You searched for google/Kelly Slater - ��ԹϺ�� Online

The Lazy, Crazy Guide to Sand Land

sperkins-pom

Best Surfing Waves BATHSHEBA, BARBADOS: Soupbowl, a reef break with a powerful right on the island’s undeveloped east coast, has been hosting wintertime surfing competitions for 20 years, but thanks to an Atlantic exposure, good waves can be found year-round. The Soupbowl scene heats up in November, when the Independence Pro (celebrating Barbados’s 1966 break from Britain) draws surfers hoping for southwest winds and deep barrels. Kelly Slater won last year. For details, contact the Barbados Surfing Association (246-228-5117, www.bsasurf.org). HALEIWA, OAHU, HAWAII: Its exposure to huge swells makes Oahu’s North Shore (a.k.a. the Seven Mile Miracle) the most epic surf magnet in the universe. Winter storms generate rolling monsters made famous at spots like Pipeline and Sunset Beach, but beginners can enjoy Chuns Reef and Puaena Point, where weaker currents and a softer bottom make for a gentler entrée to the sport. For lessons ($65 for a three-hour group lesson) and rentals ($24-$30 per day) contact the Surf-N-Sea shop (808-637-7873, www.surfnsea.com). PUERTO ESCONDIDO, MEXICO: The “Mexican Pipeline” is a legendary beach break with left- and right-hand tubes at Zicatela Beach. In March, the Central Surf Longboard Invitational is held here, kicking off the summer season of big southern swells. If the Pipeline’s too gnarly for you, walk a bit farther south to La Punta, where you’ll often find an easier point breaking left—a slower, rounder learner’s wave. For classes, check in with the Central Surf Shop ($50 per two-hour lesson and $10-$12 for all-day board rentals; 011-52-954-582-2285, www.centralsurfshop.com). Best Hipster Hangouts

A thin slice of paradise: Grenada's Sandy Island (Corel)

BEST DANCE CLUB

Salon Rosado de La TropicalThis is the hottest salsa venue in Cubaâ€”and therefore the world. You can’t help but get your bacon shakin’ at this giant outdoor arena, where you can catch white-hot acts such as NG La Banda, Los Van Van, Paulito y su Elite, and other Cuban greats along with thousands of gyrating fans. Salon Rosado is in a barrio of Havana on 41st Avenue between 46 and 44, Municipio Playa.

JAKE’S JAMAICA: Eclectic Jake’s, part of the super-chic Island Outpost group (owned by Island Records’ Chris Blackwell), is an intimate jumble of adobe buildingsÂ—accented by a thumping reggae soundtrackÂ—atop a south-coast cliff near Treasure Beach’s dark sands. Denizens of cool are many hereÂ—you could bump into Bono in the mosaic-tiled saltwater pool if you’re not lazing about in Seapuss, Sweetlip, or one of the 11 other brightly painted gingerbread cottages done up with island paintings. Be sure to try Jake’s pumpkin soup at the restaurant (doubles from $95; 800-688-7678.HOTEL DESEO, MEXICO: Pack the Gucci shadesÂ—this “hotel and lounge” on Playa del Carmen’s Fifth Avenue places a heavy emphasis on the lounge part of the equation. Note the Euro-tinged accents wafting through the air as bronzed gods and goddesses sun away last night’s party on daybeds lining the upstairs deck. Grab a cerveza at the bar, then hop in the outdoor Jacuzzi. The 15 elegantly sparse guest roomsÂ—grooviest on the Mayan RivieraÂ—feature marble toilets and clawfoot tubs (doubles from $118; 011-52-984-879-3620, www.hoteldeseo.com).LALUNA, GRENADA: Sixteen airy villasÂ—each with a Balinese four-poster bed and an expansive private deck that includes a plunge poolÂ—cover a hillside above Laluna’s secluded beach. Welcome to an Italian-owned and -designed enclave of fabulousness near Morne Rouge. When you’re not diving or kayaking, sample the fresh Mediterranean pasta in the beachside restaurant and keep an eye peeled for former megamodel Jerry Hall (doubles from $270; 473-439-0001, www.laluna.com).Best Beaches

Try to keep it to yourself : Hawaii's secretive Piopu Beach (Corel)

SECRET BEACH, KAUAI, HAWAII: At the base of 150-foot cliffs west of Kilauea, this two-mile stretch of gold-glowing sand draws its name from its remote location (and the presence of nude sunbathers). To get in on the Secret, you have to drive two miles west from Kilauea to Kalihiwai, go a half-mile down a muddy road to the trailhead, then walk five minutes on a rocky path. Once you’re there, you’ll want to comb the beach and lounge around, but it’s best not to swim: From October to May, swells can be quite large, and currents are always strong. The folks at Kayak Kauai are knowledgeable and can help with directions (800-437-3507, www.islandout post.com/jakes). SANDY CAY, BRITISH VIRGIN ISLANDS: This uninhabited 14-acre nirvana southeast of Jost Van Dyke can be reached only by boaters, namely yachties, but its crystalline waters and gleaming white sand make it well worth chartering a ride yourself. Daytrippers are welcome to anchor on the island, owned by Laurance Rockefeller, and bask on his beach or hike the 20 minutes it takes to circle Sandy Cay or venture up the trail through its interior. Call Caribbean Connection for charters (284-494-3623). ST. JOSEPH PENINSULA STATE PARK, PORT ST. JOE, FLORIDA: Rated America’s best beach by Dr. Beach himself (Stephen Leatherman, a coastal geologist who assesses the health of the nation’s sandy stretches), the 2,516-acre park is bounded by St. Joe Bay and the Gulf of Mexico, with 14 miles of coastline. Highlights include snowy sand dunes, wildlife (this is a primo spot for spotting hawks and monarch butterflies), and the bliss of seeing nary another soul (campsites, $15 per night; 800-326-3521 for reservations, 850-227-1327 for information).Best Eco-Lodges

Best Mercado

Oaxaca City, Mexico Fresh chocolate ground with almonds and vanilla, colorful baskets teeming with seasoned grasshoppers, and cheap rocket-fuel-style mescal are just a few of the local treats to be found in this sprawling outdoor market, where Indian women hawk everything from power tools to turkeys. (www.oaxacaoaxaca.com)

LODGE AT PICO BONITO, HONDURAS: The 8,000-foot peak of Pico Bonito sets the backdrop for this 200-acre nature resort close to the Caribbean coast, where 21 cabins (constructed from hurricane-felled timber) are tucked among a grove of cacao and coffee trees. A poolside bar serves fresh grapefruit juice straight from the orchards on the property, while a restaurant with an outdoor patio offers Meso-American cuisine. Pico Bonito National Park is next door, and the Class II-IV Cangrejal River flows nearby. For a less frothy adventure, paddle a canoe through the mangroves of Cuero y Salado Park, near La Ceiba. Watch for 275 species of birds, including the long-tailed manakin, as well as jaguars, kinkajous, and monkeys (doubles from $155; 888-428-0221, www.www.picobonito.com). EXOTICA, DOMINICA: The lodge’s eight wooden cottages overlooking the sea on the slopes of 3,683-foot Morne Anglais have a genuine eco-pedigree—they’re run by the president of the Caribbean Conservation Society, Athie Martin. The units have tropical-hardwood verandas, pine-paneled living rooms, and fully equipped kitchens with gas stoves and solar-heated water. Guests can prepare their own meals with fresh-picked produce from an adjoining organic farm or dine at the lodge’s café. Aside from soaking in the get-back-to-the-land vibe, there are diversions: Wander old hunting trails through forests looking for bananaquit birds, hike an hour up to Middleham Falls near Cochrane, or go play in the sea (doubles from $140; 767-448-8839, www.www.exotica-cottages.com). HOTELITO DESCONOCIDO, MEXICO: Here’s proof that a stay at an eco-resort doesn’t have to be an exercise in austerity. Sixty miles south of Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific coast, Desconocido is as plush as environmentally oriented accommodations come: Think Mexican fishing village meets luxury safari camp. Palafitos (wood-floored bungalows with palapa roofs) are set up on stilts around a stunning lagoon and a 100-acre beach reserve where sea turtles nest from June to January. Use the lodge’s equipment to windsurf, or take a horseback ride along the beach, then head back to one of the 30 rustic-chic guest rooms, which feature canopied beds, open-air showers, and embroidered linens—but no electricity. Solar energy powers the resort, and countless candles provide soft lighting (doubles from $215; 800-851-1143, www.hotelito.com). TIAMO RESORTS, SOUTH ANDROS, BAHAMAS: Sea kayaking, sailing, diving, snorkeling, and a quiet beach are all a coconut’s throw away from Tiamo’s lodge and eight bungalows on stilts with views over South Bight’s teal waters. The resort is supremely eco-friendly—it’s solar-powered and uses composting toilets; guests are asked to pack out their plastic goods for recycling. Bring your fly rods—bonefish are abundant in the flats right out the front door. Afterward, head to the main lodge for Chef Jared’s seared tuna with red-pepper-and-mango sauce (doubles from $205; 800-201-4356, www.tiamoresorts.com). KANANTIK, BELIZE: Situated on 300 private acres (with an airstrip) in southern Belize, Kanantik Reef and Jungle Resort redefines “isolated”: The only neighbors are the jaguars and toucans that haunt the Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary, four miles south, and the whale sharks that migrate offshore. Ancient Mayan building traditions have been updated to 21st-century cush in the 25 spacious cabañas that line the palm-fringed beach, where you can launch a sea kayak. You can also dive, fish for bill- and bonefish, sail one of the resort’s Hobie Cats, or tour the temples at Xunantunich ruins, near the Guatemalan border. Refuel with the restaurant’s Creole-Mediterranean fare (doubles from $265; 800-965-9689, www.kanantik.com).Best Dive Destinations

Best Plunge Pool with a View

Ladera Resort, St. Lucia Refreshing cold-water plunge pools are the perfect treat after a sweat-in-the-sun activity, and they’ve become a trend at boutique resorts. Ladera’s set the gold standard—each room has its own private plunge pool, with spectacular views from the resort’s primo perch on a ridge overlooking the ocean and St. Lucia’s famed Pitons. (doubles from $290; 758-459-7323, www.ladera-stlucia.com)

Into the Caribbean’s clear blue wonders

DRIFT DIVING LITTLE CAYMAN’S BLOODY BAY WALL MARINE PARK: Bloody Bay is a notch every diver wants to carve into his or her weight belt, with good reason—gliding over the edge of a mile-deep vertical drop as the wall disappears into the depths of the Caribbean Sea is an unbeatable thrill. Orange and brown sponges jut from all directions, and sea turtles, spotted eagle rays, and groupers swim about. Three-night packages, including lodging, meals, and diving, start at $645 at the clubby Little Cayman Beach Resort (800-327-3835, www.littlecayman.com). VIEWING WHALE SHARKS OFF UTILA, HONDURAS: Your best bet for encountering 25- to 40-foot whale sharks, the largest fish in the sea (don’t worry, they eat plankton, not humans), is to sign up with Princeton, N.J.-based Shark Research Institute. During a weeklong visit at their field station at Utila Lodge, on one of the Bay Islands off Honduras in the Caribbean Sea, you’ll learn how to find the mammoth spotted creatures, dive with them, and help researchers with population studies. Seven-night packages, including lodging, meals, and diving, cost $1,150 per person (609-921-3522, www.sharks.org). DIVING THE SHORES OF BONAIRE: The shore-diving capital of the world has outstanding dive sites just duck walks from the beach. (Salt and Old Town piers are favorite spots.) The strictly regulated Bonaire Marine Park surrounds the island—a 111-square-mile Dutch outpost off the Venezuelan coast—and protects its coral, sea turtles, and fish. Buddy Dive Resort (866-462-8339, www.buddydive.com) offers eight-day, seven-night packages, including rental car and six days of unlimited air fills, starting at $965 per person. DIVING PINNACLES IN SABA MARINE PARK: Saba—a five-square-mile mountainous outcrop in the Netherlands Antilles—is legendary for its underwater pinnacles and seamounts, including Third Encounter and Twilight Zone. Covered in red and orange fans and sponges, they rise from the floor of the Caribbean Sea to within 85 feet of the surface, and are frequented by six varieties of shark. Sea Saba Advanced Dive Center (800-883-7222, www.seasaba.com) offers three-day, six-dive packages starting at $399 per person at the eco-funky El Momo Cottages.Best Archaeological Sites

Lost world found: Tikal National Park, Guatemala (Weststock)

TIKAL NATIONAL PARK, GUATEMALA: The overused term “lost world” finally feels appropriate when you first glimpse the Mayan ruins of Tikal, once a thriving metropolis of 100,000 people that peaked around a.d. 700. Temple IV, Great Plaza, and South Acropolis, the major ruins in this 143-square-mile park in northern Guatemala, poke out of a mist-shrouded canopy, while toucans flutter, monkeys chatter, and coatimundis cross your path. Visit when the park opens at dawn—trails of vapor rise from the ruins like departing spirits. You’ll find the rustic, backpacker-friendly Jaguar Inn (doubles, $48; 011-502-926-0002, www.lacasadedondavid.com/index.html) near the entrance to the park. FORT JEFFERSON, DRY TORTUGAS NATIONAL PARK, FLORIDA: The seven islands that make up the Dry Tortugas National Park—70 miles west of Key West—were discovered by Europeans in 1513, when Ponce de Léon arrived and named them after the sea turtles that fed his sailors. The islands are still known for their marine life, but the ruins of Fort Jefferson, on 16-acre Garden Cay, are the main attraction. Construction on the red-brick fort began in 1846 but was never completed. Reach Garden Cay by seaplane ($179 per person round-trip; Sea Planes of Key West, 800-950-2359, www.seaplanesofkeywest.com) or boat ($109 per person; Yankee Fleet, 800-634-0939, www.yankeefreedom.com). As you approach it, the six-sided, three-story fort hovers over the Atlantic like a mirage. In 2003, camping will be available on the beach ($3 per person; 305-242-7700, www.nps.gov/drto). RIVER OF RUINS TRIP THROUGH MEXICO AND GUATEMALA: This Indiana Jones-style river tour of Mayan ruins begins in Palenque, Mexico. You’ll fly to Tikal National Park in Guatemala, and then ride back to Mexico by river on 20- to 80-foot plank boats called lanchas. During your cruise along the Pasion, Petexbatun, and Usumacinta rivers, you’ll frequent 1,500-year-old sites like Aguateca and Yaxchilan, accessible only by hiking. A ten-day trip with Ceiba ��ԹϺ��s (800-217-1060, www.ceibaadventures.com) costs $2,550 per person.Best Fishing

