Photos by Ryan Heywood.

I reckon it’s safe to say that everyone secretly dreams of being a pro surfer, don’t they?

Some of us not, maybe. Some of us would rather make a living wage working at a bank, or something like that. Some of us are actually way more into skateboarding. Here’s the thing, though: being a pro surfer is cool. Anyone who can just fuck it all right off and hang around the ocean all day cannot fail to be cool and is doing objectively better things with their life than everyone else forcing themselves to have jobs and maintain flats and push themselves into positions of respectable adulthood. 

But there also comes a point in every person’s life when they have to make peace with the reality that they just might not be cut out for it. Particularly on the talent and athletic front. I’d say it happens when you’re around, oh, 17-to-19 years old. Or just whenever you realise those frontside airs are short half a rotation and will always be short half a rotation. Now, healthy mental practice dictates that at that point you should let go. Simply see surfing as a hobby, like someone who jogs or plays tennis. Move on with your own life in a productive and positive way, and not tie your happiness around one, singular thing. 

However: have you met even a half-dedicated surfer? We are absolute, full-on, lock-them-in-a-padded-room-with-no-corners nutters. If you can’t find success competing, you can stay in the orbit, no? You can still be a part of the scene. You can join the industry. Yeah, join the industry and be a member of the biz. And if that doesn’t work you can still surround yourself with the media, or walk into the same bar by the contest and join the literal party, or do whatever it is you need to do to stop yourself from vibrating at a noticeably high frequency. Getting in on the excitement is what keeps this whole thing going. The only craving equal to it is our collective appetite to find empty lineups and surf good waves. It's part of our core being. And if you don't believe me, consider the fact that you're reading these words on this particular website right now.

Let’s quickly flip to October 1st, 2023. We’re in Les Landes, Hossegor now. The first (and, so far, only) Quiksilver Festival has just wrapped up almost exactly two decades after that Quiksilver Pro. The entire contest was blessed with a long run of perfect surf after weeks of dead-flat typical westers European summer surf. Crews sitting at cafe de Paris. Noz and REPEATER prems to ease the sore heads. The invite-only format was a huge success, and competitors, non-competitors, and friends who were around before and saw what was coming so they made the executive decision to cancel their flight and stick around and join in on the fun all called it one of the best contests ever. The last time they had an official Quiksilver Pro here was in 2019. Southwest France was removed from the Championship Tour completely the next year. Maybe the WSL was a tad tired of competitors drinking wine and eating oysters after their heats and showing up to the beach a bit worn to wear the next day. The front office says it’s because the waves are just too tricky that time of year and that travel is just too difficult, but please ignore the three international airports all within a short drives distance, thanks. 

Now last month, the 2024 championship tour schedule dropped to a fanfare with all the energy of you hitting the snooze button again. A casual reading of the schedule release might suggest spots are chosen on importance (Pipeline, Fiji, Bells), commercial value (Southern California and Brazil), and reliable consistency (Margaret River, El Salvador, Portugal), with dwindling returns of each as the year goes on. A brief dip into the world of surfing conspiracy, though, and you will find thousands of former tour followers ringing with the idea that competitive surfing, as a whole, hates having a good time. And that, for instance, is why Pipeline kicks off the season now. Because the front office was over everyone starting the year off by having a complete blowout on the Gold Coast. ‘No Superbank, again!’ I texted my Queensland living, industry-adjacent friend, who furiously texted me, ‘They hate a beer!’

Minimal risks are taken, and a major mid-year contest is held at a wave pool in Central California. And more often than not, they score. What happens when the surf stops, however? What do you do then? How embarrassed would you be if you were on the tour and your mate texted you from home? ‘What’d you get up to today during the fifth lay day in a row? You check out the rest of Fiji?’ Nah, I stretched a bunch of big rubber bands around my shoulders. We’re literally stuck on an island so can’t do much. ‘Oh…yeah, it’s just. I remembered how much fun we had checking out Torquay last year. Even that was pretty sick.’ Yeah, we can’t leave the premises in case the surf kicks up, but the report says it’s 0-1 foot for the next three days, so I’ll probably just go get lunch. ‘Oh nice, well maybe you can chill there for a bit.’ Yeah, I’ll probably just get another acai bowl and a bulletproof coffee. ‘What.’

Blame the rise of web streaming, blame surfing’s Olympic conquest, or just blame the powdered wigs voicing competitive surfing’s demand to be taken seriously as an actual, real professional sports league. This is what they wanted, and they got it. They have the best surfers competing in the best waves around the world to the best of their abilities. Great, good for them. That’s the model things like America’s National Football League, the English Premier League, and tennis follow. And if it works for them, why wouldn’t it work for us? 

And yet, there’s just one thing. Surfing is one of the few ‘sports’ that, when you watch it done right, you’ll think, ‘Fuck, I wish that was me out there.’ When surfing’s done right it and you watch it it makes you feel like you need to do the same thing. Or at least try.

And when not done properly, and the waves aren’t good, and you’re watching it in a cold office behind a computer it is, to put it loosely, boring as shit. We’re at a point now where the surf industry is more or less flinging their arms in the air, declaring ‘fuck it,’ and actually following through with every half-baked, cockamamie idea that comes across the desk. You’d think they loosen it up on the particulars a touch. I know this isn’t a competitive surfing-adjacent magazine. But I do know that it’s a pro enjoying life, keeping things interesting, and having a good time joint. So with that said, I fucking love going to a good surf contest! It has everything: Surfing! Checking out corners of the world that are mostly completely ignored by the rest of the travelling world! Having a laugh! 

It’s wholesome to have the opportunity to make friends from all around the world. It is brilliant how sometimes the surf gets really, incredibly good and you get to watch these freak athletes bend it to their will. It is hilarious both how the free surfers always premier a film with an open tab on a Friday night and everyone in the first round the following morning always has to paddle out in stormy, four-to-six-foot surf looking more like my impression of surfing when I haven’t been to bed. Voices in our heads. Sitting wide and still getting caught inside. Somehow tucking into an all-timer. 

Extremely hot take, but I think it’s good when contests are great and everyone has something to look forward to and talk about. Human connection is a good thing, especially in something that can be as solitary and territorial as surfing. So, please, stop hiding behind potentially disappointing swell charts as your excuse to not hold a contest where life off the sand is great and everyone’s friends want to come and join in, and they do. Mellow out on the tour spots in prohibitively expensive, remote locations. Stop literally hating a beer and let the media have a beach bar again while you’re at it. And, mon dieu, bring back the Quiksilver Pro France. 

We want to watch good surfing and have a good time while doing it. That's why we're all here in the first place.