Mike Waltze: “You’re in my spot.”
Me: “What?” I looked around the bluff at Ho’okipa, where you could once park anywhere. There were open spots everywhere. I wouldn’t even call them spots.
“My parking spot.”
Not exactly how I wrote it in my book, but I’m too lazy to look up the excerpt. I hadn’t spoken to Mike since the making of Wind Legends some 12 years ago. He called asking for some footage for his movie, “An Excellent Life.” I said sure, and by the way, is it okay if I portray you as a bad ass, because, you know, you were.
Mike and I had actually played demolition derby with our Maui Cruisers, fully ramming each other head on in the parking lot. Then we’d go out and make some killer photos together. It was a weird chemistry.
So when I described a scene I had written about him in the first draft, where Pete Cabrinha and I were standing on the bluff and he pulled up…
“You’re in my spot,” Mike blurted out.
“That’s it! That’s great!” I said. “Can I use it?”
“Sure. Can I use your footage?”
“Sure. Can I put you on the cover of the book?”
When I talked to Jesus Cort Superstar (see blog post below), who I’d also not spoken to in ages… Cort began the conversation with those very words… “You’re in my spot.” He thought that line was great, but I immediately attributed it to the genius of Waltze.
Cort and Mike are best friends. They go everywhere together. They even went skiing to Georgia or Poland or both – probably the only open resorts. Hmmm, I wonder if they’ll ever make it back? Anyway, my point is, they are good friends, and I reminded Mike that we were not. He wanted my film for free. It was a safe time to point that out.
Cort coined Waltze with one of his Yogi Larned sayings about the size of fight in the dog. I was certainly the bigger size of the dog in that fight, but it was never really a fight, and I was more laying on your back for a belly scratch Golden Retriever than lock jaw Pit. I always had great respect for Mike. He was, after all, the King of Ho’okipa. Yet, even though we were next door neighbors and had mutual friends like Gary Eversole, Fred Haywood and Scotty O’Connor, we still kept our distance.
The first time Mike and I rubbed raw elbows was through journalism. I’d written an article in Sailboarder called “The Diamond Head Dilemma.” There was even more friction going on down there between the windsurfers and surfers than Mike and I. Richard Whyte had just gotten in a fight. Surfers were yelling at us as we zoomed by. I came up with a bunch of novel ways to defend oneself. Razor blades on the end of your boom, passive aggressive stuff like that. I ended the list with, “Move to Maui. I did.”
When I opened up the next issue of Sailboarder, there was a shocking letter to the editor from Mike. It basically stated that I was running from something. Then he blamed everyone coming to Maui on me. I reminded Mike about it, and the fact that the first photos published of Maui were of Matt and Ye. He said he couldn’t remember writing the letter and with all the Maui Wowee in the air, why not believe him? Regardless, I would actually like to have taken some of the blame from my photographs, but not the article. And if I was running from something, at least for once I ran in the right direction.
If I had a beach bungalow on Maui, Mike and I would be good friends today. We’d be kicking back, clinking glass and talking story about the glory days. I’m certain of that.
I was surprised when I received a text from Cort to give him a call. Though we have tread the same waters for years, as life takes its tacks and jibes we’ve not crossed tracks in decades. Though I’d always admired him, It would be a stretch to call us close friends. I figured he might have some briny bone to pick about the book.
I biked up to Lake Folsom, took a break and gave him a call. I won’t share the depths of the conversation to protect the innocent nor even the wicked, but suffice to say it was a wild look back. To my surprise, Cort told me that he loved the book, had read it in one sitting from start to finish. But then it came…”You know, I was more than a pretty face. I won two world championships.”
I honestly didn’t remember that. I thought Robby won them all. I know he was on fire in the early eighties and a true pioneer of Hawaiian wave jumping, as witnessed in this great photo by Steve Wilkings. Yet, all accolades aside, I’m still going with pretty face – just as I’d give his cohort Mark Robinson the speedobod award – banana hammock notwithstanding. My book didn’t delve into who won this or that championship, and certainly not those that happened pre-Maui.
Cort was a shining star for sure, and good lord, did I not refer to him in print as Jesus Cort Superstar? There’s nothing wrong with having a pretty face. I wish I had such a pretty of a face, though I’m not sure I’d have been able to handle the troubles that came with the package. Cort is certainly a legend but was not featured in my movie, Wind Legends, and though he had a cameo in the book, not highlighted enough for all he was worth. And he was worth a lot. He made more money than most of us “sponsored” sailors put together. He might have been second on the money list next to Robby. The fact is, there are so many legends in on our sport it could fill volumes.
