Evan Valiere Looks Back On His Inaugural Event

This winter, at an outer reef with a name we dare not mutter, Sion Milosky had been bobbing in the lineup for nearly three hours when fate struck. His arms were heavy but his heart was light. Electrifying bolts of adrenaline shot through his body and kept his reactions sharp. From his vantage point, through the deep breaths that accompany paddling into waves that could kill, the smell of Jet-Ski exhaust swept into his nose and the sounds of exploding masses of water filled his ears. In a few minutes, staring down a mountain of water, Sion will snap to attention and hurl himself down the face of a wave that many hard-charging veterans deemed the biggest they’ve ever seen anyone paddle into. The wave, an eerily blue aquatic nightmare to the meek and a grin-spawning chance of a lifetime for others, quickly became the stuff of legends on the North Shore.

By Beau Flemister
Last we talked, I was describing a day in the life in the city of Rio de Janeiro, coincidentally during the whirlwind days of Carnaval. And truthfully, what started as an experimental mission into Brazil, turned into a trip lasting a few months. I was seduced by the Cidade Maravilhosa (Marvelous City as it is known) and caught in her net of beauty. But like a hostage with Stockholm syndrome, I didn¹t want to leave.

Adolescence in Hawai‘i can be defined by two thumbs, a few friends, a stack of boards, and a willingness to hitchhike your way to the lineup. Although in other parts of the world, the ancient art of thumbing it may be considered taboo, in Hawai‘i, it’s become a rite of passage. Ask any surfers reared in the islands and they’ll tell you that the stretch of years when mom stops driving and before you start are the stuff that memories are made of. For this feature, we’re paying homage to our teenage, non-driving brethren. You may hate thumbing it now, but take it from us, it’s one of the best times of your lives. Enjoy the ride.

Dissecting the World’s First Super Grom    
By Beau Flemister

Getting a few moments to do an interview with John John Florence was both a little difficult and a little not. Difficult, because he’s not making any effort to pencil me in, give me an exact time and date or cater in any way to my schedule. He’s probably had dozens of people like me prodding him every year since he was 10.

“John John, can I get an interview?” we ask.
“John John, can I get a photo?” we plead.
“And how about one with you and your family.
And can we get one with your mom in there too?”
we mutter.