Walk this way: stepping into Cuba’s Cayo Largo

BONEFISHÂ—LA TORTUGA IN JARDINES DE LA REINA, CUBA: Combine live-aboard and lodge fishing in these pristine flats 40 miles off the island’s southwest coast. A lack of commercial fishing and a dearth of people mean you can cast a fly into waters few others have ever fished. Avalon Fishing and Diving Center is based at a floating lodgeÂ—three large boats with 17 cabinsÂ—and uses a fleet of skiffs for fishing. Expert Cuban guides pole you through shallow water around cays as you cast for the elusive fork-tailed torpedoes. Eight-day trips cost $2,400 (011-39-335-814-9111, www.avalons.net).TARPONÂ—RÃO COLORADO, COSTA RICA: With howler monkeys screeching at you from the trees onshore while a 100-pound tarpon hurls itself out of the RÃo Colorado at the end of your line, it’s hard to imagine a more intense fishing spot than here in northeastern Costa Rica. But just keep concentrating and you’ll be reeling in tarpon aplenty at this spawning ground where the river meets the Caribbean Sea. Base yourself at Archie Field’s RÃo Colorado Lodge, which offers 18 plain but comfortable rooms on stilts, right on the riverbanks ($380 per person per day, including guides, meals, and boat; 800-243-9777, www.riocoloradolodge.com).PERMITÂ—ASCENSIÃ“N BAY, MEXICO: In the heart of the YucatÃ¡n’s Sian Ka’an Biosphere Reserve, a 1,304,688-acre UNESCO World Heritage site, this massive expanse of saltwater flats is one of the world’s best places to catch a permit on a fly. Your odds of hooking a bonefish or a tarpon are pretty good, tooÂ—AscensiÃ³n Bay is often called the Grand Slam Capital of the fishing world. Most anglers situate themselves in or near the tiny fishing village of Punta Allen; the best place to stay is a four-bedroom guest house, SeaClusion Villa, five miles from town ($2,500 a week, per person, including transport from CancÃºn; 888-829-9420, www.seaclusionmexico.com).Best (Affordable) Beachfront Resorts

BEST TIKI DRINK

The Horny MonkeyYou’ve sampled barrels of mai-tais, pina coladas, and margaritas, but have you ever faced down a horny monkey? Fill a cocktail shaker with ice and add 1.5 ounces of banana liqueur, one ounce of vodka, a half-ounce of light rum, and two ounces of cream of coconut. Shake well. Strain into a tall, ice-filled glass and fill with pineapple juice. Garnish with a whole banana, dust with cinnamon, and serve (recipe from Tiki Drinks by Adam Rocke, published by Surrey Books in 2000).

HOTEL HANA-MAUI, MAUI, HAWAII: When you get a load of the sea crashing practically right into this place, you won’t be surprised that scenes from Fantasy Island were shot on the 66-acre grounds. Sure, there’s tennis on site, hiking in Haleakala National Park, cycling along the winding coastal roads, and snorkeling nearby at Hamoa Beach, but after soaking in the stars and the ocean views from the hot tub on your room’s huge deck, you won’t feel like doing much else. The resort’s 47 plantation-style cottages, all with ocean views (and surrounded by a 4,500-acre ranch), are situated near the little town of Hana on Maui’s east coast. A main dining room, with streamers dangling from the ceiling to diffuse light, serves scrumptious meals with local produce (doubles from $275; 800-321-4262, www.hotelhanamaui.com).NUEVA VIDA, MEXICO: This tiny resort’s Swiss Family Robinson-style rooms, with mucho wood and palm thatch, are housed in bungalows built ten feet off the ground to maximize the sultry ocean breezes and gorgeous ocean views. What to do? Tulum’s sweep of white-sand beach and one of the YucatÃ¡n’s most dramatic clusters of Mayan ruins are right outside your door (you can also explore the nearby ruins of CobÃ¡ and ChichÃ©n ItzÃ¡)Â—or let the hotel’s massage therapist noodle you silly. Leave the blow-dryer at home: The sun and wind power the lights and aren’t up to the task of drying your hair (doubles from $65; 011-52-984-877-8512, www.tulumnv.com).EDEN ROCK, ST. BART’S: If you want a whiff of Saint-Tropez in the Caribbean, try this red-roofed resort, which crowns a rocky promontory jutting into Baie de St. Jean. You’re more likely to see guests wearing Prada than PatagoniaÂ—most of the 16 rooms cost at least $600 per nightÂ—but the common denominator is a love for the luxe beaches that stretch out below the hotel. The trick: Reserve the Captain’s Cabin at about half the cost of a room. When you tire of snorkeling around the reef surrounding Eden Rock, you can gorge on French cuisine, pamper yourself in the spa, sip fruity cocktails in the beach bar, or laze on the topless beach (cabin rental is $375 per night from January to April and less during the summer and fall; 877-563-7105, www.edenrockhotel.com).WINDMILLS PLANTATION, SALT CAY, TURKS AND CAICOS: On laid-back Salt Cay, you’re in the company of wild donkeys, windmills, and migrating humpback whales; the perfect place to slow yourself down is this eight-room, plantation-style hotel overlooking a 2.5-mile stretch of beach. The hotel has a saltwater pool and snorkeling off the beach; divers can explore the coral walls and the Endymion, an 18th-century wreck, with Salt Cay Divers. At day’s end, repair to rooms whose colorful walls and dark wooden antiques from colonial-era plantations take you back to the days when those donkeys hauled salt from mines to ships bound for distant ports (doubles from $325; 800-822-7715, www.saltcaysite.com).Best HikesPICO DUARTE, DOMINICAN REPUBLIC: Hike from steamy jungle to cool forest on this strenuous 29-mile trek to the top of the Caribbean’s highest peak, Pico Duarte (10,128 feet). Traverse Parque Nacional Armando Bermúdez, which typically sees fewer than 200 tourists a year, and listen to your guide spin stories around the campfire. On the trail, look out for wild boar and the rare Hispaniola parrot. Iguana Mama’s three-day trip costs $450 (809-571-0908, www.iguanamama.com). PARQUE NACIONAL DARIÉN, PANAMA: This 1.2-million-acre UNESCO World Heritage site, stretching almost the entire length of the Colombian border, is home to 6,000-foot mountains, Emberá Indians, and 450 species of birds, like macaws and the green-naped tanager. Fly into a renovated gold mining camp (sleeps eight) at Cana, a valley in the Pirre Mountains, for day hikes. The five-mile Pirre Mountain Trail climbs 1,000 feet to a cloudforest camp; the two-day Boca de Cupe Trail is the only way out of the park by land. Ancon Expeditions offers a 14-day Darién Explorer Trek ($2,495; 011-507-269-9415, www.anconexpeditions.com). PU’U KUKUI, MAUI, HAWAII: Each year, 5,788-foot Pu’u Kukui Mountain receives buckets of rain (about 30 feet), but few visitors (about 12). The 8,661-acre nature preserve is owned by the Maui Land and Pineapple Company, which one day a year, in August, helicopters up a dozen hikers (at $1,000 bucks a pop!) for a three-mile tour and lunch, led by the Kapalua Nature Society. The cloudforest hides 12 of Hawaii’s 150 indigenous plant communities and the nearly extinct i’iwi bird. Contact Kapalua Nature Society (800-527-2582, www.ceibaadventures.com).

The post The Lazy, Crazy Guide to Sand Land appeared first on ��ԹϺ�� Online.

Galápagos Rising

sperkins-pom

The GalÃ¡pagos Islands, a 121-island archipelago 600 miles west of Ecuador, certainly deserve their rep as the Everest of eco-travel. Combine the islands' bizarre geology, the fearless creatures that inspired Darwin's theory of evolution, and the wonders below the waterlineÂ—manta rays, dolphins, orcas, and 35-foot whale sharksÂ—and it's no surprise that more than 90,000 tourists visited the GalÃ¡pagos in 2003, an increase of 31 percent from 2000.

Darwin's Playground

Check out Galapagos photo galleries, screen savers, and travel deals with ��ԹϺ�� Online's comprehensive Galapagos resource page.

“I think we're reaching a tourism tipping point,” says Martin Slater, owner of tour company Guide2GalÃ¡pagos, which offers yacht and diving tours. “Last summer we had to turn people away for the first time in my nine years of selling cruises.”

But sometimes less is moreÂ—especially in the case of a fragile environment like the GalÃ¡pagos. In order to keep the islands pristine, GalÃ¡pagos National Park maintains strict environmental guidelines and closely supervises all tourists, allowing them on only a small fraction of the islands. Regulations duly noted, here are the coolest, most sensitive ways to tour the Enchanted Isles:

DIVE TOURS Â»
Hardcore divers have long known that one of the best ways to see this UNESCO World Heritage Site is underwater. The diving isn't for beginners, but if you can handle the cold currents and the schools of hammerheads, you'll find the animals beneath as approachable as those on the surface. Live-aboards like the cozy 12-passenger, 74-foot Mistral offer tanks, compressors, and three to four dives per day. Make sure your tour hits the legendary scuba spots of Wolf and Darwin islands, about 135 miles northwest of the main group, where whale sharks congregate from June to November.

SMALL BOATS Â»
Sailing yachts combine the romance of creaking masts and snapping canvas with the intimacy of a smaller group. Twelve passengers can dine al fresco on the aft deck of the Nemo I, a state-of-the-art, nine-year-old, 82-foot catamaran with a crew of six. Thanks to her 32-foot width, there's plenty of space for lounging and whale spotting on deck, when you're not snoozing below in one of six double cabins. Go even more intimate in a sea kayak: Outdoor ��ԹϺ�� River Specialists' (OARS) catamaran-based sea-kayaking and hiking trip offer the luxury of sailboat living and the flexibility of a kayak.

LUXURY CRUISE SHIPS Â»
If your tastes run to crisp linens and mimosas in the morning, reserve a berth on the four-year-old, 292-foot luxury liner Celebrity Xpedition. Between eyeballing land iguanas and snorkeling with sea lions, enjoy fine dining, top-notch guides, and a full-service spa and salon. Or take the spa concept a step further on Lindblad Expeditions' 80-passenger M.S. Polaris, where massages are administered from a floating, glass-bottomed pontoon strategically placed in a secluded cove. Onboard, take advantage of the research library and expert naturalists.

LAND-BASED ADVENTURE Â»
Then again, if the thought of sleeping on any boat makes your stomach do flip-flops, opt for a land-based tour on Santa Cruz Island (pop. 12,000), the metropolis of the GalÃ¡pagos. Just outside Puerto Ayora, the recently remodeled Finch Bay EcoHotel is the plushest option, with a secluded beach for sunbathing, sea kayaking, and snorkeling, plus 21 rooms with soft beds. Trails for hiking, mountain biking, and horseback riding lead up into the misty highlands, where you can explore lava tubes and watch armchair-size giant tortoises. Day trips by boat to nearby islands like Santa Fe and North Seymour are de rigueur.

Access & Resources
DIVE
Quasar Nautica (011-593-2-244-6996, www.quasarnautica.com) runs dive trips on the Mistral starting at $2,420 per person for eight days. Day dives with Scuba Iguana (011-593-5-252-6497, www.scubaiguana.com) cost $63Â–$115 per person.

SAIL
Book passage on the Nemo I with Latin Tour (011-593-2-2508-810, www.galapagosinformation.com) for five to eight days, running $1,100Â–$1,700 per person. OARS's (800-346-6277, www.oars.com) eight-day journey starts at $3,550 per person.

CRUISE
Eleven-day tours with Celebrity Cruises (800-722-5941, www.celebrity.com) start at $2,200 per person. Lindblad Expeditions' (800-397-3348, www.expeditions.com) ten-day cruise starts at $3,480 per person.

LAND
Doubles at Metropolitan Touring's Finch Bay EcoHotel (011-593-2-298-8200, ext. 2810, www.ecuadorable.com) start at $220.

The post Galápagos Rising appeared first on ��ԹϺ�� Online.

