are wider, thicker,
and much more stable. Even so, it took me two years to learn how to
stand on one of them, and it’s been impossible for me to get to the
nose. That’s why I got in touch with Wingnut, to see what he could do
with me while there’s still time.
“OK, man.” he says. “Ready? Let’s go!”
I
nod my head, but I don’t want to go anywhere, not really. I’d rather
stay here and listen to Wingnut talk about his life as a professional
surfer for hire, $2,500 a day, taking wealthy clients (hedge-fund
operators, movie stars, famous athletes) to places like Ollie’s Point, a
more remote Costa Rica break, where, if he’s in the water, you’d better
understand that he rules the roost.
“This one time, there’s a kid I don’t
know—he’s the best surfer out there, next to me—taking all the waves,”
he says. “I paddle up to him and ask him to back off, let my guys have
some. He’s like, ‘Hey, I want to get as many waves as I can.’ And I go,
‘Alright, let me rephrase that. Either you back off, or I will ride
every wave you’re on, in front of you, behind you, I will take you out
on every single wave, all day long. It’ll be fun. It’ll be something new
for me to do, to ruin your day.’ See, I understand that need, that
hunger, but you’ve got to be benevolent with your power as a dominant
predator in the water. You’ve got to be responsible, or else I’ll
fucking teach you some responsibility.”
I’d like to hear more of
these stories featuring Wingnut as good-guy alpha enforcer. Or else we
could talk about my disease. I’ve got a lot to say, about spinal taps,
interminable plasma infusions, and weird KGB-type Russian nurses who
seem to delight in zapping my muscles with electrodes, to see how dead
those nerves really are becoming. But Wingnut doesn’t give me the
chance. Instead, he bounces down the stairs to our room, slathers on
sunscreen, grabs a towel, and is on the way to the beach, with me
huffing and puffing behind. I’d run to catch up, but I can’t run
anymore, either. Soon enough, though, we’re in the water, and shortly
thereafter, I’m showing him just what I’m made of. It isn’t pretty.
It
really is kind of a minor miracle that anyone can nose ride at all.
You’re standing there, perched on the end of your board, nothing in
front of you but the water rushing by. It makes no sense. By all rights,
the board should lever up and smack you in the back of the head,
leaving a knot to remind you of your hubris. But if you’re any good, it
doesn’t. The board stays locked in, held in place by the
counterbalancing force of the wave breaking on its tail. “It’s a very
strange thing, when you think about it,” says Matt Warshaw, the former Surfer magazine editor and author of the History of Surfing.
“When you see someone set up and hang ten for a long time, even as a
nonsurfer, you just sort of stop and your jaw drops, like, how is that
even happening? I’ve heard it described as the closest feeling to flight
you can get. It’s bizarre and wonderful, and a bit freaky.”
And I
want it. Back home in Rhode Island, I’ve sometimes wanted it so badly
that, when the surf goes flat, I’ll turn off my phone, lower my shades,
tell my girlfriend to go away, lock the doors, put my dog in the
basement, bring my dog back up, cuddle with her in bed, and spend the
next four hours glued to surf videos on YouTube, hoping that some of
what I see rubs off on me. I typically start with videos from the early
1960s, roughly around the time that hanging ten, arguably first
accomplished in the fifties by the late Dale Velzy, established itself
as the most wonderful way to ride a wave. Big names of the era include
early Malibu, California, fixture Mickey Dora, also known as Da Cat for
his lightness of step on a surfboard, and David Nuuhiwa, who in old
footage glides to the front, arms by his side, shoulders down, then
lifts his left arm straight up into the air and leans way, way back into
a soul arch that is cool-daddy-casual beautiful. Then there are the
best of today—Joel Tudor, Alex Knost, C.J. Nelson, Mikey DeTemple, and,
of course, Wingnut. I love watching them all.
After that, I’ll
take a break and go work on my balance skills, warming up with a vintage
Bongo Board that I’ve actually gotten good at; progressing to a wobbly
electrified version of the Bongo Board called the uSurf, which doesn’t
so much aim to improve your balance as to throw you against the wall;
transitioning to a contemplative glance at my Wingnut-endorsed Goof Board,
a type of advanced balance board that I’m too scared to try; and ending
with me soaking my head in a fifth of vodka. Later, I’ll cruise the
Internet in search of another “perfect” nose-riding fin or another
“perfect” nose-riding SUP and fall asleep while rereading for the
umpteenth time Tom Wegener’s seminal treatise on the physics of nose
riding, in which he postulates his “suction + tension = hang ten” theory
of why a board can stick to a wave and allow it to be ridden from the
beak.
The
next morning, I’ll wake up and head straight to one of my local
rock-reef breaks, to get in a dawn-patrol surf session and wash off all
the mortifying fatuity of the previous day. I know as well as anyone
that what legendary Malibu longboarder Mickey Munoz says is true: “You
can sit on the beach, and you can watch the waves, and you can watch
people ride them, and you can visualize what you’re going to do and how
you’re going to do it, but when you finally get in the water, all bets
are off.”
Actually, it's been going unexpectedly well with
Wingnut so far. On day one, after some initial flailing, I proved to him
that I could catch a wave and ride down the line. “You can surf,” he
says. “You can do a bottom turn. Fantastic foundation. Marvelous!”
On
day two, I did something I’ve never been able to do before: take one
step forward on my board without falling off. In fact, it looked as if
I’d been taking that one step forever. Why here and not in Rhode Island,
I don’t know. I just did it, right after Wingnut told me to do it, as
in, “Do it!”
The author, right, with Wingnut.
Now it’s day three, another sunny morning in Tamarindo, at the break right in front of Witches Rock Surf Camp,
which has become our drinking hole away from Vista Villas and is where
Wingnut’s longtime buddy Robert August, one of the stars of the first Endless Summer,
is the surfboard shaper in residence and quite the 68-year-old ladies’
man. It’s early enough that Wingnut and I have the waves mostly to
ourselves. He’s riding his slender, tippy Wingnut-model Boardworks SUP;
I’m riding a superwide, superstable Starboard Whopper, ten feet by
thirty-four inches, on loan from Marco Salazar, a former dentist who
fell for SUP after retiring from his practice and moved to Tamarindo to
start Costa Rica Stand Up Paddle Adventures.
It’s just the ticket for my special needs. Even I have a hard time
falling off this beast, and I can almost keep up with Wingnut as he
paddles into position to wait for the next wave.
“When we’re out
here, hover around the mother ship and you will be in the zone,” he
says, watching a small dark line roll toward us. “There’s virtually no
wind. The current’s mellow. OK, so here we go. Start paddling. Turn
around. It’s all you! It’s all you!”
I pivot the Whopper, begin
paddling like hell, catch the wave, execute an OK top turn, and start
cross-stepping to the nose, to hang ten toes over and bring me all the
joy in the world. Only, my feet stop moving after that first step. I
look down and tell them to lift. They refuse. Stupid feet. I hate my
feet, especially the right one, which is the more reluctant of the two
and has told its toady brother to stay still, too.