Cort had browsed onto my FB groveling about all the big stars being mum about the book, then advised that most of them don’t really want to look back. Come on, man. Even Alex? Certainly, it could be difficult when you were once riding high and then along comes the next. Bruce, Matt, Mike, Ken, Robby, Bjorn, Antoine…any reminder of that peg knock might sting. But I would think most of them are mature enough to swallow that pill and relish their post windsurfing fame successes.
Referring to my films, Pete Cabrinha once told me that “If you’ve pleased 50% of your audience – and yourself – you’ve succeeded.”
Looking at my book from a sales perspective, I didn’t feel like I’d succeeded. Impact Zone, my first book, was far more successlful. Glory Days has been slogging along akin to when you get caught on the outside at sunset with big waves and the wind shuts off. Alas, nobody who writes a book with the intention of it being a best seller sells more than ten and since one of my daughters read it, and my Mom, I’m glad I penned it. Thank god my wife didn’t read it.
Cort is always full of wisdoms as well. I’d go as far to say he is the Yogi Berra of windsurfing. “If you want to make a small fortune, start with a large one.” Cort. He claims at his 101 BoardSports shops in the bay area that he makes “tens of dollars.” It’s just not fair that god gave him these great looks and the gift of gab as well. Of course, god gave him cancer as well, but he took that adversity with a dose of wisdom, which only gave him a higher perspective on life. If God gave him worms he’d go fishing.
I asked Cort if he had any wisdoms for me or criticisms even better. I asked him why, as talented as I was, others were largely more successful. Was it because they were more cordial with the universe? “That’s it,” he said. “A lot of people don’t get your form of humor. It’s smart, but some, they take your Seinfeldian scarcasm as just being mean.” A tough pill to swallow as I don’t mean to be mean, but I can look back on it as well as forward and then sideways to try and improve, at least to 50%. If I make myself laugh, I win.
He talked about Ken Winner and how he told him to read the book, as Ken is quite featured. I would think that at least Ken, a guy I always figured was born with a large dose of pride, would eagerly want to read about himself. But no, Ken doesn’t want to look back. Evidently, Mr. Winner’s happiest when he focuses on the present and the future. I guess a young, smart, fast foiling girlfriend helps. Maybe when he can’t keep up with her, he’ll read the book.
Then, Cort and I got to talking about shared, ahem, exploits, and the final wisdom: “It’s just as easy to marry a rich girl as a poor one.” That had the clock hands burning circles, until my Strava app beeped me. I had to jump back on the bike before the sun set so I could walk the dog. The dog doesn’t give a hoot about my book nor my humor, as long as I hand out treats.
Looking back, there are so many great guys like Cort that I wish I had spent more time getting to know. Perhaps with my brand of humor, I’d piss them all off so what’s the point. Don’t look back. But please do.
The waves were cracking, booming loudly on the reef right outside the beachside home I found myself and my family carousing. There was no wind on those waves, nor people. I picked up the phone and called Robby.
I wish that my memory matched the vivid recall of my dreams. Upon awaking, I felt as if I was still stuck in this dream, and didn’t find it that funny. Robby has always treated me well, and would never have said the things he did to me in this dream. Still, the realization that the end result is reality shook me like a Kelby doll being ragged in the turbulence of a crushing napalm. Who writes like that?
In this reality, I’d sent two of my books, Maui Glory Days, to Robby’s mom, Carol. One was signed for his family and one to read for Robby. Yes, selfishly I had hopes that he might endorse it like he does in his FB videos of this and that product. Of course, they are products of his own, but just one little photo on FB of him smiling, holding the book up with his usual hat on backwards, flashing a shaka sign would have propelled my little book into the Amazon stratosphere.
A couple of months went by and neither The King nor any of his other major disciples had not spoken highly nor lowly on SM about the book, a book largely about them. Naish, Waltze, Schweitzer, Angulo, Simmer, Polakow, Kalama, Haywood… not one word. Mumsters.
Then, Bruce Matlack included me in his anti-pumping group email, and there was The King’s email address. I thought, what the heck. I’d just write Robby to see if he had at least received the book. And then, to my surprise, Rob kindly wrote back that he’d pick it up over Christmas, right after he returned from New York and his new film premier. Ah, great, I thought! I love this guy!