The Road to Swellsville

sperkins-pom

Australia’s fabled surfie hangout emerges as a multisport playground Byron Bay may be the modern surfer’s idyll—Australia’s most consistent waves pound the white sands around Cape Byron, which rises like a giant snake’s head from the blue Pacific—but veterans of the sport still reminisce about the days preceding its discovery. Indeed, there was a time before the late sixties when the hippies, Buddhists, Hare Krishnas, and naturists of all stripes flocked to the easternmost point of Australia, 570 miles north of Sydney. This fabled era, when Byron Bay was a working-class town supported by logging, dairy farming, and whaling, evidently had its pluses and minuses. Consider the salutary tale of Bob and Terry, a couple of Sydney beach bums who in 1962, at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis, tossed their malibus onto a train and made their escape to Byron Bay. Picked up by a friendly passerby at the railway station (“G’day—did you come to find some waves?”), they spent a day riding the perfect swells at an empty beach called Watego’s. It seemed to them a reasonable approximation of paradise. Unfortunately, local cops roared into their campsite, grabbed them by the hair, gave them a short-back-and-sides trim, and then dropped them on a road out of town. But 40 years is a long time in Aussie beach culture. Not long after Bob and Terry got rolled, redneck Byron Bay became Australia’s countercultural Shangri-La—a half-mythic place where surfers could park in their panel vans by the beach, sign on for the dole, and live on a diet of bananas, fish ‘n’ chips, and illicit local herbs. Today, surfing is not only respectable at Byron Bay; it’s downright establishment. In fact, while I was reading Bob and Terry’s Easy Rider tale—I was at the scene of the crime, Watego’s Beach, flipping through an ancient copy of Pacific Longboarder magazine—a svelte surfie couple dropped their boards outside the lone restaurant, where they chowed down on Thai prawn salad and Tasmanian champagne. Yes, there are the occasional whiffs of a Hamptons Down Under, but Byron Bay has in fact blossomed in a uniquely Australian, democratic way, balancing its competing interests to keep a low-rise beach paradise intact. To get the lay of the land, newcomers should nurse a schooner of beer at the area’s most famous pub, the Beach Hotel. You can play at being a celebrity in hiding—Keith Richards had left just before I arrived in March—or join the international backpacker set on the beach at night, spinning fire sticks as if practicing for Cirque du Soleil. You can eat from sushi bars or vegan buffets, catch an art-house movie, or browse for local indie-rock CDs. And the Aquarian spirit is alive and well: Yoga classes are held at dawn on the beach, crystals are revered in souvenir shops, and radicals are given full voice. (I opened the official tourist guide and enjoyed a lurid essay on the Iraqi war.) Somehow it all seems right in the eclectic Byron Bay soup. The good news for outdoor fans is that Byron Bay has branched out from surfing—reinventing itself as the Boulder of the South, Telluride on a warm beach. The wonder is that it has taken so long, given the setting: The offshore waters host some of the most fertile marine grounds in Australia, while the mountain hinterland of the Great Dividing Range is thick with subtropical rainforest. Right now, Byron Bay’s outfitters are making up for lost time. I strolled through the compact village one afternoon—the adventure companies are clustered together in rabid competition, with names like Wicked Travel and Cape Fear—and within an hour I had signed on for a decathlon of Aussie outdoor escapades, covering land and sea. Admittedly, I skipped the naked bushwalking for beginners, but I was up for everything else, on day trips led by itinerant Aussie guides, many of whom seemed to be on sabbatical from snowboarding in the Canadian Rockies. For starters, Nightcap National Park, 25 miles inland, has miles of mountain-bike trails, from easy to hardcore. On a wet morning, a sunburned surfer named Lindsay led ten of us through the mist-filled rainforest, where eucalyptuses soared like Grecian columns. The 13 miles I covered felt more like 50, feathering down or grinding up, skidding over sinuous roots, taking in grandiose vistas and secret swimming holes. With just as much zeal, the Zodiacs slip like sea iguanas off Clarks Beach every dawn. In November 2002, a stretch of the Coral Sea, along Byron Bay’s beaches from Brunswick Head to Lennox Head, was declared the Cape Byron Marine Park; a mile and a half offshore, an outcrop called Julian Rocks is rated one of Australia’s top ten diving spots, thanks to the thriving piscine community lured by the confluence of warm and cool currents. A dive master named Evan—crew-cut, tongue-pierced, tattooed like a Polynesian sailor—led the underwater trail past squadrons of butterfly fish and angels to the scene-stealers of the dive: moray eels, loggerhead turtles, eagle rays flapping batlike overhead, and ten-foot leopard sharks that drifted so close my fingers brushed their flanks, strangely rough as sandpaper. (In winter, gray nurse sharks pass through—keep your distance.) Why stop there? I thought. The next morning came a ride on a microlite—Byron Bay’s latest craze, a motorized hang glider that soars above the activity—and, of course, I signed up for a surfing lesson. This is still the number-one breadwinner for Byron Bay’s outdoor operators, thanks to water temperatures that fluctuate between 65 and 81 degrees and strong year-round swells producing waves between three and six feet tall. Here, a surf scene materializes wherever there is a stretch of sand. The most coveted spots include Cosy Corner and Tallow’s, on the south side of Cape Byron, where bushland and the cornflower-blue sea collide. And picturesque Watego’s, the most easterly beach in Australia, still tops the charts for where to see and be seen. Back home in New York, color-coded terrorist alerts were going from yellow to orange. Here in Byron, they also employ color coding. Like schools of fish, surfing students are grouped by the color of their wetsuits. As I proceeded to learn the difference between riding goofy and natural—hopping on my padded board, falling off, hopping on again—the rest of the world seemed very, very remote. DETAILS: Lodging: Experienced Byron hands stay at a beach called Belongil Spit—it’s away from the center of town, has great cafés, and you can walk along the sand for 15 minutes to reach the action. Belongil by the Sea has four cottages that sleep two to nine, with kitchens, on two acres of botanical gardens, starting at $63 a night (011-61-2-6685-8111, www.belongilbeach.com). Film stars prefer Rae’s On Watego’s (rooms start at $145; 011-61-2-6685-5695, www.raes.com.au). Sports: There is good beginner surfing year-round in Byron Bay. For lessons, try Black Dog Surfing, a school that runs beginner classes several times a day ($30 per three-hour group lesson; 011-61-2-6680-9828, www.byronbaylearntosurf.com). The more experienced can take private lessons from former U.S. surf champion, longtime Byron Bay resident, and local celeb Rusty Miller (a two-hour private lesson costs $56 for one person, $99 for two; 011-61-2-6684-7390, rustym@mullum.com.au). Besides surfing, the whole gamut of outdoor sports is on offer in Byron Bay—operators line Jonson Street and the competition keeps prices down. Rockhoppers (011-61-2-6680-8569, www.rockhoppers.com.au) runs mountain-biking trips ($52 for a solid day), hikes to watch the sunrise from 3,800-foot Mount Warning ($39), and caving/rappelling trips ($79). Byron Bay Dive Centre (011-61-2-6685-8333, www.byronbaydivecentre.com.au) takes divers out every morning to Julian Rocks ($50 per single-tank dive). Hang-glide or microlite with Skylimit ($92 for a tandem flight; 011-61-2-6684-3711, www.skylimitbyronbay.com).The Dish on Soup BowlIn Barbados, Surf Kings Happily Serve Up Lessons for Plebes

Barbados sports a tight-knit surfing community and a refreshing lack of attitude

In stuffy Barbados, where islanders worship cricket and neckties flourish, the unlikely badass surf scene is a splash of hot pepper sauce on the otherwise bland national dish: flying fish with okra-and-cornmeal mash. The Caribbean’s most consistent waves roll in from the east, pounding the pear-shaped, 166-square-mile island, the easternmost outpost of the West Indies. And Bathsheba, an east coast village where a tumble of bright houses clings to a palm-studded hillside, is the nexus. Thirty yards off the beach lies the world-famous Soup Bowl, where a north and a south swell collide to create waves from 3 to 25 feet tall. Soup Bowl attracts Kelly Slater and other elite surfers for the Independence Pro competition every November and provides locals—and visitors—with the perfect aquaturf for honing their moves. Mark Holder, 35, and Alan Burke, 33, reign as the surf kings of Barbados, competing in international tournaments and regularly carving the Soup Bowl waves. Both are natives; Holder, a laid-back rasta “soul-surfer,” and Burke, a sixth-generation descendant of water-loving Irish immigrants, have had a friendly rivalry for two decades, and there’s an ongoing debate among the island’s tight-knit surfing community over which of the two is supreme. Best of all, each gives private lessons. Imagine showing up in Maui and calling Laird Hamilton for a few hours of one-on-one. In Barbados, you can do the equivalent, getting personal instruction from Holder and Burke on tamer waves, on the south end of the island, with the hope of working up to the Soup Bowl’s powerful right break. The lack of attitude here is reassuring for wobbly neophytes, who won’t find chiseled surf studs staring them down while they’re learning to stand on a board, as well as for seasoned old-timers, who return year after year. The windsurfing and kiteboarding are also superb, especially along the southern coast near the resorts at Silver Sands and Silver Rock. It’s not unusual to see pro windsurfer and official island character Brian “Irie Man” Talma working his moves off Silver Rock Beach; he owns a rental shop there, and you can take lessons from him. Or just find a comfortable spot in the sand and watch local youngsters rip it up. “There are little kids who will ride anything they can get their hands on,” says Holder, a surfer since age six. “There are guys riding plywood boards.” Holder describes the Barbados riding posture: “Local style is the most radical—flinging your hands, hanging down low to the board, and getting into the groove.” My lesson, with Burke, takes place among perfect two-footers at Freights Bay, a mile from Long Beach on the south coast, where he runs a surf school. After learning to turn turtle (flip the board over myself in a wave) and other basic moves, we paddle out. I manage to catch a wave… for a few seconds. My moves, however, are an amusing parody of local style—flailing my arms, tripping off the board, and falling overboard. DETAILS: Lodging: Check out the Bajan Surf Bungalows (doubles from $54; 246-433-9920, www.bajansurfbungalow.com), owned by Melanie Pitcher, one of the country’s top surfers. Sports: July to September is the best season to catch beginner waves. Contact the Barbados Surfing Association (246-429-6647, www.bsasurf.org) for details. For lessons, call Mark Holder (246-420-3611) or Alan Burke (246-228-5117). Holder charges $50 per hour for one-on-one lessons; Burke charges $40 for a two-hour lesson. For surfing, kitesurfing, and windsurfing gear, as well as rentals and lessons, head over to Brian Talma’s Irieman Action (246-428-2866, www.irieman-talma.com), in the Silver Rock Hotel.Surfing LiteA Perfect Set in Costa Rica is One Part Mellow Paddling and Two Parts Extreme Leisure

Costa Rica has a mix of beginner-worthy breaks and advanced-rider hot spots (Corel)

So you want to learn to surf. You want to experience the good-vibrations, enlightened-oneness-with-Mother-Ocean thing, but you’ve outgrown the sleep-under-the-pier, suffer-for-your-wisdom technique. Besides, more than simply learning to hang ten, you’d like someone else to make breakfast, fold the towels, and dial you in to the local scene. For this you’ll need a guide—and the man to see in Costa Rica is Alvaro Solano. HQ is Vista Guapa Surf Camp, which 28-year-old Solano opened in September 2002 above the Pacific coast town of Jacó. Three sunny duplex casitas cascade down a narrow ridge, pointed right at what may be Costa Rica’s most reliable surf break. Each air-conditioned surf shack is aligned to ensure unimpeded valley views and discreet distance from fellow guests. There are no more than a dozen surfers during each weeklong session, and though you’re only a ten-minute walk from Jacó’s main drag, it’s easy to forget there’s anyone else in the valley when you’re on your deck. From the beach below the lodge, Solano took his first rides on a broken plank as a kid and polished the moves that have made him Costa Rica’s four-time-consecutive national surf champion. He picked this spot for his camp because it offers a beginner-worthy break with waves that average three to four feet—yet advanced-rider hot spots like Boca Barranca, the world’s third-longest left, are nearby. Though it’s not quite sink or surf, the Vista Guapa doctrine emphasizes learning by doing. Classes are taught by Solano or Lisbeth Vindas, a three-time national champion; I had just one fellow pupil for my first attempt at the sport. Solano showed us how to count wave sets and mark reference points for the likeliest takeoff spots—and then let the waves do the instructing. At first, I waited, watching the ocean and letting my mind wander before turning, taking a few strokes, and dropping in. Solano’s approach worked: I caught the first wave I pursued. Soon I’d found my own rhythm, on and off the board. I slept in each morning, missing the 6:30 sunrise and the dawn asana session on the outdoor yoga deck but rising in time to shuffle over to the main lodge for the monstrous breakfast of beans and rice, omelets, and fruit, during which Solano ticked off tide times and entertainment options. Each day passed in a blur of watching and paddling, and soon enough we’d start debating the big question of the day—where to have dinner—wrestling between the pan-seared tuna at Playa Hermosa’s Jungle Surf Cafe and Juanita’s seafood platter over in Playa Herradura. Surf’s up a maximum of four hours daily, which leaves ample time for the multisport cornucopia within an hour of town—Class III-IV whitewater rafting on the Naranjo River and zip-line tours of the forest canopy, for starters. Learning that extreme leisure is the necessary counterpoint to surfing, I started easy, hopping in Solano’s minivan for the tranquillo cruise south to Parque Nacional Manuel Antonio. There I met the surfer’s spirit animal: a three-toed sloth, slung like a sack of mangoes from a branch. But most afternoons were spent in my hammock, where I found myself able to spend hours meditating about which flip-flops to buy. My big breakthrough came on the fourth morning. Straddling my board, watching the sets roll in, I experienced a moment of the transcendent clarity I’d always imagined would come from being one with the ocean. Suddenly it was all very clear: I could have the shrimp and the lobster for dinner. DETAILS: Lodging: The Vista Guapa Surf Camp (011-506-643-2830, www.vistaguapa.com) charges $675 per person per week, $1,200 for two people, including twice-a-day surfing at one of 22 surf breaks, lodging, breakfast and dinner, rentals, and field trips to attractions. Sports: The surfing around Jacó is consistent year-round. Green Tours (011-506-643-2773) offers a gamut of nearby outfitted adventures.Liquid SambaSurf to the Rhythm of Bahia, the Soul of Brazil

Taking a break from the Brazilian surf (Corel)

“Did you hear the big news?” my surf instructor, Adriano dos Santos Sarmento, asked when I arrived in the sleepy Brazilian fishing village of Itacaré. “The fishermen caught three massive tiger sharks—right where we’re taking you to surf tomorrow.” Then he added, “The price of shark meat went down 200 percent today.” This Peter Benchley info-moment got my attention, but because shark attacks are unheard of here, I was undeterred from my plan to enlist in surf boot camp. I ventured to Itacaré, in the eastern coastal state of Bahia, 186 miles south of Salvador, because Brazilian friends told me it possesses the “soul” of Brazil and a legacy of African-influenced music, cuisine, dance, and religion. The Afro-Brazilian culture, they said, imbues Bahia with a mysticism that affects the spirit and the senses—and, I figured, maybe the surf. The road to town was paved five years ago, not long enough to have made Itacaré a jaded tourist area. And having noted the dreamy look in the eyes of graduates lounging around EasyDrop, a six-year-old surf camp, I set my own goal as nothing short of spiritual deliverance. For the next two weeks, seven multilingual instructors—led by the owner, German ex-fencer and musician Hans-Benjamin Kromayer—would take me and five other recruits (two Brazilians, two Canadians, and a fellow American) to half a dozen of the best surf spots in a 20-mile radius. I quickly fell into the routine. Classes began with jumping jacks on the white sand. “Choose your wave carefully and always pay attention. Abaixa mais,” Sarmento said, seamlessly mixing English and Portuguese. His suggestion to stay low came right before my surfboard jettisoned me, making me wish that I hadn’t skipped so many balance-building yoga sessions back home. When I needed a break, I paddled out on my longboard and meditated on the warm, poochy swells that trundled in. May through July, the waves would be eight feet high, not the three feet they were in January, and ten times as intimidating. The mile-long beach, cupped by lush Atlantic rainforest, was deserted except for a little girl decapitating coconuts and selling them to surfers. Every morning as I strapped on my leash, I swore that I would take the afternoon to raft the nearby Río de Contas or explore the mangrove swamps. But after four hours of surfing, I invariably collapsed into a lactic-acid-induced nap. Only when the heat lost its chokehold on the day did I rouse for the evening video screening—a ritual replete with a professional critique from Kromayer. Then we fueled up on moqueca (a whitefish drenched in a thick coconut and palm-oil broth and served over rice) at Tia Deth, a family-run restaurant with homemade oil paintings tacked to the walls. “God, this is perfect,” a fellow surfie said at dinner, setting down his caipirinha, a Brazilian cocktail. I didn’t know if he meant the exquisite blend of sugarcane booze and lemon, the tropical breeze that tumbled over the bows of small wooden boats and onto our rickety table, or the delicious soreness of well-used muscles. It was all perfection. DETAILS: Lodging: EasyDrop (011-55-73-251-3065, www.easydrop.com) offers a two-week package of instruction, lodging at a pousada, and breakfast for $817-$859, depending on the season. Sports: Mid-September through December and March through April are the best times for beginning surfers to visit. Get surf gear at Pousada Hanalei (daily surfboard rentals, $7-$11; 011-55-73-251-2311). For rafting the Class III-IV Río de Contas, try AtivaRafting (011-55-73-251-2224, www.ativarafting.com.br). A 17-mile trip from the put-in at Taboquinhas, in the Itacaré district, costs $14 per person.Hawaii 911Who Better Than Firefighter Surf Gods to Initiate Novice Riders?