“Come on!” I can hear Wingnut yelling. “Walk! Let’s go! Good step! Good step! Move it! Do it! One more! Again! Again!”
I’d love to, but no way. I kick out and paddle back. “My feet,” I say.
“Fuck your feet,” he says. “If you can take one step, you can take three.”
I
nod, even though I know it’s not true. The farther up the board you go,
the more unstable it becomes, the better your balance has to be, the
more micro adjustments you need to make. It’s not anything you have time
to think about. Your body has to sense what’s necessary and take care
of it. Mine won’t do that, and that’s all there is to it.
“And
once you get up there, don’t kick out, stay on the wave,” Wingnut
continues, “because that’s when you start getting an idea of how much
lift you have. See, it’s such a mental thing. It’s all about getting to
‘Yes, you can,’ because, well, you fucking can!”
I’m still halfheartedly bobbing my head when Wingnut says, “There’s another little set coming.”
I
look where he’s looking and don’t see anything. But then, just like he
said, almost like magic, there the set is, right in front of me—except
that the first wave is a little too close and has jacked up a little too
steep.
“You’re on it!” he says.
“I’m not!” I say.
“Yes, you are, Eeyore. Go!”
Strangely
enough, he’s correct, I am on it. And this time, I take a bigger step
to the nose, actually get off the SUP’s traction pad and onto the bare
paint on the front third of the board. Wingnut’s shouting, “Go! Nice!
Go! Take another step!” But the moment I do, my feet get confused and I
bail out over the side, come up sputtering, blinking furiously, one
contact lens lost. I flop onto my board and paddle back out, scowling at
my ineptitude and irritated that Wingnut called me Eeyore. But I’m also
thinking about something he told me earlier. “Smiling in the surf is
good,” he said. “I mean, my whole thing is, unless you’re in serious
stuff, why aren’t you smiling? Every time you go, there’s something out
there to put a smile on your face, otherwise you shouldn’t go, right?”
So
before I get back to him, I plaster this great big grisly rictus of a
phony-baloney smile all over my face. The last thing I want is to get
sent to my room. But Wingnut doesn’t look at me. He’s too busy scanning
the horizon for what may come next. He’s always doing this. Even if he’s
talking to you, he’s looking past you for the next good ride.
Then
he starts paddling for a wave. It’s a slightly larger one that looks
like it’s going to close out and slam him into the sand. I’d kind of
enjoy seeing that. But, of course, it doesn’t. Wingnut just flies along,
taking his time cross-stepping to the nose, in three easy-as-you-please
steps. He hangs five for a few seconds, steps back down the board, lets
it drop to the bottom of the wave, then rockets it down the line, where
he banks off the top into a truly tremendous swooping-gull cutback,
smacks the dropping curl, comes around again, slides along beneath the
foam ball, starts to walk even before he’s back into the green,
continues walking, little graceful birdlike steps, until he’s fully up
front again, back arched so that his rear foot is more heavily weighted
than his front. It’s just so pretty. It’s enough to make me weep.
In
the evenings, after surfing, we usually head to Robert August’s sweet
little hacienda for a veggie-heavy dinner, to a bingo night for the
local gringo community, to some rich guy’s what-a-view pad, to a
barbecue cookout, or to a charity auction, with Wingnut making new
friends as he goes and greeting old ones with handshakes and hugs. His
energy is relentless. It’s hard to see how he could possibly have MS
skulking around his mitochondria.
One night, he tells me what it
was like in 1997, when it first appeared, and how it affected his
surfing. “I could stand up and get my trim,” he says, “but then I’d have
to get down and take a knee. If the waves were kind of bumpy, I’d go to
stand up and fall right over.” It took two years for that initial
episode to fade and another three years before the doctors pronounced
the disease in remission, a happy turn of events that Wingnut attributes
to clean living and lots of vitamin D directly from the sun.
“Yes,
it can and will return,” he says, “but my lifetime surfing goals are
all done. I got to surf in Indonesia, got to surf Fiji, got to surf
South Africa, surfed with Gerry Lopez and Mickey Dora. So if I never
surfed again, it would be horrible, but I could deal with it. But when I
was diagnosed, my son Cameron had just been born. He was three months
old, and the thought that I’d never get to share a wave with him—that
was the hard part and the thing that scared me the most.” He stops,
wipes at his eyes, and says, “I still get choked up about it,” then
starts smiling that great Wingnut smile and says, “But now, yeah, that
little fucker drops in on me all the time.”
As
to my own surfing, it started in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, when I was
16, rode a shortboard, thought I was a ripper, decided to give up the
sport after moving to Manhattan at 22, and returned to it with a new
passion for longboarding, which is how most older guys ride, after I
relocated to Rhode Island ten years ago—or right around the time that
CIDP really began to mess with my feet, heart, and head. I’d first
noticed it eight years before that, when I was 40 years old and my toes
starting feeling all fuzzy. The numbness didn’t upset my mobility, so I
didn’t think much about it, until I made the move to the Ocean State and
hit the Matunuck beaches. Whenever I tried to stand on my board, I was
overcome with dizziness and fell.
Two years later, a neurologist
finally gave me the CIDP diagnosis. By that time, both feet were fully
engaged and nerve death had begun to creep from the extremities up into
my legs, atrophying muscle as it went. One thing I learned is that,
while the disease can’t be cured, it can be fought. You can go after it
with high doses of steroids, which sometimes work but is a method my
doctors won’t let me try, since the side effects (crumbling hips,
vicious mood swings, massive weight gain, and chronic
girlfriend-irritating hiccups) are so dire. Or you can bombard the
system with a plasma-protein replacement called intravenous
immunoglobulin. IVIG works in about 80 percent of cases, allowing the
nerve structure to regroup enough to create new muscle. That being the
case, I’ve spent days on end hooked up to an intravenous drip at Rhode
Island’s South County Hospital, only to find out that I’m a member of
the fairly exclusive 20 percent club for whom IVIG does nothing at all.
This also makes me wonder why cross stepping and nose riding continue to
be my main surfing interest, since they’re vastly more difficult for a
person with CIDP to accomplish. Must be I’m either stupid or stupidly
perverse. Or both.
Wingnut is great, though. It’s hard not to
think he’s great. He’s just so full of joy. At the same time, it gets to
be a little much, how everything in his life always turns out for the
best, how bitchin’ everything is, the way he’s always whistling, the
way everyone brightens in his presence, the way he calls all the Costa
Rican guys guapo—Spanish for “handsome”—making them laugh, him
with his snappy shorts, his neatly pressed shirts, his easygoing
flip-flops. Plus, everything’s usually all about him, which he easily
owns up to. “Yes, I am megalomaniacal,” he says, “and I like the sound
of my own voice. But a good, healthy ego can get you through a lot.
Remember—the glass is half full.” I guess some people are just born that
way, and sometimes, I suppose, it’d be nice.