With this promise in my pocket and the one that had been dragging on for months from Delius Klasing to consider publishing the book in several languages, it was hard not to get my hopes high. The publisher was just waiting on the editor from Surf magazine to give his approval or not, and if so, they’d present it at the annual meeting for strong consideration. The editor, Manuel, loved it.
Fast forward two months later. I wrote Rob again to see if he had read the book. No reply. Not that I expected one. Between business, movie producing, and wave chasing, the guy is busy as hell. It probably got buried amongst his millions of emails and I don't want him to think I’m groveling. I just want hime to read the damn book.
Worse, book sales had taken their natural course and diminished to one per week. I only make about a buck a book, so there went my dream of retiring and finishing my other five books, books that have nothing to do with windsurfing. Hemingway-esques and Steinbeck-eeks, though not as good nor depressing. Perhaps I should drink more.
Then, Delius Klasing replied that, while they and the editor both loved the book, they only did well with Instructional books. There was no market for windsurfing books. So it was all up to me and my self-publishing. And Robby. Or whiskey.
I lay down my head to sleep and like one of those long drawn out advertisements revealing what supplement do we actually need to take to get rid of this belly fat, we can finally get on with the dream:
The waves were cracking, booming loudly on the reef right outside the beachside home I found myself and my family carousing. There was no wind on those waves, nor people. I told my wife, after discussing that she doesn’t remember her dreams, at least not as vividly as I do, that I had to make a call. Book sales were suffering.
Robby began to speak before I could even say hello. “What’s up, Jonathan?”
“Oh, hey, Robby. How are you?”
“Good. What can I do for you?”
“I was just down here at… I think it’s Waltze’s, or perhaps Polakow bought it…”
“Right! Angulo’s. Anyway, the waves are cracking.”
“Right. So what is it you want?”
“Well, I was just wondering, you know, if you had a chance to read my book.”
“Nope. I told you I wasn’t interested in publishing.”
“I just thought you might find it interesting. There’s a lot about you in there. I realize there’s a lot about you in every book about windsurfing…”
“I just don’t have time nor, I hate to put it to you, the interest.”
“Well, maybe you’d enjoy some of the stories about your friends in there?”
Silence. More waves cracking. I thought I’d lost him, and then…
“Okay, Jonathan. I tell you what. Send me a fifty, a bag of dog food, and a peanut butter cup in one envelope. If the peanut butter cup isn’t crushed when I get it, I’ll read it.”
“Oh, great! Wait, what? A bag of dog food and… a peanut butter cup?”
“In other words, I’m not interested in reading it.”
He hangs up. I look at my wife and she asks me how it went. I want to tell her, but I wouldn’t want to say anything bad about The King. So I eat my words. There is a banana in there. A banana is what gives you the belly fat.
Then I woke up. Robby is still The King. He's a great guy. He's just too busy. Maybe one day, when he slows down to 80, or on a 20 hour plane trip, he'll pick up the book and start reading, and never be able to put it down.
Some people get on my case about the title of the book, in particular, Glory Days. I had a little FB contest to see which name was best… Back in the Day, Surviving Hawaii, Glub Glub…and blame Clay Feeter for convincing me Glory Days was the best. I had to add Maui to the title because some other Bruce not named Matlack had coined the song. There were also about ten religious books under the same title, which was curious, because there was a nod to the God Squad right there in the Prologue, Saving Kelby. “God wasn’t going to save Kelby. I’d have to.” Now, New Agers would claim I was the instrument, but my own horn nadda toot. Tom Pace makes a much more convincing Jesus. I did save quite a few lives over my Maui tenure, and my own okole was saved by surf god Bill Boyum one day, an unknown angel on others.
Back to my point. Youngsters and old kids claim they are in the glory days with lighter equipment and cooler colored shorts, and I’m not neon arguing that. I see maneuvers, sky high jumps and speeds attained like never before. But these were the glory days. When the equipment was evolving in a revolutionary manner, breaking from the mold of well, molds. Plastic molds. Nobody rode the same board anymore. It was all about custom and crazy designs that all somehow worked one day and were scrapped the next. Core maneuvers were being unleashed left and right and gods and goddesses of the sport were having their faces etched in the cliffs of Hookipa. So yeah, they were glory days all right, much like the day when Gerry Lopez showed up at Michael Jan Vincent’s surfspot on a short board. I sign my book, Glorious Days Ahead, and I hope to have a few left in me.