Staying ahead of the curl (Corbis)

Neophyte surfers cowed by the Pacific’s powerful crush will find comfort in the collective résumé of the 25 teachers at Oahu’s Hawaiian Fire Surf School: They’re Honolulu firefighters certified in every conceivable lifesaving skill—from emergency medical treatment to open-water rescue. More important, they’re born-on-boards guys. They surf almost as frequently as they eat—catching waves before and after work and spending their days off teaching hodads like me. That the trio who coached me last fall were short on attitude, long on skills, and just happened to be built like surf-mag cover gods was a bonus, one certainly not lost on the female contingent of our six-member student body. Firefighter John Pregil, 40, started Hawaiian Fire Surf School in 2000 with Garrett Vallez and Kevin Miller and two goals: to teach surfing with “aloha spirit” and to do it in an environment of safety. Today, their burgeoning practice has a full lineup of men and women instructors and draws clients from Waikiki hotels; the school runs a free van service out to the near-secret beach where they teach. That would be Barbers Point, a two-mile strand of southwest-facing sugary-white sand about 25 miles west of Waikiki in Kalaeloa, on the site of the recently decommissioned Barbers Point Naval Air Station. Locals know it, but most surfers prefer bigger quarry than these undaunting one- to two-footers (albeit with nice shape and just enough power to drive a long ride in shallow, 80-degree water). The same conditions make it a great choice for bodysurfers and surf kayakers, and its length and seclusion mean it’s always uncrowded. As a bonus, the point is flanked by Kalaeloa Beach Park, a 13-site campground with picnic tables, showers, and barbecue pits shaded by ironwood trees. Though camping is allowed only on weekends, the area is open for day use during the week. “The only way you can screw up is by not having fun,” Ken Waters said as he wrapped up our ground-school session. Waters and cohorts Glenn Parker and Mike Jones had given us a thorough briefing on how and when to spring to our feet on superbuoyant foam-padded boards. But to their credit, the teachers didn’t want us bogging down with too much technique. They wanted us to surf. I had plenty of opportunities for long, smooth rides to shore. I emphasize: plenty of opportunities. I mainly specialized in “pearling” (diving off the surfboard for nonexistent underwater treasures when the nose gets caught in a wave). But, heck, I did get a few rides in and earned the nickname “Big Wave Bob” for my fussiness in wave selection. I also had time to watch the others founder and to surf-gab with my teachers: “You guys are all great surfers. Don’t you get bored with this?” “Are you kidding?” Parker answered me. “You’re our daily entertainment! And if you get good, we get to surf. Really, we just love to get people stoked. If we’ve accomplished that, then we’ve had a great day.” DETAILS: Lodging: The Department of Parks and Recreation (808-523-4525, www.co.honolulu.hi.us/parks) requires a free permit to camp at Kalaeloa Beach Park (Friday, Saturday, or Sunday only). Sports: Catch the best beginner surf between April and October. Hawaiian Fire Surf School (888-955-7873, www.hawaiianfire.com) charges $79 for a half-day group lesson, $97 for a full day, including equipment, lunch (full day only), and transportation from Waikiki. To rent a board ($20 a day), try Blue Planet (808-922-5444, www.blueplanetsurf.com). The island’s best surf-kayak shop is Go Bananas Kayaks ($30 per day for a single, $43 for a tandem; 808-737-9514, www.gobananaskayaks.com).

The post The Road to Swellsville appeared first on ��ԹϺ�� Online.

The New Right Stuff

sperkins-pom

What’s better than owning a piece of history? Owning a piece of history with 22-karat gold inlay. This December, TREK is offering Lance Armstrong’s gold-trimmed, carbon-fiber LIVESTRONG MADONE SL in a limited production run of 600 bikes. The price includes an autographed poster of the Man riding the original model into Paris this past July. $10,000; 800-313-8735, www.trekbikes.com

Holiday Gift Guide

CLICK HERE for gift ideas (both to give and receive), all-season swag selected by the Gear Guy, and more.

Steel

(Mark Wiens)

(A) G3’s BONESAW will carve out an avalanche test pit in a jiff—and handily slice up blocks of the white stuff for the neighborhood igloo party. $39; 866-924-9048, www.genuineguidegear.com (B) Empty your kitchen-gadget drawer into the trash; all you need is the VICTORINOX SWISSTOOL SPIRIT. $70; 800-442-2706, www.swissarmy.com (C) Liberate your wrist: The ORIS ARTELIER POCKET WATCH vanishes discreetly into its leather belt case. $825; 914-347-6747, www.oris-watch.com (D) BAKODA’s HOLY SMOKES snowboard multitool can help you make quick slopeside adjustments to bindings and, um, your attitude. $14; 206-762-2955, www.bakoda.com (E) Mix up some holiday cheer with OXO’s sleek and modern—yet bargain-priced—COCKTAIL SHAKER. $25; 800-545-4411, www.oxo.com (F) No self-respecting gent should venture out into the cold without some liquid warmth. Tote yours in SWAROVSKI’s svelte leather-and-stainless SALUTE 101 flask. $277; 800-426-3089, www.swarovskioptik.at (G) Is it time to really make an entrance? Crash the party Batman style, swinging from CMI-GEAR’s GRAPPLING HOOK. $104; 800-247-5901, www.cmi-gear.com (H) At seven foot five from wheel to wheel, the SHIZZLE, from SHIZZLE BIKES, is a boardwalk Cadillac. $400; 877-744-9953, www.shizzlebikes.comWood(A) With white ash frames and rawhide webbing, the MICHIGAN TRAPPERS, from IVERSON SNOWSHOE, are about as old-school as pow rackets can get. $140; 906-452-6370, www.seekwilderness.com (B) Rule the hills atop the ULTIMATE FLYER, a steerable snow rocket from MOUNTAIN BOY SLEDWORKS. $130; 970-799-2571, www.mountainboysleds.com (C) The VIPER, from BENDING BRANCHES, offers canoeists a blade of basswood and willow with a double-bent shaft. $150; 866-755-3405, www.bendingbranches.com (D) Rule the pipe and the park on the RIDE KINK—a minimalist twin-tip snowboard crafted to be ultraresponsive. $360; 800-757-5806, www.ridesnowboards.com (E) Up the stakes in your snowball war with the hand-whittled JACK SPADE SLINGSHOT, sure to be the undoing of your opponents. $50; 212-625-1820, www.jackspade.com (F) You’d have to drop trou to draw attention away from your retro BOGNER bamboo CARVING SKIS; matching poles with leather baskets round out this sixties-movie-star setup. $3,000; 303-913-1981, www.bogner.comLeather

2004 Holiday Gift Guide

(A) ANDREW MARC’s lambskin BAROMETER jacket is sharp and smart. The Schoeller lining regulates your temperature, soft-shell style. $775; 888-424-6272, www.andrewmarc.com (B) The VAJA I-VOLUTION IVOD REMIXED is simply the most stylish case you can buy for your iPod 4G Remixed, and it’s offered in 66 color combos. $70–$145; www.vajacases.com (C) Don’t let the retro-futuristic aesthetic trip you up: OVO’s BI-ATCH is one high-performance ski-and-board helmet, with removable ear inserts and adjustable pads. $100; 877-686-8725, www.ovousa.com (D) Call NIKE ACG’s AIR ROACH ROCK an approach shoe incognito. The sartorial design cloaks an air-suspension midsole and sticky-rubber outsole. $80; 800-806-6453, www.niketown.com (E) Built with brass hardware and durable Vachetta Italian leather, the COLE HAAN SQUARE DUFFEL carry-on restores dignity to 21st-century travel. $595; 800-201-8001, www.colehaan.com (F) ANON’s FIGMENT pimps up an already super-bomber goggle with leather trim. $70–$100; 800-881-3138, www.anonoptics.comPlastic

2004 Holiday Gift Guide

(A) PATAGONIA’s ultrawarm CLASSIC RETRO CARDIGAN is made mostly from reincarnated soda bottles. $169; 800-638-6464, www.patagonia.com (B) Hard plastic on the sides of the TUSA TRI-EX FINS gives divers Aquaman power. $89; 562-498-3708, www.tusa.com (C) A BROKE DOWN MELODY, from surf-DVD makers Moonshine Conspiracy, offers action from Kelly Slater. $30; 805-648-6633, www.themoonshine-conspiracy.com (D) FOX’s 911 KNEE/SHIN GUARDS will help keep your tibias intact during those dicey mountain-bike descents. $60; 888-772-2242, www.foxridersco.com (E) Juggling seven things in the dark? Throw a beam on each with GERBER’s LED INFERNO FLEXI-LIGHT. $57; 800-950-6161, www.gerbergear.com (F) The GARMONT ADRENALIN AT boot is stiff on the blacks yet forgiving on climbs. $629; 800-943-4453, www.garmontusa.com (G) Take to the creeks in the WAVESPORT ZG, an advanced boat offering plenty of bounce. $999; 800-311-7245, www.wavesport.comTitanium

2004 Holiday Gift Guide

(A) Brew a great mug of joe with SNOW PEAK’s FRENCH CAFÉ PRESS. $50; 503-697-3330, www.snowpeak.com (B) “No, I’m sorry, you can’t borrow my pen. It’s a MARLEN 20TH ANNIVERSARY HTF, handcrafted from fiberglass, titanium, and gold.” $975; 866-726-8736, www.santafepens.com (C) The metal inside MARKER’s TITANIUM 13.0 PISTON CONTROL TURBO SKI BINDING keeps these click-ins light. $425; 800-453-3862, www.markerusa.com (D) DUTCHGUARD’s TITANIUM CROWBAR is one cool wrecking tool. $60; 800-821-5157, www.dutchguard.com (E) TAG HEUER’s hinge-free REFLEX sunglasses are Riviera-ready. $230–$285; 800-345-3733, www.tagheuer.com (F) Both the frame and spools of L.H. DESIGN’s SILVER SHADOW TITANIUM REEL are machined from a single piece of titanium bar stock. $1,800; 866-223-8300, www.ultimateflyfishing.com (G) Blast ’em straight and true down the fairway with CALLAWAY’s BIG BERTAH II 415 DRIVER, an update of a club first issued in 1991. $500; 800-588-9836, www.callawaygolf.comWool

2004 Holiday Gift Guide

(A) The extended tail on REI’s new NORDIC TRAIL WOOLY sweater helps keep your backside toastier. $89; 800-426-4840, www.rei.com (B) Even your digits deserve merino: Sheathe them with IBEX GLOVE LINERS before hitting the slopes. $25; 800-773-9647, www.ibexwear.com (C) It wicks! It warms! PATAGONIA’s AXUWOOL CREW heats the skin with merino and faces down the elements with Capilene. $80; 800-638-6464, www.patagonia.com (D) New Zealand’s alpine ungulates contribute their very best fuzz for the urban-cool ICEBREAKER ROCK ZIP. $119; 866-363-7466, www.icebreaker.com (E) Go loud and proud in WOOLRICH’s red-and-black-plaid MALONE PANTS. $99; 800-966-5372, www.woolrich.com (F) The wool-blend TONIC, from Hood River–based ski-lid newcomer PISTIL DESIGNS, packs lively hues and a microfleece liner. $22; 541-387-3306, www.pistildesigns.com (G) L.L. BEAN’s COMMANDO SWEATER has ruled the ice-fishing scene for 30 years—and will doubtless dominate winter for decades to come. $49; 800-441-5713, www.llbean.comSilicon

(Mark Wiens)

(A) With rubberized corners and shockproof innards, GOVIDEO’s OFF-ROAD DVD player can handle even Texas-scale turbulence. $250; 800-736-7679, www.govideo.com (B) OAKLEY’s THUMP elegantly tucks a 256MB digital music player—holding about four hours’ worth of tunes—into a pair of sport-ready shades. $495; 800-431-1439, www.oakley.com (C) BUSHNELL’s NIGHTHAWK takes the clunk factor out of night-vision gear with 14 infrared diodes coupled with a swiveling LCD view screen. $200; 800-423-3537, www.bushnell.com (D) MOTOROLA’s globe-roaming RAZR V3 cell phone offers the slender profile of a credit card, plus a nickel-plated, chemically etched keypad. $350; 866-289-6686, www.motorola.com (E) The OLYMPUS STYLUS VERVE is the iMac of digicams—choose red, orange, blue, silver, titanium, or basic black. $350; 888-553-4448, www.oylmpusamerica.com (F) Uplink to Elvis—or just his dedicated satellite-radio station—with the XACT XTR1 STREAM JOCKEY receiver. Requires $50 docking station and antenna. $100; 866-466-9228, www.getxact.com (G) The all-in-one PDA comes of age in the HEWLETT-PACKARD IPAQ POCKET PC H6315, which combines digital camera, cell phone, and Web browser—then drops it all neatly in your shirt pocket. $600; 888-999-4747, www.hp.com (H) Get your fix on the grid in seconds via GARMIN’s ETREX LEGEND C, a handheld, high-res, full-color GPS genie. $375; 800-800-1020, www.garmin.comCarbon

2004 Holiday Gift Guide

(A) Grab AT’s XCEPTION SL 25.6-ounce touring paddle and churn water fatigue-free for days. $400; 877-766-4757, www.atpaddle.com (B) Keep your head in the game—and off the rocks—with the SWEET ROOSTER, a carbon-fiber-reinforced whitewater lid. $260; www.sweetprotection.com (C) DB brings us the SURREAL skis, boards that sandwich carbon fiber and Kevlar. $880; www.dbskis.com (D) Tour up and tear down with a pair of adjustable CARBON FIBER FLICKLOCK POLES from BLACK DIAMOND. $90; 801-278-5552, www.bdel.com (E) Taunt the peloton with CARNAC’s gorgeous M5 CARBON roadie shoes, which weave microfiber and carbon and weigh ten measly ounces apiece. $360; 800-654-8052, www.sinclairimports.com (F) NRS CREEK GLOVES will save your knuckles and give Krazy Glue grip. $75; 800-635-5202, www.nrsweb.com

The post The New Right Stuff appeared first on ��ԹϺ�� Online.