Right now we're
out at a tiny-wave break called Suizo—Wingnut, me, and Robert August’s
very cool, athletically built assistant Kristen, nicknamed Waimea. Wingy
is calling out waves for me, Waimea is hooting up a storm, and I’m
getting closer to the nose. After one ride, Wingnut steams up and says,
“You did so many things right on that wave. When you got to the paint,
you kept your weight more on the outside rail, which keeps you better
balanced. You had a really good vertical stance, with your hips square.
You were real stable. You just got real relaxed and stood tall. And
that’s the perfect thing to do. It’s like what Laird Hamilton’s dad,
Bill, used to say: ‘Stand tall, do nothing at all.’ ”
I’m bobbing
my head, smiling for real this time. But my toes are always still about a
foot shy of finding themselves directly on the nose. Wingnut has tried
telling me that being anywhere on the front third of the board is
considered nose riding, which is how some people look at it. But I know
better. As Matt Warshaw says, “Nobody gives a shit if you’re on the
front third of the board. That’s not what people are thinking about when
they think nose riding. Nose riding is hanging ten or hanging five,
something way, way up there.”
But here’s the thing that has me
scratching my head. During all our time together, Wingnut hasn’t ever
actually instructed me in the ways of nose riding, the nuts-and-bolts
-mechanics of it. He hasn’t directly addressed how much to bend my knees
or when to start walking. He’s acted more like a surfing-lifestyle tour
guide and an enthusiastic supporter of my hopes, and at that he’s been
terrific. And so much about him is contagious. When he starts wearing
his beach towel backward around his neck, I do the same. He likes to
drink a single beer with his breakfast; I’ve at least thought about
doing that, too. But why I’m getting closer to the nose I can’t exactly
figure out.
The author, getting close to the nose.
Two days later,
our last day before leaving for home, again at Suizo, I’m wondering
where the time went and looking down at my feet, the source of all my
issues. More than anything, I want to experience that great aha,
epiphanic, life-altering moment that leads to all my nose-riding dreams
coming true, with me hanging ten or at least five. But there’s only an
hour of sunlight left, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen.
I
look over at Wingnut. He’s blabbing away at some goo-goo-eyed surfer
girl, saying, “I’m so hot right now. I’m like Hansel. I’m so hot right
now,” and preening in his amusing, self-mocking way. But then he’s
paddling in my direction. “You see that one?” I look around absently.
“Hey,” he almost shouts. “We’re not here to fuck around. We’re here to
catch waves. I like this one. Come on, princess, this one is all you!
It’s a corker. It’s a bobby-dazzler!”
I start laughing and
paddling and drop down the face of the wave, come around, stall, then
walk. Behind me, Wingnut is yelling, “That’s it! That’s it! All the way
up! All the way up! Don’t look down. Look where you want to go! Make it
happen, motherfucker! It’s the last day!”
I glance at my feet, praying that what I see are ten toes over. Nothing doing. I’m still at least a foot short. Maybe even two.
Back
in Rhode Island, the first thing I do is order a new SUP, a very
handsome nose rider made by L41, out of Santa Cruz. It’ll have a wide,
square tail, lots of tail rocker, a flat midsection, fancy step
rails—and Wingnut has already proclaimed it bitchin.’ It’ll be here in a
month or two. I can’t wait. And then I’ve got my eye on a board called
the Hammer, made by a guy named Wardog, which is known to be a great
all-rounder and probably perfect for me if all my further attempts at
nose riding only lead me to pound the L41 into fiberglass smithereens on
the local rocks.
Meanwhile, I’ve been pondering some things
Wingnut told me after our final session. “I really like what you’ve
done, but you’ve got a mental roadblock,” he said. “Nothing is stopping
you but you. And, again, fuck your feet. They’re not an excuse I’m going
to buy. You’ve got to have the right mental attitude, because you can
talk yourself into success, or you can talk your way into failure,
right?”
Yes, right, and I’ve heard this stuff before, and, yeah, I
know, the choice is mine. But I’ve also come to believe that sometimes
the choice isn’t yours. I mean this in a good way. Whatever nose-riding
progress I made in Costa Rica, I made largely because, when you hang
around Wingnut, what you get is Wingnut all the time, Wingnut without
end, Wingnut smiling every second of every goddamn day, Wingnut
constantly whispering in your ear, “I have faith in you.” At some point,
whether you know it or not, whether you even want to or not, you can’t
help but start to think that maybe, sometimes, the glass really is half
full. His faith becomes your faith. That’s probably what got me so close
to the nose in Tamarindo. And, if anything, that’s what’ll one day get
me all the way up there. As long as he’s still with me, I know it can be
done.
By CHASEN MARSHALL (For Longboard Magazine, Vol. 15, No. 1, March 2007)
You can say what you like about surfers, but the ones that have
managed to make a career among all the hoopla that comes with the
industry—they’re a precocious bunch. Not the WCT crew, those guys have
cash thrown at them like strippers on a stage. The men of distinct honor
are the ones who were on the scene before the onset of the surf craze:
the Triple Crown, multi-million dollar “surf” companies and Kelly
Slater.
Back in the days when the North Shore was still country, the
shortboard was a forthcoming concept and Off the Wall wasn’t even “Off
the Wall,” there were those who were the scene. They were the
movers and shakers; the innovators; the pioneers of anything and
everything the surf industry would and has become more than 40 years
later. Within this group of core surfers—which included Gerry Lopez,
Jock Sutherland, Eddie Aikau, Jeff Hakman, Barry Kanaiaupuni, Mark
Martinson, Mike Hynson and Paul Strauch, among others—was one
individual, who over the course of his career as a surfer and
businessman has had more labels laid upon him than a canned food drive.
He’s been called a rebel, anti-social, anti-establishment, a master
self-promoter, eccentric and surfing’s Mick Jagger. But Herbie Fletcher
is a tough character; he knows that labels come with the life that he
has created. No longer the 17-year-old up-and-comer that placed seventh
at the 1966 World Surfing Championships, Herbie remains true to the
roots of the sport, unabashedly passionate and stoked on life.
“Well, they all fit pretty much,” admits Herbie, referring to his
various labels. “But I feel good, I feel like I’m energetic and young,
and I want to go surfing and play hard and keep going, and that takes a
lot of energy. You know, I’m 58 now, so I’m pushing it. But you just
gotta go, you can’t stop. Once you stop, you get old.”
Now in the apparent twilight years of a glamorous and eventful career
in and around the surf industry, Herbie is embracing his role as a
connoisseur of everything surf-related, and has come to realize that
there is a demand even outside the surf domain for his advice and
expertise. Based on the press releases and Internet reviews I found when
Googling his name, Herbie has whole-heartedly embraced life in the
limelight and deviated from the anti-establishment mentality.
