White Horses

Today was pretty flat, or finally flat enough that I could find other interesting things to do but surf. I put a few hours work in, then grabbed my goggles and ran down to the reef. I threw myself in the water at the same spot I use to paddle out, wh

I was born in Auckland and in 1973 the family moved to Wollongong, when I was eight. Dad’s a professor of accountancy and was brought out to Australia to help set up the Economics Department at the University of Wollongong. I had a purely organic imp

Yeah, we all love double-ups, those sucky, two-for-the-price-of-one nuggets. Usually these anomalies are accompanied by collective whoops from the lineup as some punter paddles into the wave – or the beating – of the day. A simple look-see tells us t

I’ve had Wollie for 15 years now; he grew up on the beach at Supertubes. I trained him so that I could leave him on the beach when I went surfing, but he used to howl like crazy at first. He would follow me along the point, up and down, up and down.

It was one of those blistering hot days in Kuta. Dogs yapping, incense lingering in the air, motorbikes buzzing through the chaos sending offerings flying everywhere as shirtless Scandinavians attempt to wander off the haze of the night before. Casti

Dad was a photographer and I was about 13 years old when I decided I wanted to follow in his footsteps. He was going on a shoot with Belinda Baggs and I remember asking him a bunch of times if I could come help him. We finally came to an agreement: I

When my daughter Emma was born and parental responsibility kicked in, there was a moment when we thought about slowing down on travelling and living a more conventional lifestyle. Thankfully, that moment was brief. My wife and I decided instead we wo

Saltwater dreaming at dawn, swell lines wrapping in around the point. One of those mornings when the ocean stretches out forever, when it seems like anything could be possible. Those big old jarosite cliffs breathing slow, moving in geological time.

1. Do you want to surf the best waves of your life? 2. Can you keep a secret? 3. Are you able to meet me at the airport at 6am tomorrow? What would you do if the same questions were pinged to you by a famous surf photographer on a Monday morning at 5

It is impossible to reconcile the breathtaking beauty of Micronesia with the greatest slaughter of human bodies in history. And yet, it happened. Though the memories are fading, the Pacific theater of World War II was fought so inhumanely in Micrones

The first time I went to Nazaré looking for waves, it was flat. We were on a road trip scouring the coastline for something to ride and somebody suggested the beach of Praia do Norte, where a headland juts out into the Atlantic Ocean just north of th

“You do not have permissions. This is not for you.” The conflict flashing in the fisherman’s eyes was painful to witness. This was an area mired in poverty and we’d paid his crew a week’s salary to take us to a secluded stretch of coast for the day.

I don’t know why we call it The Scrub since it’s really just an old quarry. Dad paces up and down the corridor like a madman, muttering under his breath. “Why won’t someone tell us what the hell is going on?” On a sunny winter day when the grass is g

It’s mortifying when the uglier parts of your personality come to the fore. It seems these aspects of myself have become more apparent since becoming a mother. I have born witness to the best and worst parts of myself, amplified to greater extremes t

We were nearing the end of our boat trip and weighing up our precious last sessions like gamblers down to our last chips. The previous four days had been one long losing streak, with tiny blown out conditions and crowds. We decided to exit stage left

I get my kid off to school and I hit it straight down to the beach. As I rock up, Rob runs up the sand breathless. He has already broken a leash, swum one kilometre after his board and run another kay up the sand. He runs straight to his backpack and

In sixth class I became friends with Peter Trimnall-Richards, whose family was living in their Bongin Bongin Bay weekender whilst their other house, the Railway Hotel at Hornsbym, was being renovated. Pete’s dad bought the weekender in 1956. There we

I’d always wondered what the wax I put onto my board was made from and if it came off in the water, what those little flakes would do? I knew there were petrochemicals involved and that it surely could not be good for the environment, but like many s

Dad was a fisherman and snorkeler who lived in the ocean, not a surfer. From a young age I was always in the water, either at Perth or Margaret River. My mum was quite the entrepreneur and had a catering company. In the early 1960s my future brother-

Mum worked full-time as a pharmacist, so Dad was at home with me from when I was little. He started out doing ding repairs just after I was born, and then moved onto shaping. My childhood memories are filled with running out to the “shaping room” – o

I was 14 years old when I discovered photography. I found an old camera my father had at home. I thought it was really beautiful and interesting, the shape and feel of it in my hands, the sound it made when you pressed the shutter. I bought a few rol

I clearly remember the first time I watched footage online of the memorial paddle out for Andy Irons in Hanalei Bay. In the first 30 seconds Bruce Irons and a profoundly pregnant Lyndie Irons lean from their boat and empty the container of Andy’s ash

It’s always a highlight receiving photos from Ryan “Chachi” Craig, but this issue’s submission made life particularly difficult for us here at the Horse. Chachi has a knack of casting a fresh eye on any location he visits, even a wave that has been a