Mr. Sunset Rides Again

sperkins-pom

In 1956, the novelist and Hollywood screenwriter Peter Viertel traveled to the Basque country of southwestern France to watch location shooting for director Henry King’s The Sun Also Rises. Viertel, a friend of Hemingway’s, had written the screenplay, but it wasn’t long before his attention started to wander. Standing on the promenade in Biarritz, watching the perfect rollers churn past the Villa Belza, he decided to send home for his surfboard and, as legend has it, became the first man ever to surf France.
Viertel might not recognize La Côte Basque today. There are McDonald’s now, and shopping malls as hideous as any in Orange County, and an autoroute, the A63, that rumbles with trucks headed north from Spain. And of course there are surfers, so many that in the summertime you can forget about finding an uncrowded break.
As ye sow, so shall ye reap, and all that.
And yet in the fall, if you drive just south of Biarritz on the old Route Nationale, it is sometimes still possible to stumble upon the swells of yesteryear. At least that’s the way it feels when I pull into the parking lot at Lafitenia, a woodsy, secluded cove with a long, hollow, right-handed point break. Back in the midseventies, Lafitenia was a mandatory stop for American and Australian surfers on the Endless Summer circuit, a hard-partying band who eventually morphed their vagabond act into today’s World Championship Tour. A quarter-century later the place is, fittingly, the site of the Silver Edition Masters World Championships, a ten-day-long blowout that’s part surf contest—it’s the official world championships of seniors surfing—and part class reunion.
Sponsored by Quiksilver Europe, whose headquarters is nearby, the early-October event features 32 of the biggest names from surfing’s storied past. The two favorites, for instance, in the 35-to-40-year-old “grommet” category (“grommet” being a mildly derisive term for an adolescent surfer) are Aussies Tom Carroll and Cheyne Horan, who not so long ago were starring on the regular circuit. (Carroll, 36, won the world title twice; Horan, 39, was a four-time runner-up.) But the real royalty here are the men competing in the over-40 division, the ones who launched pro surfing as a viable sport in the late 1960s and 1970s. They’re a mostly Australian bunch that includes Wayne Lynch, the 47-year-old mystical guru whose preference for surfing on unorthodox board designs back in 1968 helped kick off the shortboard revolution; Peter Townend, 46, whose methodical compilation of contest outcomes from around the globe resulted in the crowning of the sport’s first world champion (himself, by sly coincidence) in 1976; and Wayne “Rabbit” Bartholomew, 45, the brash loudmouth who led the Australian Invasion of Oahu’s North Shore in the midseventies, and got most of his teeth knocked out in the process.
But if you had to pick one über-kahuna out of this august lineup, it would probably be a diminutive 51-year-old American named Jeff Hakman, otherwise known as Mr. Sunset. As a teenage surf prodigy on Oahu’s North Shore in the mid-1960s, Hakman mastered the fearsome break at Sunset Beach. He eventually became one of the premier big-wave riders and a tireless competitor who pushed the sport into a new, contest-oriented era. His real legacy, though, began after he retired from professional surfing in 1977 and founded Quiksilver USA, an offshoot of the surfwear brand that originated in Australia, thereby blazing the path for the marketing juggernaut that is today’s surf industry. Hakman might have ridden that wave forever, all the way to tens of millions of dollars and a big house in Del Mar. But the need for an intense physical rush stayed with him after he’d left pro surfing behind, and when heroin and the high life replaced big waves as his ride of choice, the result was a 15-year off-and-on struggle with addiction, during which he nearly lost everything, including his life. It’s a very different kind of legacy—with many semipublic wipeouts—and one that is still unfolding.
The past seems both near and far away as Jeff Hakman trots down to the beach at Lafitenia, a board under each arm. His hair is gray and close-cropped now, and there are some worry lines at the corners of his eyes, but he’s the same height and weight as in his prime (five-foot-seven, 150 pounds), and he’s still got the flat stomach and bouncy legs of a kid. And the smile, too: a big, boyish, gummy grin.
It’s a sunny, blustery afternoon on the Bay of Biscay, and the swell, though sizeable, is bumpy and confused. Hakman deliberates for a few minutes before choosing the longer of his two boards, a gun-shaped seven foot, two inches, and then launches himself through the nasty shore break. He sets up a bit outside the normal takeoff, hoping for something bigger and cleaner to roll through. After missing the first wave, and then the next, he settles for a choppy, flat one that backs off suddenly. It’s a dicey takeoff, but he pops quickly to his feet, takes the step in stride, and pulls a deep, classically round bottom turn, his trademark.
“Et voilà c’est parti!” says the French emcee over the public-address system. “C’est Monsieur Sunset même, Jeff Hakman.”
A little cheer goes up in the hospitality tent, and the monster-lensed photographers down on the beach start to fire away. But Mr. Sunset doesn’t do much with the wave. The judges are looking for snaps and big cutbacks, all the showy point-scoring maneuvers of professional surfing today. Hakman just swoops easily down the line, pulling more classical curves, his long arms winging wide and his hands dangling loosely.
No one in the crowd seems disappointed with this performance. Indeed, there’s a smattering of applause as Hakman kicks out at the end of his ride. “He doesn’t rip anymore,” notes one French journalist admiringly. “He floats now. But underneath, you can still see the same style.”
Masters surfing has only been around for a few years and isn’t nearly as big a phenomenon as, say, the Senior PGA. In spirit, it’s closer to seniors tennis—less an opportunity for a second career than a chance to do some character acting. Still, it is entertaining to watch yesterday’s heroes disport themselves on the waves, and most of them can still rip. In the over-forties, Rabbit Bartholomew and Michael Ho, the quiet Hawaiian Pipeline specialist, handily win their first-round heats, as does Oahu-raised Bobby Owens, who now runs the Patagonia store in Santa Cruz (and who apparently spends a lot of time on the water, testing product). Six-foot-four Australian Simon Anderson, who was the first to market the three-finned surfboard, astonishes the crowd by throwing his legendary snaps on a board no longer than he is. Also drawing cheers is 49-year-old Reno Abellira, a former Hawaiian champion who has such a low center of gravity that he can still fit his slipper into extremely tight tubes and exit clean. Even the amiable Australian Ian Cairns, 47, a one-time big-wave star known as Kanga, who now sports an extra 30 or so pounds around his midriff, has no problem taking off in a mean beach break. Moreover, he seems to enjoy himself when he does. His wife videotapes him, and his old mates slap him on the back and offer him a “tinnie” of beer when the session’s over. It’s a feel-good experience all the way around.
From a spectator’s point of view, however, the most interesting competition at the Masters probably takes place off the water. A lot of attendees refer to the event as a “gathering of the tribe,” and the opening-night dinner, at a rustic Basque inn up in the foothills, has the feel of a giant potlatch, with old friends table-hopping, the Hawaiian contingent strumming away on their guitars, and heartfelt, boozy toasts to and by the hosts from Quiksilver Europe.
Still, as the days go by, it’s hard to dismiss the idea that there are two overlapping clans within the tribe. Most conspicuous are the guys with haircuts and mortgages and good jobs, usually in the surf business. After a period of wondering what he was going to do with his life, Rabbit Bartholomew, for instance, wound up running the Association of Surfing Professionals, the sport’s world body. Cairns is a surf-contest promoter who lives in southern California. Others are entrepreneurs, like Paul “Smelly” Neilsen, president of one of the biggest chains of surf shops in Australia. Then there are the apparel executives. Peter Townend is the global marketing director for Rusty, a California board and surfwear maker. Michael Tomson, a skinny 44-year-old guy who favors fatigues and T-shirts, is a former South African star who founded his own clothing company, Gotcha, 22 years ago in a rented house in Laguna Beach, California. Today, Irvine-based Gotcha is consistently ranked in the five top-selling surfwear brands internationally.
The other clan consists of the guys who are still mainly surfing, paddling, and “living the life.” For the most part they’re the seekers, slackers, and free spirits who tend to avoid the straight life, such as it is, for as long as they can. One day, talking to Reno Abellira, I ask him what he is planning to do after the contest. He’s going to California, he says vaguely, “to clean out an apartment and maybe sell a car.” Glen Winton, the notoriously reticent Australian star who became known as Mr. X, is disarmingly candid about his career ambitions. “Right now I’m working as a security guard at a shopping mall,” he says, “but what I really want to do is to become a judge.”
“So you’re going to law school and all that?”
“No, no,” Winton says, laughing. “I mean a surf judge.”
Hakman is the one guy who doesn’t quite fit into either category. Between heats, he moves through the competitors’ enclosure, mingling easily with members of both clans. There’s a lot of smiling and shoulder slapping, remembering swells and epic parties. But you also see an extra beat of watchfulness from his fellow surfers, an uncertainty as to who exactly Hakman is today. Sure, he’s now got homes in two of the world’s most beautiful places (Biarritz and Kauai), a lucrative but not-too-demanding job as the marketing guru—his actual title—for Quiksilver Europe, and, even more remarkably, a reborn career as an advertising icon for the company. But you still get the sense that, for some people, Hakman may have gotten a little too far out there to ever really come back.
In the contest program, Hakman is listed not as American, but Hawaiian. Although he was born in Southern California and learned to surf in Palos Verdes, his father, an aeronautical engineer by profession but a passionate “waterman” at heart, relocated the family to Makaha, on the North Shore of Oahu, when Jeff was 12. Makaha was a rough town in those days, and haoles like Hakman could face a brand of hostility that made the “Valley go home” localism of Palos Verdes seem tame by comparison. “Even today,” Hakman says, “the tourist board will tell you, ‘Uh, don’t go there.'” But Hakman had no problem mastering the vibe. “I’m not aggressive,” he explains. “I always try to bend and flex around.”
Within a year, Hakman was a regular in lineups up and down the North Shore. But he created his first real sensation in January 1963, when he and his father decided to paddle out at Waimea Bay on a 20-foot-plus day. Waimea is the North Shore’s biggest regular break—double-high freight trains of moving water that, should you blow the takeoff or get caught inside, can hold you under for 30 seconds—and at that time only a few grown men had dared to surf it. It’s impossible to overstate the raw courage of that moment: Hakman was barely 14-years-old, and small for his age to boot, weighing in at under 100 pounds and not yet five feet tall. He shakily rode one wave, and wiped out on the second. Then, with the rest of the lineup looking on in disbelief, he paddled into another one, rocketed down the face, and made the bottom turn, and then kicked out into the channel. “It really wasn’t that hard,” Hakman recalls nonchalantly.
The wave that truly appealed to Hakman was at Sunset Beach, a notoriously hard-to-read break halfway up the North Shore. “It intrigued me and scared the shit out of me at the same time,” he says. “Things move around a lot, depending on the size and direction of the swell. It’s not like Pipeline, where there’s one definite takeoff spot. It’s faster and steeper, and there’s so much more water. You can’t halfway commit. You gotta put yourself right in the guts of it.” By the time he was 15, Hakman knew the wave as well as anyone; it was, he says, “my backyard.”
Two years later, in 1965, Hakman was invited to compete at Sunset in the inaugural Duke Kahanamoku Invitational. Dreamed up by a Honolulu nightclub promoter, the Duke was a new kind of surfing competition. It boasted an international field consisting of the 24 best surfers in the world. There was a television crew from CBS to film the event. And there was cash—not prize money, but appearance fees—for the contestants. It was, in other words, the precursor of modern professional contests.
The surf was an unruly eight to ten feet the day of the finals. Paddling out to the point, Hakman caught the first wave and then realized that the next set was coming from much farther left, on the outside. He got there first and came away with what one of the judges would later recall as the best ride ever seen at Sunset: a screaming tube that went on and on through several different sections of the wave as Hakman crouched in a cheater-five—the toes of one foot wrapped over the nose of the board. A few waves later, he pulled a similar stunt, and the judges had no choice but to give the world’s first pro tournament title to a 17-year-old kid.
Hakman was characteristically modest about the moment. “I was overwhelmed,” he says in Mr. Sunset, a recent biography written by Australian journalist Phil Jarrat that includes a portrait of surfing’s formative era and selections from Hakman’s extensive photo archives. When Hakman was pressed by his surfing pal Fred van Dyke to make a speech, Jarrat writes, he only managed to get out, “Ah, thanks everybody. I’m ah, stoked! Is that OK, Fred?”
Thus began a ten-year period when Hakman was arguably the best competitive surfer in the world. “They called him Surf Chimp because of his short legs and long arms,” says Gibus de Soultrait, editor of the French magazine Surf Session and, as the French often are, an avid student of obscure American subcultures. “He always took a high line on the wave that gave him a lot of speed, and being so small and having a low center of gravity, he never fell. That helps when you’re surfing Sunset with no leash.
“Hakman was more competitive than his main rival in those days, Gerry Lopez,” de Soultrait continues. “Gerry was a soul surfer, into the mystical side. Jeff was always a guy who wanted to win. The two of them were at the heart of the old debate about surfing—is it a sport or is it an art?”
If it was a sport, it wasn’t a particularly organized one at the time. There was no official circuit, no overall points title, and very little prize money. Income, such as it was, came from endorsement deals with surfboard manufacturers, travel stipends from surf filmmakers, and all the other scams that enterprising world travelers dream up. In Hakman’s case, that occasionally meant small-time drug-trafficking schemes—something that seemed like little more than heart-pounding capers at the time but, in retrospect, ultimately helped grease his slide. “It was acceptable to take a couple of ounces with you and sell them when you got somewhere, to pay for the plane ticket,” Hakman says matter-of-factly. “The people who were doing it weren’t bad people. Now it’s much more organized, and the street scenes are so hard, but back then I thought those people and that life were glamorous.”
Yet as Hakman worked the “international beach scene,” both partying and purveying, he was mulling more conventional business ideas. One day in 1975, at a contest in Queensland, Australia, he had to borrow a pair of board shorts at the last minute. They were of a tight-woven poplin and cut with a much wider yoke than anything he’d worn before, and they closed with Velcro and a snap instead of ties. Plus they had a cool name—Quiksilver—and a catchy logo in the shape of a wave. “I remember thinking, ‘Wow, these are pretty good,'” Hakman says. “Gerry [Lopez] and I took ’em back to Hawaii and told Jack Shipley, Lopez’s business partner [in a surfboard and sandal business], to import some.” Shipley did, and even though he had to sell the Quiksilvers at $17 a pair—$5 more than the going rate for board shorts—he sold out all 100 pairs in two weeks.
That winter, still pondering the boardshort business, Hakman wound up at a place called Ulu Watu, in Bali, then the hot new surf spot. Drugs were a big part of the scene in Ulu Watu; the surfer who showed Hakman the place liked to quaff psilocybin mushroom milkshakes before every session in the waves. Hakman was taken aback when he found a bunch of his friends smoking heroin through foil, but by the time he left Bali, he admits in Mr. Sunset, he too “had a nice habit going.”
Jeff Hakman’s apartment in Biarritz is half a block from the Côtes des Basques, the clifftop promenade where Peter Viertel got his big idea back in 1956. It’s an austere neighborhood of high walls and carefully trimmed topiary, a bit sedate, perhaps, for a surf legend and a legendary partyer. Then again, Hakman is a family man now. Six months a year he and his Australian wife of 12 years, Cherie, and their two children, Ryan, 17, and Lea, 7, live here; it’s just a few minutes’ drive to Hakman’s office at the Quiksilver Europe headquarters. The other half of the year they’re in Hanalei Bay, Kauai, where Hakman doesn’t do much except surf.
The big sun-drenched apartment is empty today. Cherie and the kids have gone back to Hawaii so as not to miss the start of the school year. Hakman will rejoin them in a few days, when the contest is over, but in the meantime he’s alone with a stack of surf videos, a big bowl of vitamins and food supplements in the kitchen, and on the dinner table, a copy of a book titled Yesterday’s Tomorrow: Recovery Meditations for Hard Cases.