With Luderitz wrapped for some of the fastest wind powered beings on the planet, I wanted to reflect on the origins of how windsurfers became faster than a speeding bullet. In my book I charted the history of speedsailing so I won’t rehash the whole of it here, just the seedlings planted (peanuts from Planters no doubt). BITD (Back in the day, for those that think BITD stands for some sort of shot one would need to receive from the speed arenas of today), very few people were focused on speed. It was all about the evolution of gear enabled for riding waves. So when Fred (Haywood), who lived on the same property in Kuau, Maui, as I, started dragging out speed needle after speed needle, all shaped by housemate Jimmy Lewis, I thought of how isolated his efforts were. He talked about some guy named Pascal Maka, and how Jimmy was shaping these boards for him to break the speed record at some place called Weymouth. I thought he had been having one too many Vermouths, but Fred didn’t drink. Nor did he smoke. He just chased women, and was already breaking speed records in that regard.
Fred would lend me one of his boards – he had about 20 scattered about the lawn – and I would try to keep up with him. It was a vain effort.
Fred came back from this Weymouth after breaking the 30 knot barrier, riding high and adorned by the press like some kind of Greek folk hero. The accolades were large and long lived. Then along came this scrawny kid from Breast, or was it Brest? Straight out of Gunsmoke, he had pistols at the hip and came slinging. Yes, it was Brest, he was French, but spoke with an accent which I had lost all track of due to living on Maui where the accents were a blended cacophony. Anyway, I laughed. Fred was King. There was no knocking him off. He had kicked Pascal’s ass and wasn’t that enough of a lesson for the French?
So there I was finally keeping up with Fred on a speedboard at Sprecks, a heavy movie camera atop a helmet strapped to my head long before the word GoPro was coined. And then this kid comes blazing into the picture from behind, throwing smoke from his gun like he was from another planet (scene is in the credits of the movie, Impact Zone). Then the kid went out and broke the 40 knot barrier. It was long ago.
Fast forward to today, and rewind the past few years to this little gunslinger’s challenges. Other gunslingers had swung into town and swooped the record away. Speedsailing had become a thing, and ditches were dug to support it. The kid was greying now, yet continued to battle. Then came a bigger bullet that struck the kid, a cannonball they call C. It tried to put him down more than once and he met each challenge, still marching forward.
This year, he showed up at Luderitz and gave it his all, throwing down remarkable speeds and claiming his place amongst the top ten speedsailors in the world. Against bigger sailors, he strapped himself with lead and wrapped himself in a wingsuit to counter the drag of hurricane force desert winds and with that, in my mind, he was the winner.
Kid Victorious…Erik Beale. Lifetime achievement award.
Reflecting upon the most recent Aloha Classic. I wanted to offer the musings of an old blowhard who witnessed many Aloha Classics and the competitors that came before and without reservations compare. After all, I was there in the beginning as a competitor and water photographer. I rarely watched a contest from shore, most often silently offering my throwaway scorecard to the gods. I had the best view in the house. This time around, my only view was in live stream, or a few seconds delay (the countdown clock a bit off from the horn).
First off, I have to say that my body took a lot less abuse from my position (though bedridden with the Florida Flu). If you read my book, Maui Glory Days, you would know that the goods scored to survival ratio was pretty small. Contests are a hard thing to shoot from the water with so few people in the water and none interested in lining up with you for the shot. I must have dove under a thousand waves and taken a few to the head for every good shot or movie clip. One time I experimented with a remote live feed from my water camera to Casey Bennet’s TV truck. Where was my drone? So in the respect of coverage, I would say some things are better these days, unless you take into account that film rules over video. Maybe Alex, Mike and Robby weren’t as spectacular in their duels in the movie, Impact Zone, but talk about surfing style and film resolution… just an old fart’s opinion I guess. Maybe it was just that when I filmed a contest, the sun was out, the water was blue, the wind was blowing. The riders were on rollercoasters.
Slugfest vs. Slogfest
Were the conditions “all time” and “epic” beyond belief? Not in old blowhards opine. Challenging, sizeable, absolutely. But the best days at Hookipa are when the faces are bowled up with plenty of wind to power. This is when it’s logo to mast high. Anything above that and the rip plows through the wave and makes it akin to skiing the last run of a great powder day… when it’s already been chewed up. 6 to 8 feet? First one on the lift. Kudos to how these guys handled it, but I can remember going through the "dailies" of that epic, classic final between Mike and Alex. Ten minutes of solid action (no 20 minute heats bitd). How to cut it down? And Why?