Most pressing among Herbie’s recent forays into the mainstream media
is his involvement in a soon-to-be premiered HBO series, “John From
Cincinnati,” for which the sideslip aficionado, along with his wife,
Dibi, are serving as consulting producers. Beyond explaining that the
premise of the show is focused around a family of surfers who live in
Imperial Beach and that David Milch (the creator of HBO series,
“Deadwood”) is involved, details are few and far between due to contract
agreements. The show has been picked up by HBO for 12 episodes and the
first is scheduled to air in June 2007.
Also garnering worthwhile attention was his choice of trading island
scenery—the sun and laidback lifestyle of Hawaii, for the skyscrapers
and bombastic personalities of the Manhattan art scene. A longtime
photographer and artist, Herbie fell into the good graces of Julian
Schnabel, one of the most highly touted contemporary artists.
“I’ve been working with Julian and he’s taught me a lot about how to
paint in the last six years,” Herbie says. “You can’t even get a
professor like that, he’s just a great guy. We go surfing together, we
paint, we go to art museums, we go to galleries, he explains stuff to
me, and he tells me what’s going on. How do you get a professor like
that? It’s like getting surf instructor like me.”
Recently the two collaborated on a project that unveiled in December
2006 at the MetLife building in New York City. Schnabel blew up eight of
Herbie’s big-wave riding photos to be used as large canvases (some as
big as 20 feet), and each is now on display throughout the building.
“When I first saw them I was just sort of stunned,” Herbie recalled.
“It was like watching a big wave break; I was really impressed because
everybody’s walking through there and they glance at it from the corner
of their eye and double-take.”
Although at a point in most people’s lives when they tend to take a
step back and allow more time to indulge in the simple pleasures, Herbie
has again challenged the status quo. Instead of easing on the breaks,
it is clear that he has opted to shift into yet an even higher gear,
racing away from the dreaded R-word. Retirement is not a term found in
Fletcher’s Dictionary: “I’ve been really fortunate in life to be able to
make work a lot of fun … I’ll work until I die, probably.”
And that mindset has rewarded Herbie. Never one to settle for what is
provided for him, he has constantly seized opportunity and enabled it
to grow. His recent steps into Hollywood and the art world are not
coincidental. He has earned his place. He has sacrificed and taken risks
when others opted to place it safe. And because of this, he has managed
to establish a credibility and respect that most can only hope for.
Nestled in an industrial complex in San Clemente, Calif., the World
of Herbie is housed in a simple, white, nondenominational building.
Surfboards (both broken and intact), artwork, photographs, memorabilia
and more are littered about the building, which serves as a
headquarters, studio, gallery and warehouse. A quick walk from the back
entrance to Herbie’s office does more than unveil his various commercial
(namely Astodeck traction pads and sandals) and artistic endeavors, it
gives you the idea that you are in the presence of a walking, talking
surfing encyclopedia—and he has the experience and stories to fill a
fair number of volumes. Walking the Walk
With a lifelong portfolio as diverse as the ocean is deep, Herbie is a
well of information that envelops the spectrum of surfing’s present,
past and potential future. His time in the water began as soon as he
could find his sea legs. Born in Orange County and spending much of his
adolescent life near the Huntington Beach pier, Herbie had his
introduction to the ocean at a young age. Rafting, bodysurfing and
diving, he was in and around the water as much as possible. He finally
made the plunge when he was 9 years old, and got a surfboard of his own
when he was 10. It was a Velzy-Jacobs and cost a whopping $27. During
the summers the U.S. Surfing Championships would come to town and Herbie
was exposed to some of the top surfers of that day and age.
“Everybody would come from Hawaii and up and down the coast, even
some East Coast guys would show up,” remembers Herbie. “It was like a
big luau. Everybody would go surfing and have a good time. We’d watch
each other and really watch the champions, and that was who I wanted to
hang out with and get to know, and surf with, the best surfers in the
world. So living in Huntington, it was sort of like a dream.”
He was hooked, and he was determined to live the life of a surfer.
Moving to the Islands at 16 years old, Herbie was on the scene for
the dawning of a new era in surfing. When he arrived in 1965, Hawaii was
still an untapped resource for the traveling surfer. Sure, there were a
number of guys who had migrated to the North Shore, but for the most
part (and especially compared to what it is today) it was nothing more
than greenery and your occasional beach house. For Herbie and his group
of fellow surfers, the Seven Mile Miracle was their stomping grounds,
with the various spots to be surfed at their leisure.
“Well, I was a Backdoor guy, but I lived at Pipeline and that was my
spot,” says Herbie, with a no-big-deal manner. “The first year I was
there, there were no houses on the North Shore except like Dick Brewer,
Jose Angel and Bob Shepherd. I surfed Pipeline in ’65; I think the first
year it was surfed was ’62 and I’m still surfing it.”
As an exceptional North Shore surfer, Herbie was among the 24
invitees for the 1967 Duke Kahanamoku Invitational held at Sunset Beach
in late December. This contest is one of Herbie’s most memorable, only
because others refuse to let him forget. The world was a different place
then. Lyndon B. Johnson was in office, the Beatles had just released
“Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” and the hippie counterculture
(flower-power, drug experimentation, sexual freedom) had come into the
public awareness following the “Summer of Love.” On the Islands, the
drug scene was very much a part of the soul surfing experience, and it
came to the forefront for Fletcher at this particular event. Having been
told the contest was cancelled for the day, Herbie and a few friends
opted to slip some LSD and come on while relaxing in the hills
overlooking the various North Shore breaks. They never made it up to
their intended destination.
“”So I’m driving down the street before I come on to go up the hill
to Cammy’s and we’re listening to the radio and it says the Duke contest
in on, ‘First heat, Mike Hynson, Dick Catri, Herbie Fletcher’ and I go,
‘Oh, shit! I can’t do this, I won’t be able to feel my surfboard or
anything!’” recalled Herbie. It should suffice to say that he didn’t
advance out of his heat.
Herbie’s experimental nature only served to enhance his understanding
of the world around him. When the shortboard revolution came about and
transformed the face of the sport, Herbie and his surfing compatriots
were among the first test pilots, chopping down their boards and
performing R&D at their favorite spots.
“Chappy [Gary Chapman] and Jock [Sutherland] moved into the house at
Bonzai Beach and we’d all hang out there,” Herbie said. “We’d look down
the beach and see these two perfect rights, Backdoor and Off the Wall,
which we just called Pipeline Rights. I moved in when Jock moved out,
and it was that whole winter, boards were going down in size. Mike
Hynson moved in next door and he had plenty of dough and blanks. He
built a shaping room and he was just experimenting on surfboards … 9’2”,
8’6”, 7’9”, 7’2”, 6’10”, they just kept going down to 5’6”.”
It was soon after this influential period in the development of
surfing that Herbie became fed up with the scene. After being introduced
to the world in the pages of Surfer magazine and other
publications, the North Shore experienced a global migration by every
Tom and Sally wanting to get noticed or looking to prove their mettle on
the surf world’s grandest stage.
“Everybody from Riverside and San Bernardino, from the Valley and
Oregon, everywhere started moving to the North Shore,” Herbie said.