Hakman is a fundamentally shy man, but part of the recovery process, he knows, is being able to share one’s story. And so, half-reluctantly, he begins talking. A year after that fateful stop in Bali, he explains, he made his bid for the Quiksilver name. It happened like this: Preparing for his annual Australian swing, he asked his board shaper to install an extra-thick fin, hollowed out to keep down the weight. Shortly before his departure, he filled it with three ounces of cocaine—not to use himself, but to trade for heroin, which was much cheaper than cocaine in Australia. By the time Hakman showed up for the 1976 Bells Beach Classic, the preeminent surf contest of the Australian season, he was already strung out. Yet two amazing things happened that week, although Hakman is a little shaky on the details. Not only did he win the tournament, the first time a non-Australian had done so, but he also somehow persuaded the owners of Quiksilver Australia to grant him licensing rights to their name, logo, and board-short design for the U.S. market, in exchange for 5 percent of the new U.S. company and 5 percent of its sales.
Hakman had been talking to a surfer friend he’d met in Ulu Watu, a USC business school graduate named Bob McKnight, about the Quiksilver idea. With the license secured, the two of them set about building a business. They began a series of mad drives up and down the coast between their makeshift factory in Orange County, the fabric suppliers in Los Angeles, and all the surf shops they could talk their way into. There was no time to surf, and Hakman forgot about heroin for a while, too. But then the old urge returned, and before he knew it a friend was showing him how to shoot it intravenously.
For the next couple of years, insists McKnight, now the CEO of Quiksilver USA, in Huntington Beach, California (the new location of its headquarters), he had no idea about Hakman’s heroin habit. “Either I was naive,” McKnight says, “or he hid it incredibly well.” Whatever the case, the company grew, slowly at first and then with startling speed. By the early eighties, annual sales were approaching five million. Hakman began to have a lot of pocket money, and his taste for heroin grew apace; at one point, he says, it was costing him $500 a day.
Hakman is surprisingly unemotional as he tells the story. There’s no self-recrimination or wistfulness. Instead, there’s almost a sense of wonder, as if he were describing a particularly phenomenal day on the North Shore. He doesn’t look to blame his addiction on anything, and he won’t take the easy way out and say it was a need for adrenaline inherited from his big-wave surfing days.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say letting go of the belt is like dropping into 30-foot Waimea,” he says. “That instant of dropping down a big gnarly face—it’s very close, equally potent, but not the same. On the other hand, the same thing that got me addicted definitely made me a good surfer. You know, once you get a direction, you go and commit.” He pauses again. “I thought I could handle it,” he says. “But every addict thinks that—that they’re different.”
Early on, Hakman had begun selling small numbers of shares in Quiksilver USA to pay for drugs. After 1980, though, the trickle became a deluge. “At 30, I thought I was going to live happily ever after,” he says, his eyes moistening for the first time. “I still had about a 33 percent share in the company.” He stops and rubs his face with his hands, regaining control. “By ’82, it was all gone. The third partner in the company finally said, ‘Jeff, you gotta leave. This isn’t working at all.’ I went, ‘That’s understandable.’ I had a six-month-old son and about $3,000, total.”
Hakman stops again, thinking it over. “The last 10 percent I sold for $100,000,” he says, the barest note of regret in his voice. “It’s worth at least $15 million today.”
Midway through the third day of the Silver Edition competition, the swell begins to drop, from eight feet to five feet at first, and then all the way down to three. Even so, the men compete that day, and the third round turns out to be a good outing for Hakman; he finishes second to Wayne Lynch. But day four dawns sunny, calm, and flat, and the contest is postponed until further notice.
What do old surfers do when there’s no surf? Pretty much the same thing young surfers do. They play video games, smoke pot, and laugh their way around the hotel golf course, and they eat, drink, and tell stories—competitively, of course.
One day after breakfast, Joey Buran, a stubble-headed Californian who became a minister about 15 years ago, regales a small but appreciative crowd with tales of an epic day at Waimea Bay when he barely escaped death by scratching his way over set after set of monster waves. Once he found himself safely outside, however, he realized there was no practical way to get back in. The sun beat down. Buran started to have sharky thoughts. Eventually he began sobbing and praying for a miracle, whereupon a lone figure on a jet ski appeared. “And you know what the guy did?” Buran says. “He came speeding up, turned and threw me a shaka”—Buran rocks his outstretched thumb and pinkie in the Hawaiian salute—”and kept right on going.”
A day later, at a raucous competition dinner, Hakman, sitting midway down the table sipping mineral water, ventures a story of his own. It’s about a hitchhiker he once picked up in the midseventies, driving a lonely road in the Australian countryside. The guy was, without a doubt, one of the rudest people he’d ever met; every time Hakman tried a conversational gambit, the hitchhiker came back with the same response: “None of your fucking business.” Suddenly there were flashing lights and a siren—the police. Hakman pulled over. Panicking, the hitchhiker dropped his bag, jumped out of the car, and sprinted into the woods with the cop in hot pursuit. Hakman looked at the suspicious package lying on the seat next to him, considered the delicacy of the situation, and took the only reasonable course of action: He peeled out and sped off into the night.
There’s a brief silence. “OK, OK,” says Dave Kalama, a Hawaiian tow-in star who’s been flown in by Quiksilver to do water safety for the contest. “What was in the bag?”
“None of your fucking business,” Hakman says, flashing that big gummy grin.
Everyone laughs, less out of amusement than relief that Hakman isn’t dropping some real-life bombshell from his past. This is, after all, a guy who got hepatitis from dirty needles in the late seventies and who was high for the birth of his son in 1982. Two of his shooting buddies subsequently died of AIDS. One day around the same time, when he was at work at his Quiksilver office in Costa Mesa, California, a Mercedes pulled up out front and six gun-packing gangsters stormed upstairs into his office, not so gently inquiring as to the whereabouts of several ounces of missing drugs. All good stories, perhaps, but not particularly funny. For some, the tales bring back memories of those in the old circle who died from drug overdoses, a not insignificant number that included several of Hakman’s own friends, his brother-in-law, and, in the early seventies, two of the best young surfers in Hawaii, Rusty Star and Tomi Winkler.
There are a couple of reasons why Hakman didn’t join them. “He wasn’t ultimately self-destructive,” says Bob McKnight. “Every time he got to the bottom, he had that instinct to straighten out. Hakman’s very street-smart, instinctual, with a total survivor mentality. His dad is like that too—the guy is a frickin’ aquarium diver, out in deep water every day still. Jeff was trained to be like that.”
The other reason Hakman survived is that his friends and family members watched out for him. And he found a savior—or a savior found him.
Half a mile up the road from Lafitenia, just across the A63 autoroute, is the Quiksilver Europe “campus.” One look at the tasteful, neomodernist lines of the new corporate offices and you know that surfing’s mystical power to sell stuff has only increased by crossing the Atlantic. For the most part, what Quiksilver sells is clothing—casual sportswear with a youthful design flair. (Its “technical” pieces, like the trademark board shorts and wetsuits, actually constitute a small fraction of its business.) According to EuroSIMA, the industry’s trade association, surfwear is now a $1.2 billion business in Europe. Quiksilver Europe’s share is about $150 million, which makes it about half the size of Quiksilver USA. For now.
“Europe has more surfable coastline than Australia,” says Harry Hodge, the 50-year-old man who brought Quiksilver to Europe and the company’s president. “There’s Scotland, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain, Portugal—even Sardinia and Italy now. And I can tell you they need board shorts in Italy. Badly.”
If there’s one person responsible for the resurrection of Mr. Sunset, it’s Harry Hodge. Born and raised outside Melbourne, “Hollywood” Hodge (he bears a passing resemblance to the actor Don Johnson) was a surfer and a journalist whose lifelong dream was to make a surf film “as good as Endless Summer.” In the end, he did make his movie, Band on the Run, but it cost him everything he owned and was, he admits, “a complete commercial failure.”
Hodge fell into a yearlong depression, but he eventually rallied and found a marketing job with Quiksilver Australia. In 1984, offered a chance to launch a new license in France, Hodge did the unthinkable—he looked up Hakman, with whom he’d partied during the glory days in Costa Mesa, and asked him if he wanted a chance to start over as a one-quarter partner in a new company called Quiksilver Europe. “I had no reservations at all,” Hodge says. “Hakman knew the business. And I was young.”
Hakman was nearby, at Burleigh Heads on the Gold Coast of Queensland, where he and Cherie had retreated after the debacle at Quiksilver USA. He had come a long way down in the world, clerking in a surf shop and teaching Australian kids and Japanese tourists to surf on his lunch hour, and when his old peers from the pro ranks came through, they could barely look him in the eye. But Hakman wasn’t unhappy.
“I loved teaching the kids,” he remembers. “I’d take an eight-year-old out, and after two hours he’d be laughing and smiling and riding waves, just stoked…
“So when Harry said, ‘Do you want to do this Europe thing?’ I didn’t know. It wasn’t like I was over the addiction. I was healthy and I’d cleaned up, but those little sensations were still prickling.”
Armed with a war chest of $200,000 Australian that they’d raised themselves, Hodge, Hakman, Hodge’s girlfriend Brigitte Darrigrand, and a fourth partner, John Winship, set off to conquer Europe. “Brigitte’s parents put their house up as collateral, and then a banker here was somehow convinced and gave us a loan,” Hodge says. “Two years later we had a line of credit of 70 million francs, with no tangible assets.” Meanwhile, Hakman was slowly slipping off the wagon. “I was good—well, so-so—for about a year,” he recalls. “Then you just run into certain people, and sooner or later you’re in trouble.”
In late 1986 the company accountant came to Hodge scratching his head. “I’m looking at these gas receipts of Jeff’s,” Hodge says, “and he’s bought enough fuel in the last three months to have driven around the world a couple of times.” Hakman had been putting $20 of gas in his car but charging $100 on his card and pocketing the difference. Hodge and Darrigrand, furious at the betrayal, told Hakman that if it happened again, he was finished. “I got caught with the gas cards, then I got clean,” Hakman says. “It’s always the same cycle.”
In 1988, unable to pay off their line of credit, the four partners started looking for help. They found a bittersweet solution in a buyout offer from Quiksilver USA. “We basically sold the whole company, with an earn-out clause which we hit, for ten million,” says Hakman. “We got stock options, but it’s not the same as owning it. People say, ‘God, you sold the company, how stupid!’ But it was that close to being nothing. We had the fashion and we had the image, but none of us had a financial background.”
With the sale complete, Hakman found himself with about $800,000 in the bank and not quite the same interest in running the business. Soon he was looking up old friends. “I was functioning, but it was a schedule from hell,” he says. “I had to see my contact twice a day. I couldn’t go to work without it, so I had to get him out of bed in the morning. Then I had to find him again at lunch. The problem wasn’t when you were high. It was when you couldn’t score. You’re sweating, your nose is running, your voice is cracking. You’re falling off your chair.”
Hakman shakes his head, remembering the day the end came. “May 10, 1990,” he says. “I got up, and I felt horrible. I turned to my wife and said, ‘I don’t think I’m in control.’ I broke down and admitted it: I was scared.” Cherie went to Hodge and told him Jeff was using again, and neither of them knew what to do. Rather than fire Hakman, as he’d promised, Hodge got on the phone. “I remember him yelling,” Hakman says. “‘Where’s the place Elton John went? I want that place!'”
In his six weeks at Galsworthy Lodge, outside London, Hakman was subjected to an unsparing scrutiny and, perhaps more important, allowed to see the spectacle of other outwardly assured men and women paralyzed by their addictions. “Really elegant, refined people, guys in nice suits with good accents, who were helpless,” he says. “Way worse than me.”
“We both knew that we couldn’t keep living like that,” Cherie says. “I can’t look back and say that it was easy, but we know what it is like to be human. We’re lucky. A lot of people don’t survive. We got through it, and the other end of all this has been great.”
For close to a decade now, Hakman says, he’s been clean.
The final weekend of the contest is at hand, and thanks to his decent showing in round three, Hakman now needs only a second-place finish in the last heat to make it through to the quarterfinals. The flowing, powerful Bobby Owens takes the early lead, as he has all week. Then Reno Abellira, who’s been floundering at the back of the pack alongside Hakman, suddenly comes alive with a couple of nifty tube rides. But Hakman’s first few waves look pretty good, too. In the spectator enclosure, the Quiksilver crew follows Hakman closely. “If he’s not careful,” says Hodge sarcastically, “he could wind up in the main event.”
Abellira and Owens each get another wave, and Hakman slips into third place. Then, with two minutes left in the heat, a final set rolls in. Hakman almost takes off on the first wave, but it starts to break around him and then closes out entirely. He pulls back and spins to grab the second wave, but it’s breaking too far to the left, and he can’t quite paddle into it. The buzzer sounds, and that’s it—he’s out of the contest.
For Hakman, it’s a victory nonetheless—one more step in the rehabbing of a legend. First, there was his job, which he describes as “sort of being Mr. Quiksilver, internationally,” and which amounts to telling surfing stories at sales meetings, hanging out at trade shows, and offering an occasional design critique. Then there was the biography, which Hodge talked him into cooperating with as an act of therapy and as a way to recover his story.
Since its publication, the book has become something else—a strangely effective piece of marketing. (Though it has yet to find a U.S. distributor, Mr. Sunset has done surprisingly well, selling more than 20,000 copies overseas and over the Internet, and the Hollywood production company October Films has optioned it for the screen.) Just as Nike is quick to lap up anything that seems remotely cool about the NBA and The North Face leaps to outfit the next wave of mountain daredevils, Quiksilver can’t help but stake out its territory. That means signing up obvious stars, like Kelly Slater, and hosting events like the Silver Edition Masters. But it also means reaching out to subversive heroes and prodigal sons like Jeff Hakman, because there’s something authentic about them that no amount of white bread can match.
“We’re not just some guy who looks like Jimmy Buffet with a parrot on his shoulder,” says McKnight. “You get our guys together, Jeff and the other Hawaiians, and it’s really real, man.”
The next day, with Hakman looking on from the beach, the contest wraps up. Cheyne Horan edges out his old nemesis Tom Carroll in the under-40 finals, thereby claiming his first-ever world masters championship. (Later the same afternoon, he proposes to his girlfriend in a scene that he calls “way heavier than the final.”) In the over-40 final, Rabbit Bartholomew manages to catch the wave of the tournament, a perfect, near-closeout tube ride. After what seems like ten seconds, he bursts out of the far end, pumping both fists, making the claim. The judges do what they must—they give him a perfect ten, and the victory.
The awards ceremony is held at Lafitenia, and afterward there’s a pretty good party that doesn’t end until past midnight. It’s an idyllic scene: Hawaiian guitars, cold Buds (a delicacy in France), and the sun dipping low over the sea, just like in Southern California. One might expect Hakman to skip out on the party, especially as it gets loud, but he winds up staying, hanging out with Hodge and the Hawaiians on the deck. He even has a beer. Though Hakman never had a real problem with alcohol, you can almost hear 12-step people everywhere gnashing their teeth. A beer! It’s tantamount to starting up the heroin again! To the Aussies, though, it’s just funny. “Hakman’s having a beer!” Hodge yells. “Someone get a camera!”
Hakman has another beer, or two. He laughs at the jokes and tells a few of his own, but it’s hard to figure out if he’s truly having a good time. Maybe he is. But I have my doubts. Between jokes he gets a faraway look in his eyes, and soon he’s backing out of the party. It’s ironic, really. The guy who started the party is the first one to leave.

