SUNDAY JOINT, 11-24-2024: BULLS ON THE LOOSE AT PUNTA ROCAS

Hey All,

Master shaper and surf-world gentleman Tom Parrish, as mentioned a few weeks back, believes that all of us—EOS devotees included—will be healthier, happier, and more evolved when we quit paying attention to surfing contests and spend that time instead on virtually any other surf-related topic. He's not wrong. Except for this—contests are really sticky. Contests have the hooks. Not all the hooks, but many hooks, many points of entry and just as many spinoff points of departure, and this is especially true for contests of the pre-digital age, which is of course the EOS sweet spot. A massive percentage of surf-related media from that period—photos, film, text—is connected to one degree or another with contests, which means that even if I'm with Parrish on principal, I gotta work with the available material. "No photos means it didn't happen," as one of my Gorbachev-era SURFER colleagues loved to say, while running his fingers lightly up and down the length of his Canon 1000mm lens.

I beg Tom's forgiveness, therefore, but do not seek his approval, as I Pied Piper today's Joint back to the 1965 World Championships, in Lima, Peru. There are many things in this newly-unearthed five-minute short, filmed mostly during the final day of the contest and featuring an extended voice-over by winner Felipe Pomar, that are worth talking about, apart from any kind of blow-by-blow on the event itself. 

First, while John Severson nicknamed Pomar the "Wild Bull of Punta Rocas"—Punta Rocas being the gnarly boulder-fronted wave where the contest was held—there is nothing wild-bull-like about him, except the fact that he is stubborn as hell and may indeed surf until he is 100. I first met Pomar almost 40 years ago, and have always been struck by how ambassadorial he is: the flawless posture, the the stately low-temperature voice, the careful delivery of thoughts. But here in 1965, at just 22 years old, he also seems soulful and borderline poetic. "Different people find different things that are fascinating to them in surfing," he begins, before praising the sport for the "great feeling of freedom" it offers. "You grab your board, go out into the ocean, and do what you like; what you feel is right."

(Nat Young replaced Pomar as world champion one year later, and now we're talking wild bull. Surfing magazine interviewed Nat directly after his win, and on the very first question, a total softball—"Give us your view on the contest"—he veered into a complaint about the fact that there was a women's division: "Girls shouldn't surf. They make fools of themselves." Pomar, for all I know, felt the same. But never, ever would be be gratuitously mean.)

Two other things in this short video are worth pointing out. First, the aerial footage. This isn't the first example of shooting the sport from a helicopter, but there is some genuine Latin flair on display here, as the pilot swoops down to what seems to be just a few yards above water level, then tracks along with the riders as they slide shoreward. Drone photography has made these type of shots easy and inexpensive, and therefore commonplace. But in '65 this was wild, daring, cutting-edge stuff. The ride that begins at 3:15 is runner-up Nat Young, just 17 years old, riding his signature wine-colored Mike Doyle lookalike board and coming undone in spectacular fashion—"Making a fool of himself," as the female surfers on the beach possibly, I wish, said to each other.

Second, we get a look here at at least two surfers who are otherwise all but lost to history. The lanky blond regularfooter at 2:38 is Queensland state champ Ken Adler, son of legendary clubbie and paddler Frank Adler, an anvil-shaped 240-pounder (described in a 1945 newspaper article as "Sydney's heaviest boardrider") who built his country's first hollow board and later founded the Australian Boardriders Association. Ken's earliest ocean-related memory of his father took place not long after the family relocated from Sydney to Brisbane, and the two Adlers drove south on a stormy Gold Coast afternoon to go bodysurfing. As surf writer and filmmaker Chris Bystrom later told the story, "Frank told Ken to take off on a particularly hollow wave; Ken went over the falls and got throttled. His dad said to him, 'That'll teach you to never trust your father.'" Ken went on to found San Juan Surfboards in Byron Bay, which employed Bob McTavish, Russell Hughes and Frank Latta, among other Aussie notables of the '60s and '70s. 

Finally, Hector Velarde of Lima is the white-shirted goofyfooter on the long left (1:28), and I will always take the opportunity to let EOS bask in Velarde's reflected light, the man is the Venn diagram intersection between Gregory Peck and the Rock. Watch here, and feast your eyes below. ¡Si el agua fuera belleza tú serías el mar entero! 

Thanks for reading and see you next week.

Matt

PS: I said I wouldn't get into the blow-by-blow, but I cannot let this pass. Nat Young was the runaway best surfer on finals day at the '65 World Championships. Anybody reading this, transported back to the judges standing atop the dusty bluff at Punta Rocas, would have whistled all the finalists back to the beach at the halfway mark, thanks for coming fellas, this thing's over, here's your trophy, Nat, and congratulations. But the contest was not about performance—turns, fades, cutbacks and the like. Or rather, performance was secondary. The '65 titles were built on the same model used by the Makaha International, which was showing signs of wear but still regarded nonetheless as the world's premier surfing contest. You won at Makaha by riding the biggest waves, closest to the curl, for the longest distance. No interference rule, in fact, because if the turns don't really matter, who cares how many surfers are on the wave. Big waves. Stay tight to the curl if possible. Ride for distance. Simple as that. So while Nat outsurfed Felipe Pomar and the other '65 world contest finalists by any measure we would recognize today, Pomar surfed exactly to the criteria as stated and won, no argument. A few months later the debut Duke Invitational took place at Sunset Beach, performance was on top, wave-height and distance were secondary, and a red-hot high school kid named Jeff Hakman won. A few months after that, Nat ripped his way to victory at the '66 World Championships in San Diego. Pomar sent his best wishes to all the competitors at that one but politely declined the chance to defend his title. Power move on his part. Can't lose if you don't play. 

[Photo grid, clockwise from top left: Jeff Divine and 1000mm lens; finalists at 1965 World Championships; Frank Adler, around 1945; Nat Young on his wine-colored Gordon Woods signature model, 1964, frame-grab from Bob Evans' Ride a White Horse; San Juan Surfboards, Byron Bay, 1969; Ken Adler, middle, in 1965 Catalina Surfwear ad. Nat Young and Felipe Pomar shake hands at the '65 titles, photo by John Severson. Screen-grabs of Ken Adler at the '65 titles. Helicopter shot of Joey Cabell and Mickey Munoz. Hector Velarde bottom turn, photo by Jose Antonio de Lavelle. Velarde and friends at Club Waikiki, Lima. Velarde at Pipeline, by Severson. Velarde and Severson on the cover of Caretas magazine, 1961. Felipe Pomar bottom turn, 1965 titles, photo by Jose Antonio de Lavelle. Thanks to Dan Jethwa for the video turn-on.]