Over the whole contest scene and not wanting to paddle out into
crowded lineups that were nearly empty only a few years prior, he
decided it was time for a change and he moved to Sun Valley, Idaho. Dibi
came too. “The First Family of Surfing”
On those same Hawaiian shores that he was turning his back on was
where the Herbie and Dibi life-story encountered its opening chapter.
Dibi, although never a surfer, had the chops to hang on the beach
considering she was born into surfing royalty, the Hoffman family:
Walter, Dibi’s father, a big-wave pioneer and a beachwear industrialist;
Philip or “Flippy,” Dibi’s uncle, also a big-wave rider and involved in
the surfwear textile industry; and Joyce, Dibi’s sister, a two-time
world surfing champion and three-time U.S. surfing champion. Her
adolescent life was one spent on and around the beach. A dancer as
opposed to a surfer, she was initially known because of who she was, but
she etched her own mark in the social scene of the time.
When the two first came to meet, it was less than ideal, but quite classic.
“We met on the beach at Makaha, at a surf contest. I think I was 13
and Herbie was 16. He thought I was too young, and I thought he
was too young,” Dibi recalled with a laugh. “We didn’t see each other
again for a year. But my dad was a Makaha surf contest judge, so I went
over there for Christmas and we saw each other and we started going out …
and we’ve been together ever since.”
Herbie and Dibi have now been married for more than 37 years. And
while the married life does implement a different mindset, it didn’t
change the way the two lived their lives. Both are just as active and
enthused as ever.
“Our lives have really changed so much, and really not changed at
all,” says Dibi. “I think you kind of grow, but in some ways you’re
always who you started out to be and you just have a lot more life
experience to draw from. A lot of it has been hard; a lot of it has been
great, you know, it’s been a life.”
The same open-minded outlook flowed into their two sons, Christian
and Nathan. After years of playing guinea pig to Herbie’s tow-in ideas
and looking to escape the shadow the family cast, both went on to make
their own individual impacts on the surf world. Christian was among the
forerunners in initiating the aerial movement—“[Christian] turned all
the pro surfers into dinosaurs instantly,” said Herbie of his son’s role
in riding above the wave—while Nathan went into skating and motocross
before getting hooked on the adrenaline rush of charging big
waves—“[Nathan] just called me recently and said he got in from surfing a
35-foot wave in the fog … and I got to tell him, ‘Great Nathan, now you
ride bigger waves than anyone in the family.’ ”
It’s obviously a family act.
“It’s great because we all have something in common, from the
75-year-old great grandpa all the way down to the great grandson,”
Herbie says with a smile. “We’ve got surfing in common.” Life is Art
Herbie insists that he has been an artist for the majority of his life—well, a surfer and an artist.
“Living in Hawaii we painted the inside of houses, we painted on
surfboards, painted on lots of album covers because that was the only
thing that we had for a canvas,” Herbie says. “But making surfboards and
going surfing, that’s my main art. That’s my real art.”
Ever the opportunist, Herbie has managed to intertwine two of his
favorite pastimes, shaping and art. And just like with his surfing he
enjoys the spontaneity and unpredictability of what his artwork
provides.
“I don’t usually know what I’m doing when I start, it’s sort of like
paddling out surfing; anticipating taking off and just getting stuff on
the canvas and then it just sort of happens, it flows,” says Herbie.
Art plays more of a role than simply designs on his boards or a
canvas. Herbie has had his works displayed at numerous shows and the
gallery in his warehouse could stand alone as a worthy art and surfing
exposition. He has gathered praise from industry affiliates, surfers and
even members of the art world. And though he works in numerous
mediums—including oils, resin, acrylic, polyurethane foam, inks, wood
and stone—there are those that stand out from the group. His
“Wrecktangles” are a barrage of broken surfboards, salvaged from beneath
the houses at Pipeline, which tell a rudimentary story of the sport and
its dangers. He also has a wide variety of pieces hanging from the
walls of his gallery/warehouse that demonstrate the diversity of his
ability.
“I don’t want to get locked into one thing,” he explains. “I like to
work with resins and pigments and paint and fiberglass and carbon-fiber;
I don’t want to do the same thing over and over, I mean, how boring is
that? In surfing, you get to surf all kinds of different surf spots,
different boards, it keeps your interests going. It’s like music, if you
sing the same thing over and over, it gets pretty boring.”
And while Herbie does profit from all of his various artistic
projects, it serves a completely different purpose on a personal level.
“When it comes five o’clock, I usually have my paintbrush, my camera
or my surfboard in hand,” Herbie said. “And if there isn’t any surf,
it’s always six foot and glassy if you’ve got your paintbrush.”
It probably helps that his biggest critic is also a lifelong artist
and just so happens to be his wife, who is always willing to provide
blunt honesty. But they also serve as a healthy support system in their
various individual and collective undertakings.
“Everything we do is kind of a collaboration because we use each
other for a sounding board, we have a critic in one another,” Dibi
explains. “Most people aren’t honest; they aren’t honest with
themselves, so they’re certainly not brave enough to be honest with you
because they want you to like them. And you see, I’m not worried about
that with Herbie. I tell him, ‘F*@k, is that really what you’re going to
do?’ But I think it’s nice, I think you need that, you need to hear
that.”
Herbie enjoys the constructive criticism and advice, but he maintains that they have their own styles and opinions.
“She’s a perfectionist and she likes really glamorous stuff,” he
says. “We’re totally different, but along the same grain, which is
nice.” Living in the Now
More than 30 years after making the claim that “The Thrill is Back”
at his Dana Point, Calif., surf shop at the onset of the longboard
renaissance, Herbie remains an ambassador for the sport. And just like
in his early years, he has had a number of labels thrown at him, but
these qualify in reference to his various ventures: shaper, surfer,
artist, photographer, director, mentor, husband, inventor and father.
Although he spends more time on land, he still finds time to continue
to push his limits. He isn’t racing his Jet Ski’s in front of massive
Waimea Bay walls like in years past, but he still finds time to get his
feet wet and turn some heads. He tends to spend more time on the sand,
documenting the progress the sport is making, and luckily for him, it
couldn’t be a better time to be doing so. With the new crop of
longboarders changing the perception of how a board can be ridden and
with all the new board-making technologies, the sport is in a new realm
of progression and change.
“I like the new style of longboarding, I like where the youth are
taking longboarding, this really high-performance stuff,” Herbie says.
“Some of the kids down at San Onofre and all up and down the coast are
ripping. They’re doing things we didn’t even think about.”
And Herbie has the proof. He’s made more surf films than he can count
and his photos are regularly seen in surf publications. But it doesn’t
much get to Herbie that he is now behind the camera as opposed to out in
front of it.
“It’s like the second part of my life, I’ve got to rest now,” he
explains. “Before I was in the water all the time; I’d come out of the
water, lay down and then get up and go back in, like 10 hours a day or
something like that. But now I’m slowing down, so it’s two times out,
hour and a half or two hour go outs.”