The post Mr. Sunset Rides Again appeared first on ��ԹϺ�� Online.

See the World

sperkins-pom

Himalaya + (Harry N. Abrams, $50)Ã‰ric Valli’s Himalaya is a slab of a book, with more than 200 color images taken during the two decades the French photographer and filmmaker (his Himalaya was nominated for the 1999 Oscar for best foreign film) spent living in Nepal. The rugged, austere landscape is beautiful, but Valli’s atmospheric snapshots of children frolicking in millet fields and herdsmen threading steep, snowy passesÂ—accompanied by thoughtful essays on Nepalese culture and geography by Paris-based anthropologist Anne de SalesÂ—prove that the appeal of this kingdom extends far beyond its tallest peaks.Â—Jason StevensonEarthsong + (Phaidon, $60)German aerial photographer Bernhard Edmaier’s new collection looks more like a series of abstract paintings than a book of landscape photography. Earthsong features more than 250 color images of every environment on our planet, from Namibian sand dunes to Day-GloÂ–green glacial moss in Iceland. What sends the book into literary orbit is geologist Angelika Jung-HÃ¼ttl’s fascinating text describing how air, fire, water, and rock became the subjects in Edmaier’s lens.Â—Will PalmerThe Travel Book + (Lonely Planet, $40)Leave it to Lonely Planet to give us a 444-page dream book covering 200-plus countries and dependenciesÂ—now your fingers can do the traipsing from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe. Instead of dry statistics, The Travel Book (edited by Roz Hopkins) delivers soulful snapshots of place, with 1,200 photosÂ—Balinese girls in procession, a healing ceremony in GabonÂ—along with savvy cultural observations from LP’s expert travelers. Armchair adventure doesn’t get better than this.Â—Leslie WeedenHimalaya + (Harry N. Abrams, $50)Ã‰ric Valli’s Himalaya is a slab of a book, with more than 200 color images taken during the two decades the French photographer and filmmaker (his Himalaya was nominated for the 1999 Oscar for best foreign film) spent living in Nepal. The rugged, austere landscape is beautiful, but Valli’s atmospheric snapshots of children frolicking in millet fields and herdsmen threading steep, snowy passesâ€”accompanied by thoughtful essays on Nepalese culture and geography by Paris-based anthropologist Anne de Salesâ€”prove that the appeal of this kingdom extends far beyond its tallest peaks. – Jason StevensonEarthsong + (Phaidon, $60)German aerial photographer Bernhard Edmaier’s new collection looks more like a series of abstract paintings than a book of landscape photography. Earthsong features more than 250 color images of every environment on our planet, from Namibian sand dunes to Day-Gloâ€“green glacial moss in Iceland. What sends the book into literary orbit is geologist Angelika Jung-HÃ¼ttl’s fascinating text describing how air, fire, water, and rock became the subjects in Edmaier’s lens. – Will PalmerThe Travel Book + (Lonely Planet, $40)Leave it to Lonely Planet to give us a 444-page dream book covering 200-plus countries and dependenciesâ€”now your fingers can do the traipsing from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe. Instead of dry statistics, The Travel Book (edited by Roz Hopkins) delivers soulful snapshots of place, with 1,200 photosâ€”Balinese girls in procession, a healing ceremony in Gabonâ€”along with savvy cultural observations from LP’s expert travelers. Armchair adventure doesn’t get better than this. – Leslie WeedenÂ��

Roaming

Roaming + (Nazraeli Press, $65) Todd Hido’s acclaimed 2001 debut, House Hunting, was a collection of haunting long exposures of suburban dwellings at night. Now the Bay Area photographer takes to the country with a series of seductive, darkly lit color photographs, most taken through the windows of a moving car. In each masterly print, behind the blurring of rain or wiper-blade tracks, a mysterious presence seems to be lurking—a glowing streetlight in the fog, a motel sign, or some imminent, unnamed threat—ready to tell its story if someone will take heed. Hido does.—Will Palmer Surf Book + (Channel Photographics, $65) When six-time U.S. Open surfing champion Joel Tudor set out to produce a book about the living legends of his sport, he had no trouble picking his subjects. What he needed was a photographer who shared his vision—and he found one in New York–based portrait photographer Michael Halsband. The two visited breaks around the world to shoot the portraits collected in Surf Book, a sumptuous, inspiring homage to greats like Kelly Slater and the Irons brothers, plus dozens of lesser-known stars, that makes you want to chuck it all for a life on the circuit.—Christine Cyr Passage + (Harry N. Abrams, $60) British artist Andy Goldsworthy takes objects you’d find on a typical hike (fallen leaves, flower petals, icicles) and uses them to create strangely beautiful outdoor sculptures, which he photographs before they melt or crumble. Check out his recent work—from leaf-wrapped branches floating in Massachusetts streams to egg-shaped sandstone cairns towering above Scottish farmlands—in his newest book, Passage. Or, if you missed it at your local art house in 2003, pick up German filmmaker Thomas Riedelsheimer’s award-winning documentary Rivers and Tides: Andy Goldsworthy Working with Time (Metropolis Films, $27), now on DVD.—Dianna Delling

Carnet de Voyage

Islands in the Stream

GENRE BUSTERS Voyeurs take note: Carnet de Voyage (Top Shelf Productions, $15), a graphic novel–cum– travel journal by award-winning comics artist Craig Thompson, illustrates the joys and sorrows of solo journeys in intimate detail. The text and drawings that recount Thompson’s three-month trip through France, Spain, and Morocco chronicle everything from the ill-timed effects of diarrhea to the intensity of romance on the road. (“We kiss again at a stoplight,” one passage reads, “not so innocent this time.”) Equally revealing is The Rivers of the Mandala (Thames & Hudson, $22), by French designer Simon Allix and journalist Benoit de Vilmorin. Both a travel tale and a primer on Buddhism, it draws from a decade of adventures in Central Asia, with collages of photos, diagrams, and even a clay model of Mount Kailas.—Stephanie Pearson EDGE STALKERS Stuff your favorite thrill junkie’s stocking with a DVD that will keep him stoked. Islands in the Stream (Monterey Video, $20)—the debut from filmmakers Wes Brown (whose dad, Dana, brought us Step into Liquid) and T. J. Barrack—follows pro surfers like Tom Curren and Layne Beachley as they take on the waves of Tahiti. » The six discs in the Bones Brigade series (Skate One, $30 each), first released in the 1980s and now available on DVD, offer classic footage of skateboard legends like Stacy Peralta, Lance Mountain, and Tony Hawk as they shred in and around Los Angeles. » And the 2004 Tour de France Collector’s Edition (World Cycling Productions, $90) lets fans relive Lance’s historic sixth-in-a-row victory, with 12 hours of highlights from last summer’s epic race.—Tasha Zemke

The post See the World appeared first on ��ԹϺ�� Online.

��ԹϺ�� Magazine, September 2016

mmirhashem

Best Towns 2016
Nearly 700,000 votes later, Billings, Montana, is this year’s winner, thanks to its ridiculous fishing, backcountry access, and affordability. We’ve also got the lowdown on what makes our other 15 finalists great, from Seattle’s ferries to Hanalei’s surf.

Righteous Abs
How much would Jesus lift? More than you might think. Christians are celebrating their faith in newly physical ways as evangelical churches inspire their congregations to stay healthy and get ripped. By Erin Berisini

Impact Zone
The degenerative brain disease CTE isn’t confined to the football field. As BMX legend Dave Mirra’s recent suicide demonstrates, concussions are exacting a deadly toll among action-sports and adventure athletes, too. By Dan Koeppel

The Great Escape
Time spent in nature has therapeutic benefits for everyone from veterans to at-risk youth. Now researchers think it can help those who’ve spent years cut off from the outdoors—ex-cons. By Brian Mockenhaupt

‸��ʴ��հ�ᷡ��
First Look: Kelly Slater’s big-bucks battle to win the artificial-wave race.
Food: From Phat Ladies to Murder Points, southern oysters are sweeter.
Gear: Running shoes are getting personal.
Bikepacking: After rolling 5,000 miles, one couple is helping to define cycling’s hottest trend.

ESSENTIALS: Design + Tech Special
Bulletproof. Packable. Connected. When cutting-edge engineering meets the outdoors, the result is 29 breakthrough products to help you survive everything from a freezing bivvy to your daily commute.

BODYWORK
In the Lead: The benefits—and pitfalls—of intermittent fasting.
Performance Enhancer: How caffeine and cardio help drive climber Sasha DiGiulian up the wall.
Active Cities: Las Vegas, Nevada.
Fuel: The latest all-natural protein powders have ingredients you can actually pronounce.

Plus

Exposure
Parting Shot

The post ��ԹϺ�� Magazine, September 2016 appeared first on ��ԹϺ�� Online.

Access & Resources

sperkins-pom

Bahamas Island Out-��ԹϺ��s (www.bahamasadventures.com; 242-333-3282) arranges trips by the day and includes all transportation, meals, activities, and equipment. One-day adventures cost $99 per person. Overnight trips start at $299 per person for two days, $399 for three days, and $499 for four days. The company can also arrange package trips that include round-trip flights from Fort Lauderdale or Miami for $399 per person per day for one day to $799 per person for four days. If visiting Nassau and Paradise Island, you can join trips to Eleuthera for $199 to $599 per person for one to four days respectively, including all transportation. The Best of Eleuthera Diving & Snorkeling Ocean Fox Diving (www.oceanfox.com; 242-333-2323), a full-service PADI shop on Harbour Island, runs divers to a myriad of sites that bless Eleuthera’s shores. Two-tank dives start around $45 per person. The Fish Bowl near an area called the Plateau is one of the country’s best dives (35-95 feet) for swimming through corral channels amid barracuda, jacks, and lobsters. Other highlights include swimming through the chimney’s of the Potato and Onion wreck, a shallow dive (30 feet) on a veggie vessel that had a run-in with a ship-gobbling rise in the reef back in the ’70s and the Grouper Hole, where you’ll see the big stuff like sharks. Go in the summer for the calmest water. The Current Cut, a watery slash running through the northern end of Eleuthera, is an exhilarating snorkeling spot on northern Eleuthera where swimmers can ride the stiff tide along underwater walls popping with clown and angel fish. Kayaking Head with Aberle and crew out to Hatchet Bay, where you’ll paddle through a protected lagoon out into the raw sea to explore a cave by boat. On the way back capsize and cool off in the green water surrounded by limestone cliffs. Surfing The reef off Man Island near Harbour Island trips waves into forming perfect rights when the swell is good (wintertime). Aberle has a good selection of beginner-friendly boards as well as some shorter models for aspiring Kelly Slaters. He’ll load you all up into his Mako outboard, motor you out to the breaks, and dole out lessons. Hidden Beach and James Point on Eleuthera will round out your tube time. Beaches An absolute must-see is Smugglers Beach, an incredibly picturesque beach near Rainbow Bay accessible only at low tide by scrambling through a notch in the foreboding cliffs. Aberle knows the way here and to dozens of other hideouts, like Alabaster Bay and Holiday Beach, that you’ll be hard pressed to find on your own. Solitude practically guaranteed.

