Kids these days, eh? Precocious. Unbridled. Worldly, yes. Yet, as is my understanding, addicted to Instagram models and Soundcloud rappers. Probably pharmaceuticals, too – constantly lit. And unable to hold eye contact for more than three seconds without developing a nervous tic for their iphone or smart device.
But damn, they’re surfing like fucking maniacs. Never has the dial been turned so high by those so young. Just look at this.
Oh yes, we’re all in the thick of it now. There’s no escaping this tangled digital web (personally I can’t wait to have my consciousness uploaded so I can surf forever in the digitally reconstructed, Dickensian beachies and secret spots of BHP-era Newcastle). But those of us born pre-1990, or old enough to remember when land lines were a thing, are afforded a unique viewpoint. We will be the last ever generation to experience life before the internet.
Was it a better time to be a young surfer?
Mambo grom Zac Michael wondering what’s happening on Snapchat.
On face value, grommies have never had it this good. They live in a paradise of choice, their fav athletes only a DM away. Their malleable little grommy minds (Fact: the human brain will never grow quicker than it does in adolescence, ‘cept for infanthood obvs) have instant access to the entire output of humanity’s knowledge that’s worth knowing – everything from the Lis fish through to the Moniz flip. They can make friends or collaborate with like-minded individuals anywhere in the world instantaneously. Their every wave can be recorded and instantly dissected with startling ease. And as a result they’re doing this and this.
And surfing, it’s growing quicker than ever before, in and out of the water. Just look at this Cambrian explosion of wave riding forms. This bubble of innovation. There’s no doubt the sport is flying. Complaining about the march forward is like trying to fight off a summer onshore.
But, are we all missing out on something? Do you remember what it was like to peel the single-use plastic off a new video and chuck it in the tape player for the first time? Or pore over that once-monthly growing stack of magazines like they were holy scriptures? We were fed morsels but we turned them into feasts. Images were seared into our temporal lobe. Entire movies memorised. Vignettes played out so naturally recalling them wasn’t even a rote exercise. It was more like listening to your heart beat. Remember when Dad Dorian was still a Young Son of Fun?
‘Course you do. But today, we’re all drowning in #content. Spots like Noah’s would have been replayed a million times over on VHS. Now even the most momentous of clips last maybe five days in the collective consciousness before drifting off over the horizon.
And really, pedigree is pedigree. If Ke11y had his every session instantly recorded, shared and cross-referenced with every other top-level surfer of his day, and had open access to the teachings of every other discipline outside of surfing that could better prepare him mentally and physically… would he have been any better? Could he have been any better? Would Nicky Wood have rung his missing Bell at 15, not 16, if he had an Instagram?
And would we have all already drowned under the flood of action sports enthusiasts and zen-seeking, white collared soft-bellies that are now trickling into our lineups?
Perhaps, or perhaps not.
But I ask again, which era would it be for you?