This is not to say that Herbie isn’t still charging—the guy still
surfs Pipeline—he’s just a bit more cautious with the risk taking, and
luckily, he has plenty of people looking out for him.
“I’m recognized out there (at Pipeline) by all the top guys since
I’ve been there longer than anybody,” Herbie claims. “So when Bruce or
Andy [Irons] or Sunny [Garcia] or any of those guys are out in the
lineup and I show up, it’s always, ‘F#&k Herb, right on!’ And if
somebody takes off in front of me, I don’t have anything to say about
it, but sometimes they get beat up because they don’t want to see
anybody hurt. They slug him and tell him to go home. It’s a bummer, but
somebody has to keep the lineup regulated, I mean, you don’t go out on
the [Los Angeles] Lakers court and try to take the ball from them, and
that’s what’s out there, all the best surfers in the world.”
Herbie realizes that he is years past his prime, but what he lacks in
physical ability, he makes up for in first-hand knowledge. He has
served as a mentor to endless groms that have picked up a longboard.
Among his first sponsored longboarders was the King of Soul himself,
Joel Tudor.
“Technically the first sponsored package that I ever received at my
house was from Astrodeck,” Tudor recalls. “I was stoked because at that
time in the late ’80s, Astrodeck was the s&#t! Everyone rode for
them.”
A photo in Herbie’s warehouse tells the story. In it, anyone who was
anyone on the surf scene at that time—Mark Foo, Mark Richards,
Johnny-Boy Gomes, Rory Russell, Buttons Kaluhiokalani, Fast Eddie,
Martin Potter, Gary Elkerton and Tom Carroll, to name a few—were a part
of the Astrodeck team.
“I think a lot of it, though, it wasn’t so much that Herbie was
business savvy and was paying all of these people, it was just that
everybody liked Herb,” Tudor says. “If you look at the amount of people
that have done stuff for him for free, and in the category of their
talent, I think the respect for Herbie sort of speaks volumes.”
As active as he remains, it’s difficult to believe that Herbie is, in
fact, a grandfather. But when you live life the way Herbie has and
believe whole-heartedly that age is truly only a number, there is no
need to step back or slow down. But considering his clientele and
colleagues, along with the general nature of his industry, Herbie simply
sits back and smiles about the life he leads.
“I’m traveling and surfing; I get to work with all the surfers, and
that’s my passion, going surfing and being around the beach,” he says.
“And with that, being around people that really enjoy it and push your
limits and that are inventive and want to change things.” Surfing is Life
Surfing is still an integral part of what makes Herbie tick. It plays
a role in practically every element of his life. And while all the
financial pursuits and appearances can be draining at times, there are
the simple reasons of why he does what he does.
“I just enjoy watching the sun rise,” Herbie reflects. “I can just be
standing in the water with my surfboard after wiping out, looking at
the sun come up in the white water, and it’s un-f&*king-real.”
It’s evident that despite all the wild-man antics you hear and read
about the guy, Herbie Fletcher is more than a sun-bleached surfer
laboring over how to keep connected to the scene he’d help to foster; he
is an ever-diversifying entrepreneur with an innate ability to find
potential and opportunity around every new bend along his life’s path.
No one knows where Herbie will be in five years, not even Herbie. The
one certainty is that you’d be wise to keep track because the tale is
certainly not nearing its end. He’s still a surf-stoked grommet at heart
and as long the industry continues its steady rise on a global scale,
he’ll be among the leaders of the pack pushing it forward.
09.06.14Texto: David Moreu / Fotos: Herbie Fletcher & Archivo. En portada: Herbie Fletcher y Julian Schnabel
“En el mundo del rock n’ roll tenemos a Iggy Pop y a Mick Jagger” escribió el periodista deportivo Jamie Brisick en 1996. “Pero en el mundo del surf tenemos a Herbie Fletcher“.
Con estas palabras tan elocuentes es fácil presentar a uno de los
grandes iconos de la cultura de las olas, que sigue en activo gracias a
sus empresas y a las obras de arte vanguardista que se exhibe en las
galerías más prestigiosas de California. Sin olvidar que a sus 66 años
todavía va a la playa cada día para sentirse cerca del océano que tantas
cosas le ha aportado a lo largo de su vida. Esta historia personal se
remonta a finales de la década de los 50, cuando descubrió la magia de
las olas en un viaje con su familia a San Clemente. Aunque a los 15 años
ya se instaló en Hawái y empezó a vivir en una nube de ensueño que lo
llevó a participar en el campeonato del mundo, a conocer a los
auténticos pioneros de este deporte, a participar en documentales
legendarios (con su buen amigo y director Greg MacGillivray) e incluso a
codearse con estrellas del rock como Jimi Hendrix. Aunque todas estas
anécdotas no dejan de ser notas a pie de página en una carrera basada en
el sentimiento de libertad y que siempre ha ido a contracorriente. No
en vano, Herbie Fletcher fue uno de los impulsores de la revolución del
longboard a mediados de la década de los 70 y, una década más tarde, se
convirtió en un pionero del tow-in en Waimea cuando la gente todavía
miraba con respeto las olas gigantes. Como no podía ser de otra forma,
sus hijos Christian y Nathan han seguido sus pasos y se han alzado como
grandes campeones de surf, además de servir de inspiración para los
protagonistas de la aclamada serie “John from Cincinnati” que
emitió la cadena HBO. Ahora hemos tenido la oportunidad de entrevistar a
este patriarca del surf para conocer su asombrosa historia de primera
mano y establecer los cambios que ha experimentado esta cultura en las
últimas cinco décadas.
Naciste en Pasadena en 1948 y empezaste a practicar surf a
los 10 años. ¿Qué recuerdos tienes de tus inicios y cómo era la cultura
de playa en California en aquella época?
Como bien dices, entonces tenía 10 años y no sabía casi nada de los que
sucedía. Simplemente corría por la playa y miraba lo que hacía la gente
cuando bajaba la marea. Recuerdo que cuando cumplí 9 años, fuimos de
vacaciones con mi familia a San Clemente y tuve la oportunidad de coger
olas con una tabla de surf. Así que, al regresar a casa, pedí que me
compraran una Velzy-Jacobs de madera de balsa y fue en aquel momento
cuando todo empezó realmente. La cultura de playa era muy reducida
porque no había demasiada gente, pero los que iban cada día la amaban
mucho y practicaban muchas actividades de ocio, como nadar, pescar o
body-surfing. En aquellos días veías muy poco surf. ¡Como te he
comentado, yo aún iba en madera de balsa! En 1966 fuiste semifinalista en el World Surfing Championships. ¿Cómo viviste esa experiencia siendo sólo un adolescente?
