Editorial
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Every Sandbar Tells a Story
Author Richard Kenvin breaks down the Shores’ nuanced politics and hotbed of progression during the 70s.
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On Style
Once one of our most important metrics, style has largely been slaughtered on the steps of the false-god obelisk, “performance.”
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Swimming to Molokai
Honolulu. Break of day. Again on this small beach. Ghost crabs, low tide, nearly spent waves. Ocean: living and breathing…
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Surf Passage
Among wave riders, when it comes to preparation, organization, readiness, and knowing just what the hell to do when a…
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Good Wood
Perhaps it’s the uniformity—the straightness—that feels most atrocious. Thousands of tree trunks are lined up in front of me in…
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Shut Up and Paint
“In order to paint, one has to go by the way one does not know. Art is like turning a…
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F*ck Your Hang-Ups
I should’ve known we’d end up at a trampoline park in Wailuku. While 28-year-old Kai Lenny may be considered the…
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Two in a Tuk Tuk
Throughout my 40-plus years of international surf travel and exploration, I’ve encountered plenty of eccentric, “road less traveled” devotees on…
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Every Sandbar Tells a Story
It was August of 1970, and I was 9 years old. My dad was working as a computer programmer for…
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The Compound
The road to Johnson Valley passes through several small towns as it disappears toward the Mojave, which get smaller and…
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Loitering With Intent
In the small rural town where I live, the coast is rugged and indented with little headlands and coves, river…
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The Paddle Out
The winter was dry, too dry, until it wasn’t. When the rains finally came, they kept coming. Slow, steady, torrential,…