From a competitor’s standpoint, I would have given a left nut to compete under the scoring system they used at this year’s AC. Best two wave rides are scored, that’s it? No jumps? Being a heavyweight and no flair for jumping, I could never advance through the light air heats, because bitd you were scored on quantity, on constant activity. Dunkerbeck would have never won a contest at Hookipa under the current scoring system. That’s what the world cup guys brought to the table with their multitude of gear for every equation - activity, big jumps - not waveriding skills. I’m not such a blowhard as to say that when it wasn’t blowing hard that I could match up with the surfing style of a Dave Daly, but there were plenty of world cup guys that lacked the Ho’okipa experience and wave riding knowledge of even the most mediocre of Mauians. With a two wave quality scoring system, even the Maui Wanna lady who sold popsicles on the beach could have had a “party on their face” li dat. Okay, that’s taking it a bit too far, but you get the point, maybe. Not saying I’m for or against it, for better or worse. the new scoring really changes the game. Where’s my time machine and can I have my can opener back off the rocks? Too bad, so sad, my wife would say. Take out the garbage.
Kai Katchedourian, who did a fantastic job of lending his enthusiasm and knowledge of the sport through the mic, said, quote: “Everybody out here is the best there has ever been in the sport.” Now, Kai’s awesome and all, but not sure if I can get on board with that sentiment, and why would I? I'm an old fart. Of course, everyone thinks their generation’s stars are the best that’s ever been, but champions have come and gone and there’s still only one King. And one King of Hookipa. Post a photo of Robby if you want a million hits. And Mark Angulo and Jason Polakow. I would confess though that if Kai Lenny put his time into it, there would be no argument. Hit hit hits, I've never seen a guy make two hits in a row so quickly, so fluidly. But Robby and my Glory Days riders? They invented those moves.
Yeah, that Sabutai Samurai kid is pretty awesome, too. But no rider today has the full compliment of the sport going. Nobody rules all disciplines. That doesn’t even exist today. Whuhappened to the Slalom event? Specialties, it's a sandwich shop in my book. Not that book. That book has Picnics and Spinach Nut Burgers.
Well, like I’ve already blown hard enough, much harder than it blew in this year's edition of the Aloha Classic, another event to fall under the curse of the contest. The rocks are well fed. As for the TV show put on by Zone Media (nice take off of Impact Zone Productions, BTW), I thoroughly enjoyed the coverage, the drone work, and mostly because Kai K was so damn ayeyiyeyieyie drum banging entertaining. He got so wound up and then let it fly like few I’ve ever heard. I hope he takes up the mic more often and does a podcast or something.
Yes, this old blowhard comes from a professional broadcasting world. I’ve produced for the NBA Magic and Thunder, and worked on shows for PGA Pebble Beach, had my own Central Coast Sports show on CBS. We had some elaborate setups, and here was Kai on his grandmas couch and blankey throw, with who’s on first Funkman (playing Dick Smothers to Tommy), and the guests like Matt Schweitzer calling his son’s heat, and Craig Yester (the Yester Days), and the many other guests that filled the sad moments of chop ripped waves under grey skies and struggling to stay afloat and off the rocks, they all made it a show. And of course, the guys that went on those rocks.
Maui Glory Days. I'll still take them.
Seal Beach, 1970. Bruce Matlack is portrayed in Sunset Magazine riding what seems to be an actual wave forming. How many can say they sported a sail number under 1000? He was, as coined in "Wind Legends: The History of Windsurfing," one of the first "Johnny Appleseeds" of our sport.
I met Bruce at a SoCal regatta, one of those family gatherings where people followed Bruce around the race course. Or was it at San Felipe, Mexico? A thick marine layer fogs the memory of the exact time and place. Huntington Lake? But what remains clear in scrapbook of my mind is Bruce and his gal Markie, the friendliest folk on the "tour" sharing stories in the shade of their VW van. Bruce, talking at a feverish pace, spewing his passion for the sport. Markie, calming his rants when they hit the tops of the thermometer. Me, a kid with big hair soaking it all up as if I was listening to Bear from Big Wednesday.
I recall asking Bruce why he was so fast, and was it just that he was so skinny. His flyweight yellow board, a reject snuck out the back of Hoyle's young factory by the workers for ten bucks, was perhaps a weapon. A flash of callous and flex of the sinew proved it was from a long marriage with the teak boom.
