The Cleanest Line

The Chase: a tiny film

By RC Cone

Honestly, we went to Iceland to catch big fish. It was that simple. We wanted to bask in the late Arctic sun while bringing dreamy meter-long Atlantic salmon to hand. We wanted to drink whiskey afterwards, go to bed and do it again every day we could. What surprised us wasn’t our ability to check that mission off the list it was the insignificance that those goals held compared to what we actually discovered. The Chase: a tiny film is an ode to the friendships and experiences that were shared while chasing our passions.

Above: The Chase: a tiny film. Video: Tributaries Digital Cinema

Mundaka: Surf but don’t touch

By Tony Butt

When the first surfers turned up at Mundaka around the late 1960s and set their eyes upon those perfect lefthanders, they had no reason to think the waves wouldn’t be there forever. Almost half a century later, we now know that Mundaka is a very special wave, perhaps unique in the world; not just because of its perfection, power or length, but because of the miraculous circumstances that made it the way it is. Sure, there are waves just as long and hollow as Mundaka, but the vast majority break on immovable rock or coral platforms. Mundaka, on the other hand, relies on a rivermouth sandbar.

In the early days, the overriding concern was how the surfers themselves could make the best of the wave. How could they improve board design and riding techniques to get in and out of those freight-train barrels as easily as possible? They had no idea that the principal concern would eventually turn from dominating the wave to protecting it.

This article isn’t just about Mundaka, although Mundaka is the central theme running through it. It is also about estuarine systems, chaos, Nature and us.

Above: The Mundaka sandbar behaving itself, winter 2014-15. Spain. Photo: Javi Muñoz

The Fisherman’s Son – My vision for Punta de Lobos

By Ramón Navarro

When I was growing up I wanted to help my dad, and be exactly like him: a fisherman. Then a couple of guys blew into town with surfboards and wetsuits and I said, "Wow, this is amazing," and then I wanted to learn to surf more than anything in the world.

So I learned to surf and started to travel the world, but I figured out pretty fast that the best place to surf was right at home. We have big waves, small waves and the traditional fishing culture I love. Nothing could be better.

While traveling, I saw many similar coasts around the world that had been polluted or were scarred forever by out-of-control developers. I saw places that were pristine before, but had already been ruined. I realized the coast that I loved so much was also under threat—from pulp mills, sewage pipelines, dams and senseless development.

Above: Ramón and his dad, Alejandro, organize their gear. Photo: Jeff Johnson

Amelia the Tropicat: A Swell Companion [Updated]

By Liz Clark, captain of Swell

I’ve had a few pets on Swell over the last nine years—most of them made their way aboard on their own. I don’t mind the geckos that often show up in a banana stock. They hide, so I rarely get to see them, but they are harmless and make cute coughing noises in the evening. I’ve hosted a wide variety of ants—from teeny fuzzy black ones to enormous shiny red ones. A roving wasp colony lives in my spinnaker pole from time to time, but we tend to give each other our space. Once a cricket turned up out of nowhere. I never saw him, but I adored his evening serenades until the day they were no more. While I was away on a trip to California, a newlywed rat couple from the boatyard where Swell was hauled moved aboard and raised four handsome rat babies who explored, chewed and pooped inside Swell from bow to stern. Their story had a rather gruesome ending … same song for the prolific cockroach family that sailed with me to Kiribati.

Above: Liz Clark and her cat, Amelia, head back to Swell (outfitted with a kitty ladder in case water-loathing Amelia falls in the drink). Photo: Jody MacDonald

Simply Southern Chile

By Hank Gaskell

After my second trip to Southern Chile this past July, I have absolutely fallen in love with its simple way of life. More and more nowadays, it seems there is so much going on that it’s impossible to get ahead. Chile doesn’t know or care about that. Life there is content to just continue rolling at a steady pace, no one is ahead and no one is behind. Everyone is family. Our crew did a good job stepping back from our busy day-to-day lives to emulate the Chilean way. For two weeks, our “family” consisted of Otto Flores, Eala Stewart, Ramon Navarro, photographer Dylan Gordon, videographer Rodrigo Farias and my girlfriend Malia. Huge thank you to all; what a group of top-notch humans!

Above: This is Eala and I negotiating a sketchy water entrance off the point in Buchupureo. Photo: Dylan Gordon

Inner(lost) Limits of Pure Fun – Never-before-seen footage from George Greenough

By Devon Howard

There are only a few people that have truly played a pivotal role in the advancement of surfboard design, people whose contribution was so impactful that it changed surfing in massive ways forever. George Greenough would make any surf buff’s list as one of the greats, but for me I’m comfortable saying he’s flat-out the greatest innovator of all time.

Since his youthful days of growing up around Santa Barbara in the ‘50s and early ‘60s, George has been a tinkerer on any sort of equipment. Whether it was go-karts or surfboards or boats or water housings for his cameras, he was always fascinated with improving their performance. He is the ultimate DIY guy, including his infamous self-shaped bowl cut. Motivated by making things better, and not for a quick buck, he was (and still is) intrinsically driven to search for and build any sort of design advantage or improvement that would lead to a better ride or capturing a unique image.

