The article ran in the February 1968 issue of Petersen's Surfing. Dick Graham was Surfing's publisher, editor, and top photographer; Duke Boyd, better known as one of the original surfwear magnates, was the magazine's managing editor. This article below has been slightly edited and shortened.

The contest of all contests is over. The champagne has been drunk; the hands have been shaken; the applause has subsided. Fred Hemmings, Hawaii's own, is the one surfer who still wears a grin stretched across his face. He won! He's stoked! He's the new world champion! Whatever that means.

 it mean? Is Fred really the best surfer in the world? Were the waves there? Was the contest an example of a beautiful job well done? Did the judging ring true?

Yes, the World Contest did its thing, as contests are supposed to do. The best surfers came from around the world to take that crown home. They did not come to chitchat. On the contrary, they'd each made an all-consuming push to ready themselves for the fight. The preparation took years. And it all paid off in the best possible way — international comradeship. Because of focus on a common goal, the surfing world became a brotherhood, a beautiful thing, a thing that was more important than the gold and silver trophy contest director Eduardo Arena stuck in Hemmings' hand. Call it maturity, call it karma, call it what you like, but it happened at the World Contest.

Obviously a contest by itself can't do anything except become a meeting place for contestants. From then on it is up to whoever. As suspected, the World Contest was far from perfect. But what isn't? With all the complaints about contests these days, it seems strange that even those surfers who claim to be above commercialism drop in for a turn or two and work their butts off to win. Why, you ask? Why the confusion? In one breath they say that surfing contests are commercial, that they are political, and that all those old men up in the judges stands, with their fat guts, are eating at the heart of our pink-cheeked pure sport or art form or whatever. Then in the next breath they are running to see how these parasites scored them; to see if they recorded all their waves, to see if they won, and, if not, who screwed them, so they can walk out with either a win or an excuse.

It is all part of the game being played these days by the great surfers of our time. The double standard game. Today we are pure—flying a crooked line across a wave of blue, totally involved, doing it purely for love. Tomorrow we are flying a crooked line across the same wave, but in a contest, but now we are involved with living; with competing like Joe Worker for a dollar. Like Joe Baseball for a dollar. The difference is that in real life, Joe doesn't fool himself. It is his living, and he is going to do his best. He won't allow himself to be confused by a false comparison. If he can love his work, that is all he asks!

So, did Fred Hemmings really win the contest? You're damn right he did! He rode all the waves required. He pleased the same judges that were also pleased with Midget, Nat, Doyle, Reno, Russell. They were all out there with him, you know—doing their thing according to the same set of rules Fred was playing by. If Midget had won, the same concept would apply.

Was Fred a crowd-pleaser? No! Was he what was happening? No! In Puerto Rico, Fred surfed the way he has always surfs—smoothly, carefully, and with strength. He rode the big waves the way a Hawaiian does. He did his job exactly as the way he wanted to. His dream was to win the World Contest, and he worked for two years to give himself a shot. The result? He won.

Fred will make a good champion for the sport. He will make an excellent champion. The day after the contest he flew to New York, trophy in hand, his face washed, and a tie hanging below his smile. He met with his big-time agent to see about doing some TV ads before visiting manufacturers to discuss employment. It is all very commercial, isn't it? Well, contest surfing is just that!

Meanwhile, if you take the contest as a whole, it was the most outstanding surfing the world has ever seen! The most advanced, upside-down, S-turning, speed, speed, speed surfing that has ever been witnessed to date. To use a tired phrase—it was outtasight! Every surfer involved with the World Contest became more aware of his own weaknesses and strengths, of his board, their board, your board. The foils. The slot fin. The wedge nose. The weight. The lightness. Reno's board couldn't have weighed more than eight pounds. It was a skateboard, and he rode it like a god, because he was one. When he came blasting out of those ten-foot waves in the finals, the surfing world knew they were seeing a star.

Gary Propper, early in the contest, after winning his heat and doing it decisively, stood on the white sand and commented, "It will be between Joey and Nat. Nat leaves the curl, carves out of it, and returns. Joey stays in the curl, never leaves it. He does all of his maneuvering in the tight spot. I will be interested to see how they judge these unique contrasting styles."

 you do it? Is there a rule? A guide? There was nothing written down, as far as we could tell. Was the object to get the biggest wave, and the longest ride, with the most speed, while staying as close to the hook as possible at all times? Is that the rule? Or has it changed? It must have changed, because Nat only got two eight-foot-plus waves in the finals, while Doyle got five big ones. But Fred won! And the world of surfers will be out to get him in South Africa. Maybe by then the rules will be published. When will surfers everywhere be able to contribute to the World Contest picture, share in its future, its responsibilities too, and help create a contest program that will be—a little bit finer-tuned?

Dewey said the man who beats Nat Young will win the contest. He also remarked that Australia could finish one-two-three. Instead, they went two-three-four. Not a bad guess.

Nat's board control was the key to almost everyone's thinking. He has an uncanny ability to place the board where and how he wants it. Before the contest, he signed up with Dewey as a board designer and a team-rider. He will be good at both.

There were plenty of other contenders in Puerto Rico. Wayne Lynch is barely 17, so maybe he will make his move after the next World Contest. Keith Paull, the Australian champion, is also is a top-flight designer and shaper.

Joey Cabell might just do exactly as he has always done—surf better and better, and design the fastest boards. Joey was a standout. The speed he attained on the larger waves was unbelievable.

It was interesting to see where the other surfing nations are at. Too bad for Panama—they brought longboards. South Africa looked surprisingly surprising! Puerto Rico got a few cheers from the beach. The West Coast brought an eight-man team, and six made it to the semifinals. Not bad!

Once Reno made it to the finals, George Downing thought he would win it. "He's small and looks spectacular." Quite a compliment for Reno. Russell Hughes shouldn't have even come up from Australia, according to popular Aussie thought. He didn't have a chance. No one told Russell that, so he came in third.

Joey was on the point during the finals, and afterward he said Fred had won before the officials had announced the results. When they did announce their decision, Joey smiled, as did Freddy and all the Hawaiians. Nat seemed relieved. Russell was stoked. Surfing had had a great day.

"WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS 1968 (WHATEVER THAT MEANS)" by DICK GRAHAM AND DUKE BOYD

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