One of the first dealers of the Windsurfer (Bob Pefley, my boss in Santa Barbara Harbor was perhaps the first), Bruce set up shop in Seal Beach and sold gobs of the great white whales of death (Clay Feeter coined it). But this was years after the young Matlack toured the country seeking takers. Nobody took. Certainly I knew I was the first "redneck to step foot on one" – read the damn book, ya'll – when Dave Ullmann (famous sailor/sailmaker from Newport Beach) brought one with him to a 470 Regatta in Gulfport.
I had asked Hoyle for an interview for Wind Legends, but even though Matt was pleading with him to do it (and I had traveled quite far at the promise), Hoyle turned turtle when I told him I was from Georgia. He had forgotten who I was, the memory of my big hair mashed to pieces by lawyers and patent fights. The mere mention of Georgia set him off, as when he was traveling the country with long hair and this surfboard thang, some rednecks beat him up. Oh well, I didn't get the interview with him but I did get one from Bruce, who invited me to Florida to pore through magazines and old films he'd collected over the years. The guy was a walking talking encyclopedia, and had some two buck chuck to share as well.
Well, I'm rambling, so off I go. But before I do, I must remind you that Bruce Matlack has stood on a board for more years than any other human in history, and was the first champion of our sport. And to buy the damn book.
P.S. Bruce says, "no pumping." Ya'll do look like a bunch of air humpers. If you need to do that for exercise, go to the gym or get a room.
I had lived for the past year in Rio Vista, riding a Simmer Pure Slalom board and Enduro sail, doing some fast runs but also a lot of walks of shame (back upwind up current along the road). Honestly, I never really dug the brown bumpy water, it hurt the knees and was just a short quick run and back weaving through kiters. I’d say 20 years on Maui spoiled my ass. Then I got a job in Sacramento and thought, okay, time to just hang up the cleats. But I found this tiny spit of water where guys invited me to race Lasers and Thistles on the West side of the city. It was ugly industrial ship cargo on one side, but on the other, a clean sweep where the last of the Delta breeze could roll through in the late afternoon. I noticed a couple of guys out windsurfing, one on an old Mistral Equipe longboard (John Mathias) and Skip Goncalves on his Naish foil. There was a lady with a big smile out there as well, Barbara West. I thought, I haven’t been on a longboard since the ’79 Internationals. I’ll give it a shot. Surprisingly, it was a nice feeling, and easy on my rusting parts.
Fast forward a year later, and I saw this Windsurfer LT. I’m good friends with Bruce Matlack, so I ended up buying the first board out on the Left Coast. The rig was too small for my fat ass, so I rang Kai Katchedourian up and reminded him when he was still in diapers, I was a team rider, so he gave me the bro deal on a 7.8 Simmer Race XT, about the right size for the lake. The wind comes up here around 5 like clockwork, and blows 10-15, with some days blowing harder when a front comes through. There’s a bigger lake up the way, Lake Folsom, but I’d already spent 14 years there doing time so the sight of the place brought back bad train wrecks of thought.
We have races every Tuesday night throughout the Summer. I did okay in these for an old fart, and had some great battles with John. Skip went off to some stupid lake in Italy so there really wasn’t a whole lot of interest from people watching us sail around the course, but up to 15 were just coming out to play. Tried to start a Green fleet but they just were against going upwind to a weather mark. I guess triangle racing is too difficult. Maybe a different course for next year.
Skip teaches at Sac State and a windsurfing school, while John just donates his time at the club putting on rigging and beginner clinics. Skip helps out as well and Sam Studer does the same down at the Delta but what a horrible place to learn. I helped out at a couple of clinics for UC Davis Sailing Team and a large group of Boy Scouts. When I found an older Scout really into it, I gave him some personal coaching. He said he wanted to windsurf for the rest of his life. I’m like, do you have any career plans? Yeah, he’s already accepted to Stanford Engineering. Okay. So I wanted to tell him about my book but at the time I had some questionable material in it. I went back and took all that stuff out, or most of it.
We had one event, the Capitol Cup (Sacramento was once home to Arnold), and the bay area boys came up with their big sails and big skill and kicked our ass. But it was mid day and the wind was mediocre so only the big sail boys got planing in the Open Class, no excuses. It was the first fleet race for Windsurfer LTs. Skip Boman won Open Class and Bradley Wilson the LTs.
We also had a nice field trip rerouted from O'Neill Forebay to Rancho Seco (see nukes) because well, it was nuking at Rancho Seco.