His most notable contributions to surfing were twofold, but each one is utterly connected to the other.

Above: Screen grab from George Greenough - Deep Tube Riding, lost 16mm waveriding footage from the late ‘60s. Watch the video after the jump.

Percebeiros: The Hunter-Gatherers of Europe’s Rugged Coastlines

By Tony Butt

Until recently in our evolutionary history as a species, humans couldn't extract resources faster than those resources were renewed. Even if we wanted to we couldn’t because Nature put a limit on the amount we could physically take.

Then, sometime within the last few thousand years, we crossed a tipping point and now we are quickly and unashamedly depleting our own resource base. Our addiction to technology and unsustainable living has spread to almost every corner of the globe. For example, where I live in northwest Iberia, there are no large cities but there are steelworks, paper mills, aluminium factories and a coal-fired power station right next to the coast. Much of the landscape is scarred by open-cast mines and quarries, and the mountains are planted with eucalyptus—an invasive species that can harm the ecosystem. These industries are a source of employment for a local population who could not imagine an alternative.

However, there are a few groups of people in this area who make a living in a much more sustainable way. One such group are the percebeiros, or collectors of goose barnacles. A surprising number of my surfing friends along this coast are percebeiros, so I thought I would talk to them about their work, and find out how being a surfer and being a percebeiro go hand in hand.

Above: Elias Vazquez uses his biztonta to collect goose barbacles. Photo: Tony Butt

River Surfing on the Saint Lawrence

By Juilen Fillion, photos by Vincent Bergeron

Montreal might be known for its welcoming French Canadian community, the beautiful women and the famous Poutine—French fries topped with a light brown gravy-like sauce and cheese curds—but it’s also known for a standing river wave called Habitat 67. This endless wave located on the center shore of Montreal Island was informally named for the adjacent Habitat 67 housing complex. It has become a popular destination for whitewater kayakers and river surfers.

The wave is created by fast-moving water hitting underwater boulders and can reach a height of two meters. One of my best friends and river mentors, Corran Addison—an Olympic kayaker and three-time world freestyle kayak champion—was the first to surf the Habitat wave in 2002. It quickly became crowded due to its accessibility so a search began for other more remote river waves. This search led to the discovery of the Holy Grail of river surfing about 10 kilometers upstream on the Saint Lawrence River. But don’t get me wrong, this is not a typical place or a typical wave in a typical environment.

National Geographic Announces 2015 Adventurers of the Year

Yesterday, National Geographic pulled the curtain back on the winners of their 10th annual Adventurers of the Year, “each selected for his or her remarkable achievement in exploration, adventure sports, conservation, and humanitarianism.” Four of the winners are from the Patagonia family and we couldn't be happier for them.

Tommy Caldwell for completing the Fitz Roy Travese with partner Alex Honnold--seven summits that define the Fitz Roy massif (and the Patagonia logo). Read the interview. Photo: Mikey Schaefer

Ben Knight, Travis Rummel and Matt Stoecker for the creation of their film, DamNation. Read the interview. Photo: DamNation Film

Liz Clark for 10 years of solo sailing in search of surf, simplicity and self-reliance. Read the inteview. Photo: Jeff Johnson

Gavin McClurg and Will Gadd for traversing 500 miles of remote Rockies terrain via paragliders. Read the interview. Photo: Jody MacDonald

Along with the individual awards, voting has begun for the People's Choice. We encourage you to cast your vote (deadline is January 31, 2015), but with so many amazing people in the running we're not sure how you're going to choose.

Congratulations to all of the winners, especially the folks we're honored to work alongside.

The Voyage(s) of the Cormorant, Part 3

By Christian Beamish

“Check out that fin,” my buddy, Dillon Joyce, said.

And there it was, 50 feet off the stern, an unmistakable dorsal, weaving in a slow “S” through the water. Wasn’t the sharp triangle-shape of a whitey, and as we were five- or six-miles out from Santa Cruz Island on our long sail back to the mainland, my best guess is that we were seeing a rather large blue shark. Nothing fearful about a blue shark, even if we sat a mere foot off the water aboard Cormorant. And compared to the wild ride of the day before, we were content to enjoy the light winds and the sight of thriving sea life in the Santa Barbara Channel.

Editor’s note: If you’re just joining us, catch up with Part 1 and Part 2.

I’d ordered a new pintle, cast in bronze by Classic Marine in the UK, fixed the rudder and returned to Santa Rosa to retrieve Cormorant. It happened that Dillon, a young surfer from San Clemente with whom I’ve sailed the islands once before, was planning a hiking trip out there and we agreed to travel together. Solitude has its place, but the safety and company of a good friend is priceless. The ranger had offered to give us a ride out to the backside of the island, as hiking with all the gear for the return sail would be impractical, and he met us at the dock.

Above: A very simple arrangement: The haliyard runs through a hole in the top of the mast and ties off on a cleat—no stays, no fuss. Photo: Dillon Joyce