The post Access & Resources appeared first on ��ԹϺ�� Online.

Every President’s Favorite Athlete of the 20th Century

sperkins-pom

Gerald Ford takes the snap. (U.S. National Archives and Recor)

U.S. National Archives and Records Administration. Photo: Wikimedia Commons“Best athlete” discussions always make for an interesting debate in the sense that they’re always totally stupid and pointless and boundary-less, so you’re basically arguing about completely different things and no one ever gets anywhere. More than anything, if even anything, your idea of the best-ever athlete says something about you rather than anything about the history of sports.So, the idea of Mitt Romney calling Jack Nicklaus the greatest athlete of the 20th century—which he only sort of did—would say a few things about the Republican presidential hopeful: he is sort of old, he is white, and he is rich. Which, check, check, check. But this didn’t actually happen, so it doesn’t really matter. Still, it got us wondering. If all American presidents had to pick their Best Athlete of the 20th Century, who would they choose?George Washington: Chris CheliosJohn Adams: Pete RoseThomas Jefferson: Anyone other than Shawn KempJames Madison: Phil SimmsJames Monroe: Liberian soccer player George WeahJohn Quincy Adams: Will Smith��Andrew Jackson: John RockerMartin Van Buren: A tie between female Dutch long-track speed-skaters Ireen Wurst and Atje Keulen-DeelstraWilliam Henry Harrison: Colombian soccer player Carlos ValderammaJohn Tyler: Ryan LeafJames K. Polk: Raphael PalmeiroZachary Taylor: The RockMillard Fillmore: Gerry Philbin, defensive end for the 1969 New York JetsFranklin Pierce: Former Finnish female soccer player Pauliina Miettinen��James Buchanan: Wilt Chamberlain��Abraham Lincoln: Detlef Schrempf��Andrew Johnson: That squirrel that waterskied in a pool��Ulysses S. Grant: Tommy MoeRutherford B. Hayes: Rebecca LoboJames A. Garfield: Craig StadlerChester A. Arthur: Mullet-era Andre AgassiGrover Cleveland: Kevin GreeneBenjamin Harrison: Fuzzy ZoellerWilliam McKinley: Claudio Reyna��Theodore Roosevelt: Dennis RodmanWilliam Howard Taft: Jose Canseco and Mark McGwireWoodrow Wilson: Orel Hersheiser��Warren G. Harding: The Phoenix Suns mascotCalvin Coolidge: Ray BorqueHerbert Hoover: Chuck KnoblauchFranklin D. Roosevelt: Kelly SlaterHarry S. Truman: Greg MadduxDwight D. Eisenhower: Bill RomanowskiJohn F. Kennedy: Brian ScalabrineLyndon B. Johnson: Brad JohnsonRichard Nixon: Tony HawkGerald Ford: Gerald FordJimmy Carter: Rulon GardnerRonald Reagan: Norweigan biathlete Ole Einar Bjorndalen��George H. W. Bush: Michelle AkersBill Clinton: Professional billiards player Janette Lee��George W. Bush: Picabo StreetBarack Obama: A tie between Pele, Maradonna, Michael Jordan, Babe Ruth, Steve Nash, Eric Heiden, Roger Federer, Evander Holyfield, Willie Mays, Dan Marino, Muhammad Ali, Jerry Rice, Walter Payton, Neil Armstrong, Wayne Gretzky, Jesse Owens, Mario Lemieux, Michael Johnson, Pete Sampras, Larry Bird, Carl Lewis, Bjorn Borg, Babe Didrikson Zaharias, Ryne Sandberg, Mia Hamm, Bob Burnquist, Jim Thorpe, Tiger Woods, Hulk Hogan, and Hank Aaron

The post Every President’s Favorite Athlete of the 20th Century appeared first on ��ԹϺ�� Online.

Step Right Up

sperkins-pom

��

Technically, it is possible to run outdoors or even bicycle on the streets of Chicago every day of the year, including those glacial days in January. Few do, however, and even fewer would recommend it to others. There’s slush to contend with, for one thing. And the wind can slow you down, especially when it’s blowing hard and horizontally and is full of those teensy, needlelike ice crystals.
This time of year, even the most brazen outdoor athletes find themselves at the local gym in search of a quality indoor experience. And except for those who’ve outfitted their own homes with a piece of automated equipment (see Review, page 91), a health club room full of cardiovascular contraptions — stationary bikes, stair climbers, treadmills, and rowing machines — is the most comforting place to turn. Take, for instance, Chicago’s gargantuan East Bank Club, where 3,000 people may check in on a given day; in January, an extra horde of 500 can show up at the doors. These foul-weather fans may be coming off a particularly indulgent holiday jag, or even just a month or so of inactivity. Such is the power of cold weather and post-fruitcake resolve.
In the club’s main, 14,000-square-foot cardiovascular area, some 220 machines stand in rows in a mirrored, tall-ceilinged space once occupied by tennis courts. Mounted high, two separate banks of TVs, their audio signals available on personal stereo headsets, show sports, soaps, the news — whatever’s on. Over against the walls, people on mats crunch their abs and breathlessly flirt.
If it’s been a while, you might wisely head straight for the machine that mimics what you ordinarily do. But then the question often becomes, now what? Should you climb the Eiffel Tower? Is it better to set it on manual and go until exhaustion? What are all these buttons? Where are the trees? The East Bank Club’s fitness director, exercise physiologist Janice Slater, has seen the confusion. “When people first walk into the gym, they aren’t quite sure what to do,” Slater says. “That’s understandable; I’m not going to walk into a law office and start practicing law.”
She suggests using apparatuses that allow you to control resistance and change it easily in mid-effort. And if you’re looking for tangible results — not merely a diversion from the couch — her routines will require real concentration. “You can’t read and do this at the same time,” she says firmly. Which is to say that you, not the machine, should establish the speed of the exercise.
To return to a level of fitness resembling your base, Slater suggests three 30-minute sessions a week on your favorite machine at about 65 percent of your maximum heart rate. This will meet your fledgling cardiovascular needs, using major muscle groups and moving a lot of oxygen through your system. Following a strength-training routine on two of your noncardio days will help you cover the fitness bases. Together, the plan is a life preserver: just substantial enough to get you back on board. “The biggest thing is don’t try to pick up where you left off,” says Slater, noting that it takes barely two weeks without exercise for your fitness to wane. “If you’ve taken a month off, give yourself a month to get up to speed.” Stick with it, and before long your life should be perfect.
Exercise Bike
The popularity of this piece of equipment can be attributed to a simple fact: You get to sit down. While the bike is the easiest place to get lost in a good magazine article, if you adopt the appropriate posture and use the toe clips to pull up as you pedal, you’ll get a fine workout for the hamstrings in addition to the quadriceps, heart, and lungs — even if you use one of the really comfortable recumbent models. In either case, with the proper seat adjustment, each leg should show a five-degree bend at the knee when it’s fully extended. On the upright bikes, hold the grips lightly, sit up like Mary Poppins, and be sure your knees point straight forward.
Most stationary bikes allow you to control resistance, the program setting (which simulates the contour of the terrain) and of course, your own pedaling speed. In Slater’s workout you’ll alternate sets of hill climbs and sprints, with recovery periods after each one. Hill climbs offer conditioning through a progressive increase in resistance. Sprints, which should be done on “flat ground,” let you go hard in short bouts of intensity, challenging yourself in a way you couldn’t over a longer period. As you work into shape, simply increase the resistance.
For the warm-up, pedal easily on a level program for five minutes, keeping the resistance low enough so that your quads don’t start to burn. You’ll feel your body getting warm, though you shouldn’t start to sweat or breathe heavily. Next, divide the 20-minute body of the workout thus: Alternate four-minute segments of hill climbing and sprinting, following each segment with a minute of recovery pedaling at your warm-up rate.
On the hill climbs, choose a medium level of resistance and a hill with a steady incline, not a series of peaks and valleys. For the second hill climb, pedal 30 seconds at a moderate resistance, then 30 seconds at the same level but going faster, and repeat the sequence three more times. It’s fine to bend forward, keeping your back flat, and you can stand if the bike allows it — that is, if your pedaling remains smooth. Think about digging in with your heels. Think about Jan Ullrich.
For the sprints, go like lightning for your four minutes, at a resistance level that lets you keep the thing at 90 rpm. Finally, cool down for five minutes, pedaling at your warm-up pace, riding steady as your heart rate starts to drop.
Stair Climber
Not even the late Lanny Potts could have guessed what a sensation his invention, the vaunted StairMaster, would become. Now, in addition to the standard separate-pedal varieties, we have machines with continuously revolving escalator-like treads — another Potts invention that didn’t take off until more recently. Slater prefers this sort because it more closely simulates the action of climbing steps, since your muscles have to work against gravity.
All climbers will deliver a workout, however. They mostly exercise your quadriceps and your cardiovascular system, although a recent study conducted at Skidmore College turned up another virtue. Eight college-age female runners worked out on pedal-type climbers for three weeks, and the effects of that training, as measured by such factors as heart rate and VO2 max, were compared to those of running. The findings? No statistical difference in the fitness benefits of the two forms of exercise. It’s great news for runners who temporarily can’t handle high-impact work. “Say you’ve got a nagging pain on the bottom of your foot,” says exercise physiologist Patricia Fehling, the Skidmore professor who coauthored the study. “You can still work out at the same intensity.”
As for Slater’s regimen, you’ll get the best results by standing up straight and not leaning on the rails. They exist only to help you balance, so if you find yourself tempted to use them, slow it down. And it’s best not to let the steps sink all the way to the bottom.
Slater recommends following a pyramid, in which you steadily increase and then decrease resistance while stepping to the same pace. For the warm-up, five minutes of low-resistance stepping at level one should suffice. After that, do two minutes each at levels three, six, nine, and 12, followed by four minutes at level 14. Then come down: two minutes at levels 12, nine, six, and three, ending with a five-minute cool-down.
Treadmill
��A long row of occupied treadmills will offer every variation you can imagine in the way of fitness couture, audio technology, and public expressions of self-esteem. You’ll see walkers, talkers, and marathon men. Everybody’s doing something slightly different from the person at the next machine. They’re drawn to the exercise requiring the least adjustment in making the transition from the outdoors.
It’s this realism that makes the treadmill such a great workout. Primarily another lower-body operation, it calls on the calves, hamstrings, quadriceps, glutes, and hip flexors. “Everybody’s got their favorite little machine, but you don’t have to overcome gravity with a lot of them,” says J.P. Slovak, fitness director at the Cooper Fitness Center in Dallas. “On a treadmill, you do. It’s the best thing.”
Run with your chest up, arms loose, and elbows driving straight back on each stride. Slater suggests another pyramid plan here. Start with a five minute warm-up on level ground. Then run one-minute sequences in this elevation order: one, three, five, seven, five, three, and one. Repeat the sequence twice more and cap off your run with a level, five-minute cool-down.
Rowing Machine
Just a few inches off the ground, rowing machines tend to get lost in the forest of taller equipment. But for a cardio workout that taxes your upper body thoroughly, it’s your only option — and a good one. The rowing machine calls into action your arms, legs, and some of your back muscles. (Because some arch their backs incorrectly as they row, victims of lower-back problems may want to stay away.)
Rowers differ from other cardio machines in that the harder you go, the more rigorous the effort required. Also, on some versions, the flywheel you’re spinning by pulling on the bar makes a nice breeze, so you can imagine there’s actually water and fresh air nearby, and perhaps a barbecue grill.
The basic form requires pushing with your legs and then pulling with your arms. Holding the bar with an overhand grip, bring it to your abdomen, keeping your elbows out. When you’ve got the bar pulled in, your back should be straight, not arched or hyperextended. Warm up with five minutes of easy, steady rowing. Then do seven rounds of three-minute sequences — one minute hard, two minutes easy. Wrap it up with a five-minute cool-down. Who knows? After a few sessions, you may develop a reluctance to stop. While you’re on one of these machines your life is in order. You’re not eating, not drinking beer, not wasting time. For a few minutes, anyway, you’re irreproachable.
Joanne Trestrail is a writer and editor who lives in Chicago and exercises at the East Bank Club.

PRESCRIPTIONS Lift SmarterSay good-bye to that annoying, Nautilus-sharing minuet you do between sets during weight-room rush hour. Now you’re free to move on after each exercise, thanks to soon-to-be-released guidelines from the American College of Sports Medicine that recommend performing single sets of weight repetitions rather than the three sets we’ve been following since the Neolithic. Of course, with this freedom comes responsibility. To make one set effective, you need to force yourself to go S-L-O-W, lifting for two seconds and then picturing molasses as you lower for four seconds. “One set of eight to 12 repetitions, two to three times a week, is going to get you what you need,” says exercise physiologist Michael Pollock, who coauthored the guidelines and did the research behind them. He found that over the course of six months, lifting three sets resulted in no strength gains over lifting one set. Counter to what you might expect, it’s best not to increase the weight you’ve been lifting. “Don’t change your weight, but change your technique to make every rep count,” Pollock emphasizes. “It’s about intensity.” — Laura Hilgers

The post Step Right Up appeared first on ��ԹϺ�� Online.

You searched for google/Kelly Slater - �����ԹϺ��� Online

The Lazy, Crazy Guide to Sand Land

BEST DANCE CLUB

Best Mercado

Best Plunge Pool with a View

BEST TIKI DRINK

Galápagos Rising

Darwin's Playground

The Road to Swellsville

The New Right Stuff

Holiday Gift Guide

2004 Holiday Gift Guide

2004 Holiday Gift Guide

2004 Holiday Gift Guide

2004 Holiday Gift Guide

2004 Holiday Gift Guide

Mr. Sunset Rides Again

See the World

Roaming

Carnet de Voyage

Islands in the Stream

�����ԹϺ��� Magazine, September 2016

Access & Resources

Every President’s Favorite Athlete of the 20th Century

Step Right Up

You searched for google/Kelly Slater - ��ԹϺ�� Online

��ԹϺ�� Magazine, September 2016