That's Diane Barnhardt holding the flag. I think she's the youngest at the club and out there every day. Gerry (atric) is our resident triathlete, getting better every day, as is Derek. They're also at the club every single damn day.
Paul Hewitt, who used to work for Barry Spanier at Maui Sails, is one the foilers on the lake. He makes the F4 protos just a block away. I was fortunate to be hired by him to shoot his factory and studio shots for his website, www.rocketcomposites.com it’s quite an impressive operation. Noted, he also came out for our club regatta and sailed old school with a Windsurfer Comp without a harness, and almost took me down in one race. There was another guy came out and raced with a Slingshot foil. He’d pass me downwind but I figured if I gave him a good shadow as he did so, he’d come off the foil, and did. Not happy mixing foil racers with old school, but I’m a grump.
The past couple of weekends it’s been windy so the guys have been running speed challenges, timing on apps for top speed. I tried to out categorize them with length of board, weight and age of sailor, number of donuts eaten. I think Skip won the short boards with 31 something and I won my categories on the LT at 23.5. We had beer for trophies. They go good with donuts. That's my app recording, looks like a cosmopolitan drink. There's also a wind recording, you can see it's sort of gusty.
It looks like the sport is growing here year over year and it is largely due to the efforts of John Mathias. It takes people to drive a fleet. If you’re in the area, come join us. It’s only about 100 bucks a year to join, and even less to use all the club gear. We’re working on getting 5 together for the LT fleet deal but people are always slow to pull out their wallet, particularly when it comes to buying my book! Old school, new school, it’s a mix of mutts and really doesn’t matter as long as you get out on the water and go sailing.
Skip Goncalves setting speed record on Lake Washington.
Me tooling around on a typical Midsummers Eve.
Skip's drone footage of light wind regatta.
I missed this event visiting my folks in Atlanta, but viewed it on TV. Great event! Rhonda and Matt win again! From Rhonda's scrapbook featuring a Pipeline ad.
DT: From the moment I opened the book, the past leapt out of my old Maui Glory Days and shook me like a rag. You have produced a fantastic body of work about a galaxy of time filled with windsurfing stars!
JW: Dude, can I quote you on that?! Man, you are some writer. You should have written the book.
DT: Nope, you nailed that era. This is a prodigious work, a real testament to the incredible history of the sport so many of us, and me in particular, have and will always love.
JW: You had me at prodigious. I don't even know what that means.
DT: Colossal, amazing, beyond the imagination.
JW: I have an imagination, let's leave it at that.
DT: Imagination, but I know the events you spoke of were real. I was there for many, and your photography truly brings that world to life. But what do you mean in the book description by “Fictitious dialogue?”
JW: I meant, it’s a story unlike my first book, Impact Zone. That book was a bit more creative than your typical non-fiction book. But what I‘m alluding to is, you can’t accurately recall dialogue from decades past. That’s not saying that the conversations didn’t take place. I just can’t remember them word for word. Actually, some I do, like the conversation with Craig Maisonville, because his words were powerful and stuck. “You surprise me.” I never understood but can never forget something like that. I think he just thought I'd never amount to more than DweebMeat.
DT: Not surprising. The book is definitely for windsurfers and old school at that, but it seems to be the first ever to have a chance at crossing over to a general audience. To me, probably the best writing in the book is the RomCom (romantic comedy). Give me an example of something RomCom made up.
JW: Awe, man, you’re pressing me. Well, I didn’t ever really have a Kelby crush. I met her when she was quite young. I guess I was young too but she was much younger and Matt’s girl. Same with Rhonda Smith (Sanchez). She was Jesus Cort Superstar’s girl, so my mind never really went there, at least not until I saw that she was married to someone else and I missed that dreamboat. Believe it or not, I was more attracted to her sailing brevity and personality though the looks, okay, I’ll stop there.
DT: Any of the girls in the book, have they reached out to you?
JW: Well, Kelby did when Peter Boyd died, but I haven’t heard from her since I wrote the Prologue. In some things, I stretched the truth. I’m a storyteller by nature. But in other cases, I can’t begin to put into words the intensity of the moment. When Kelby looked at me in full freak mode, that was one of those indescribable moments. I rewrote that section a hundred times, and still barely scratched the surface. Kelby and I talked about it when she called, so I know it stuck with her as well, but she’d may not have wanted the world to know about it. And the God Squad stuff, touchy subject, but I tried to portray people as truthfully as I’m capable. I certainly held some stuff back about others, but it’s no secret about Kelby’s devotion. She’s actually quite the gospel musician and I love her voice.