Yo tenía 17 años cuando participé en el campeonato del mundo de 1966,
así que todavía era muy joven y estaba descubriendo muchas cosas. Era la
mayor competición de surf que existía y podías cruzarte con gente de
todos los rincones del mundo. Había otros tipos, como David Nuuhiwa,
Jock Sutherland y Jeff Hakman, que eran grandes surfistas. Entonces
todos teníamos más o menos la misma edad y conocimos a gente mayor. El
que más me sorprendió fue Nat Young, que venía de Australia y era
realmente bueno. Eso me hizo darme cuenta de que sucedían más cosas en
el mundo que lo que veíamos en California o en Hawái. Fue fantástico
conocer personas de todo el mundo porque, en aquellos días, tampoco
había una gran comunicación entre los surfistas. Evidentemente no
existía Internet ni otros medios de comunicación a nuestro alcance.
¡Este deporte tampoco aparecía en televisión! Todo lo que teníamos eran
las películas de surf, hasta que John Severson empezó a publicar Surfer
Magazine en 1960.
Tengo entendido que apareciste en “Free and Easy” (1967) y “Five Summer Stories”
(1972). ¿Cómo definirías la magia de esos documentales clásicos de
surf? ¿Tuviste la oportunidad de conocer a directores tan emblemáticos
como Bud Browne, John Severson o Bruce Brown?
Las películas y los documentales de surf eran lo que todos mirábamos y,
como he comentado, Surfer Magazine llegó en 1960. Eso fue una revolución
porque podíamos tener una foto en las manos y mirarla con atención.
Antes de que todo esto sucediera, Bud Browne ya tenía una gran
influencia en todos nosotros porque viajó a Hawái, vivió con el padre de
mi esposa, el señor Walter Hoffman, y él lo llevaba a Makaha para que
pudiera rodar películas con todos esos tíos cogiendo olas. Eso fue una
gran inspiración mientras crecía. También me marcaron mucho Bruce Brown y
John Severson porque sus películas de surf eran fantásticas. Todos esos
títulos nos dejaban boquiabiertos y decíamos “¡wow, mira eso, es la cultura del surf!”
Pero también aparecían esos chicos más mayores haciendo burradas,
improvisando escenas cómicas y todo parecía muy divertido. Fue
fantástico cuando Greg MacGillivray llegó a Hawái, me vio cogiendo olas y
me preguntó si quería aparecer en su película. Fue un sueño hecho
realidad. Allí me encontraba, mirando a todos esos surfers de olas
gigantes, y de repente querían que yo apareciera con ellos como uno más
en aquel documental. No podía creerlo. La leyenda cuenta que ya patinabais en piscinas vacías en
1963, muchos años antes de que los Z-Boys empezaran. ¿Cuál era la
relación entre el mundo del surf y el del skate en aquellos días?
Realmente fueron los surfers quienes empezaron a practicar skate de
manera habitual. A principios de los años 60 todo se basaba en bajar por
las pendientes o lo que se conocía como “downhill”. Entonces
los skates todavía eran de metal y recuerdo que mi mejor amigo y yo
cortamos por la mitad nuestros roller-skate para poner las ruedas en
nuestra primera tabla de skate e íbamos a patinar a un lugar en
Huntington Pier, donde ahora se encuentra el Duck’s Restaurant. En San
Clemente patinábamos en la montaña cerca del instituto, mucho antes de
que empezaran a construir casas. Entonces alguien comentó que había una
piscina en Stanton y decidimos ir allí a patinar. A esa piscina la
llamamos “The Pool”. Era muy divertido porque íbamos allí
cuando ya no había olas y podíamos patinar tranquilamente. Para mi el
skate era algo genial porque podía practicarlo desde que salía de casa
en Huntington, puesto que todo era cemento hasta que llegabas al muelle
para practicar surf cada mañana.
Pipeline Wrecktangles
La Guerra de Vietnam fue unos de los acontecimientos más
criticados de finales de los años 60 y principios de los 70. ¿Conocías
algún surfista que fuera al sureste asiático o que evitara el
reclutamiento?
Yo cogía olas cada día en la bahía de Honolulu y en Maui. También en
Sunset y en Pipeline. No podía imaginar estar en una guerra contra
alguien. Yo me oponía completamente a esa guerra. En la hoja de
reclutamiento me pusieron como 1-A porque creían que era apto para ir a
Vietnam, pero después pusieron 1-W porque no podía hacerlo en base a un
problema físico. Estaba en contra de todo eso, tenía amigos que volvían a
casa dentro de una bolsa y, en seguida, me di cuenta de que el gobierno
mandaba a un puñado de chavales a Vietnam para sus intereses… En Staf Magazine adoramos la música de Jimi Hendrix y sabemos que participaste en el documental “Rainbow Bridge”. ¿Qué sucedió realmente durante el rodaje? ¿Cómo se vivían los conciertos en aquella época marcada por la contracultura?
Conocer a Jimi Hendrix fue un tanto extraño… aunque con el tiempo me doy
cuenta de que fue impresionante y verlo en concierto me voló la cabeza.
La primera vez que lo vi fue en el Monterey Pop Festival de 1967 y
después tuve otra oportunidad de presenciar su espectáculo en Honolulu,
en el Waikiki Shell durante tres noches consecutivas. Mike Hynson estaba
por allí y hablábamos sobre olas y sobre hacer una película de surf…
sea como fuera, él logró involucrar a gente de Nueva York e incluso a
Warner Brothers para rodar “Rainbow Bridge” y yo tuve la suerte
de ser buen amigo de Mike, así que me invitó a participar en la
película, donde aparezco cogiendo olas. En aquellos días Dibi estaba
embarazada, por ese motivo no pudimos alejarnos demasiado de casa, pero
ambos lo disfrutamos mucho y la leyenda ha permanecido intacta en el
tiempo.
Pipeline Wrecktangles
En la década de los 70 te involucraste en la famosa
revolución del longboard. ¿Qué motivación había en recuperar aquellas
tablas de surf? ¿Cómo fue el proceso de crear Fletcher Surfboards en 1976?
Siempre tuve un longboard en mi colección de tablas, incluso cuando
creamos la “Mini-Gun”, porque las olas se vuelven muy pequeñas y siempre
quiero divertirme. Cuando vivía en Hawái, acostumbraba a coger olas en
Rocky Point en verano porque las corrientes del norte llegaban a la
playa y ofrecían unas olas pequeñas y hermosas. Entonces ponía una
quilla más pequeña y todo iba bien. Pero cuando estaba en California era
como si hubiera viajado en el tiempo. Los chavales fueron un día al
colegio y cuando regresaron a la playa se encontraron que todo eran “shortboards”.
Estas tablas cambiaron la cultura del surf porque los chicos que vivían
lejos de la playa, sus padres y sus madres ya no podían practicarlo. Yo
me mudé al sur de California y era otro mundo. En 1975 empecé a coger
olas con longboards otra vez porque las condiciones no eran muy buenas
en esta zona y vendí unas cuantas… supongo que eso volvió a despertar el
interés por esas tablas gracias a la campaña que lanzamos de “the thrill is back”. Todo eso sucedió en el verano de 1975 y fue el inicio de Fletcher Surfboards. En 1985 cabalgaste una ola de 25 pies (7,6 metros) en Waimea
Bay y esa gesta te convirtió en un pionero del tow-in mucho antes que
otros famosos surfistas. ¿Cómo recuerdas aquella aventura
El sitio donde íbamos a coger esas olas era Pipeline, pero aquella
sesión de 1985 fue cerca de Waimea, con todos los tíos sentados en la
playa mirando porque era algo nuevo. Siempre había cogido olas en esas
playas, pero normalmente era bastante “glassy” y con muy poca
gente. Yo ya quería que me remolcaran, pero nadie se animaba a hacerlo
porque estaban demasiado asustados. Por eso cogía unas 50 olas o un
número parecido porque no había nadie más en el agua. No fue un reto
surfear en Waimea, sino que lo recuerdo como algo divertido. Recuerdo
que me puse de pie en una ola y estuve a punto de caer, pero logré salir
de esa. Fue muy emocionante porque las olas se mueven mucho allí, la
cantidad de agua es enorme y entonces pensé que era necesario utilizar
una moto de agua para llegar a esas zonas donde más crecen y, sobre
todo, aprender como rompen para entrar y salir de ellas sin tener
problemas. Así te podían recoger también. Eso fue lo que sucedió y ahora
todo el mundo se interesa por las olas grandes y han logrado llevar
este surf mucho más lejos. Pero es una práctica que ha necesitado mucho
tiempo y ha muerto bastante gente por el camino.
Nathan Fletcher
¿Cuándo surgió tu interés por el arte y qué buscas con tus obras?
Cuando era un crío que vivía en Pasadena, pasaba muchas horas pintando
montañas con mis acuarelas. Después, en mi época adolescente, empecé a
utilizar bolígrafos y pintura al óleo. Y cuando salió ese tipo de
pintura de secado rápido, ya me había aficionado por completo al arte y
pintaba en mi cuarto. Cuando vivía en Hawái, recuerdo que pintábamos
dentro de las casas. Al tener hijos con Dibi, me dedicaba a fabricar
tablas de surf y empecé a pintar las ventanas de la tienda que teníamos
en el jardín trasero para que parecieran vitrales. Así que podría decir
que siempre he estado vinculado al arte, a la serigrafía de camisetas,
diseñando anuncios y toda clase de gráficos. ¿Qué vinculación tiene tu arte con el mundo del surf? ¿Qué puedes contarnos de la serie “Wrecktangle” hecha con tablas rotas?
El surf puede considerarse una disciplina artística en si mismo. Cuando
miraba por la ventana en mi casa de Pipeline hacia el jardín, podía ver
todas esas tablas rotas y eso fue lo que inspiró una parte de mi arte…
porque era una extensión de mi propio jardín. Me encanta mirar ese tipo
de cosas como arte. También he hecho más de 60 películas de surf y eso
es otra clase de arte. He hecho fotos por todo el mundo y me da la
sensación que mi vida ha sido como un gran viaje artístico que nunca
termina. Supongo que, por este motivo, mi exposición más reciente se
titula “Path of a Wave Warrior” porque ha sido un largo camino y
una experiencia fantástica. Además, la he vivido practicando surf y
todavía lo hago. ¡Creo que iré a coger olas cuando terminemos la
entrevista!
1989. Herbie Fletcher
¿Qué puedes contarnos sobre los rumores que apuntan a que Julian Schnabel dirigirá un documental sobre tu vida y tu carrera?
Con el paso de los años, he reunido una gran cantidad de material y mi
suegro también tenía muchas grabaciones de surf de los viejos tiempos,
porque vivió con Bud Browne. Por mi parte, yo tengo cosas porque viví
con Greg MacGillivray. Después de revisar todo ese metraje acumulado,
empecé a grabarme a mi mismo para crear “Wave Warriors” que era
un video de aprendizaje para los niños en el que podían ver a los
mejores surfers cogiendo las mejores olas a ritmo de hardcore rock n’
roll. Fue el primer video de ese género que se editó y servía para que
lo vieran y después se animaran a practicar surf. Realmente fueron los
chicos quienes cambiaron las cosas con los nuevos trucos aéreos. Ahora
estoy colaborando con Julian Schnabel para hacer un nuevo documental
sobre mi familia. Dibi se encarga de escribir el guión y Julian dirigirá
el proyecto. Creo que será fantástico porque saldrán todos nuestros
amigos y se mostrará la historia del surf de la manera que nosotros la
vemos. Tus hijos han mantenido la tradición familiar del surf y del
skate. ¿Qué consejos les diste cuando te dijeron que querían dedicarse
al deporte?
Realmente yo los llevé por el camino. Todo surgió porque Dibi y yo
íbamos a la playa, lo pasábamos muy bien y teníamos buen material,
además podían practicar el surf con los mejores del mundo. Para ellos
era algo normal. Podían ir a coger olas a Velzyland en Oahu o en
cualquier otro lugar. Ellos han continuado con nuestro estilo de vida y,
a fin de cuentas, todo se basa en pasarlo bien.
Robert “Wingnut” Weaver is a modern version of a Sixties Surfer.
Or at least what we like to think of as a Sixties Surfer. With masterful
flow, power and control, he is reminiscent of heroes like Phil Edwards,
Mike Hynson and Mark Martinson. And it’s a tribute to the man’s style
and soul that his unique, totally professional approach to having fun
offers no contradiction. Because for Wingnut, it all seems to be about
fun, a happy-go-lucky aura that belies all the hard work and dedication
he’s logged creating–with virtually no help at all from the mainstream
surf media–one of the most enviable surf lifestyles in the business.
With a grin and a good drop-knee cutback, he thrust into the limelight
with a starring role in 1994′s Endless Summer II. Flushed with success,
Wingnut, now 37, parlayed the exposure into the kind of existence most
of us–even other pros–could only dream about: a sponsored, traveling
surfer and professional international surf guide for very affluent
clientele. Then came a blunt twist of fate. In 1997, shortly after his
son Cameron was born, Wingnut was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a
degenerative disease of the nervous system that, among other things,
affects one’s balance and equilibrium. But characteristically
irrepressible, Wingnut fought on. And hearing him tell about it is a
reminder of how sweet life is. In his Santa Cruz home, just back from
work in Surftech’s marketing department, he sat down with his wife,
Janice, son Cameron and beloved dog, Sheila, to spell it all out.
WINGNUT: Well, I graduated in 1991 from UC Santa Cruz with a
degree in economics and marketing. So at that point, as a longboarder,
there was no real way to make money surfing competitively. I mean,
O’Neill was giving me wetsuits and I was getting free boards, so at
least my hobby was free. The club contests were fun, you know, it’s all
about the barbecue, but making a living? I think back to a low moment
when I was at one Oceanside contest. It was Friday at dawn and I already
lost my heat. In an announcer’s voice: “How bout a hand for Wingnut,
all the way from Santa Cruz. Great to see you; see you next time…the
beer garden will be open at noon.” Something had to be done. So I
graduated, Janice and I got married that October, came back from
honeymoon and said, “What now?”