DT: Held some stuff back. Give me some dirt. Come on, man.
JW: Sleeping dogs, let them lie.
DT: What about the local girl, “Lisa.” That must have been an intense moment, her parents about to take you to the cane field. "I thought you were a good boy, Jonathan!"
JW: Lisa. Yeah, ha. I saw her one day in the Wailuku Library. She had turned from Hawaiian Goddess into well, a bookworm. And the Eveready Bunny, she FB’d me out of the blue and was one of the first buyer’s of the eBook. She said what I wrote hurt, and that she didn’t know about what was happening at the time. So, I rewrote that part and took a lot of stuff out regarding the highest and lowest of times. I made up the North South dialogue, and it’s actually my favorite. Anyway, the Eveready Bunny asked me to recall “our” song. Sadly, I could not. It was “Every Breath You Take.” I thought that song was about three wave hold unders.
DT: What did your wife think about writing a story about all the girls you slept with before her?
JW: Well, I didn't really write about any sleeping. She’s a good sport but my harshest critic. She told me my writing was disjointed. I'm like, You're Russian, what do russians know about writing? Maybe it was more disjointed than Tolstoy or Dostoevsky, but the same paragraph she quoted as being poor writing has been highlighted in more than one book review quote and a few FB quote pulls as well.
DT: Which one was that?
JW: The first paragraph of the Intro. “I was fourteen. The first redneck to step foot on one.”
DT: You were born in Georgia, right? What happened to your accent?
JW: The waves knocked it out of me I guess.
DT: So, speaking of stepping onto one, you wrote about boards having "Mana," instilled with energy and spirit of the maker. Do you really believe in that?
JW: I know it sounds a bit crazy and I don't go in for much hu hu stuff, but in big surf I would rather ride an asymmetrical made by the hands of Craig Maisonville than the lightest production board from a factory. Though heavier, it sticks to the water in choppy conditions and carves, whereas my RR carbon board just skipped out and sent me for a trip on the rocks. I know that doesn't scale and I'm plenty happy riding my Windsurfer LT which of course is made in China, but back in the day, if you were lucky you rode boards with Mana.
DT: What about sails? Is there Mana in sails?
JW: Any object. I loved my Maui Sails made by the hands of the same guys I was on the water and friends with, same with my Simmers. Then I tried sails made by someone whose energy was not in sync with mine, and to this day I try them and can't get them to work for me. But I think it's more about the board. Larry Bertlemann gave me his world championship winning surfboard to convert, and I think that board had more Mana than anything I ever rode or even shaped myself. I wish I still had pictures of it and all the other boards I made at Town & Country, but they're gone with the wind.
DT: We share the same bad luck with photos being destroyed or stolen. What happened with yours?
JW: Most of them were tossed in the Makawao landfill by my ex-girlfriend's mother. The mold in Haiku was eating away at them so I stored large boxes in her dry attic. I also had a bunch of magazines I'd been published in, including French Photo and Playboy, so I guess she didn't like them competing with her daughter and threw them out. She said all the slides looked the same. You've seen one windsurfing off the lip you've seen them all. Luckily, I had one box in my bedroom which contained the slides you see on this site and in the book.
DT: At least you have those.
JW: Yes, be thankful for what we have. The ones I regret losing the most were stolen before that by my first local friend. There were boxes of slides I had packed inside of my surfboard box when I moved to Maui. Not the earliest Kailua days but 79-80 there was a lot happening and I had much of it documented. I have a few local friends I'd go to war with and I thought this guy was one of them, but he was ripping me blind. Gave me a ride to the airport and nabbed my board out of the baggage line. Not much security in those days.
DT: What is your biggest regret in your career?
JW: Hands down not going to the award ceremony for Sports Photo of the Year. I think I touched on that in the book, where I had already booked and paid for my travel to Boot Dusseldorf. My career had moved into filmmaking and that photo was a lucky shot. I thought I'd never look back but I am now. If I had gone I would have met some incredible connections. Bronwen Latimer, the photo editor for SI that submitted the photo, now is the same for the Washington Post. Maybe it wasn't in my cards but sometimes you deal your own deck, and that was taking the wrong fork in the road.
DT: What was the highlight of your career?
JW: Probably the same, winning that award. There were 36,000 entrants, and the incredible photographers and their photos I was competing against, it still boggles my mind. But sailing wise, aside from that giant day of slalom racing, any good day at Hookipa with friends out. Friends like you, Dave Terry.