Battle of the Boards

Battle of the Boards Down Under

Everybody's gone surfin', surfin' Australia By Michael Hiestand, USA TODAY 7/5/00

BYRON BAY, Australia - On a calm day last month on Cronulla beach in Sydney's suburbs, Greg Randall was cut off in the waves by another surfer. Later, they came to blows. "I (took) an absolute beating," says Randall, who tries to find time to surf every day. "The bloke was foaming and frothing at the mouth. The frothing was bizarre."

The assailant was arrested. But only because Randall made the arrest himself.

Randall is a Sydney police officer, and he was able to call on the help of another off-duty cop nearby. Good thing, he says, "because I don't think I'd have managed to arrest him by myself."

Surf rage had struck again.

To most Americans, the concept might seem like a laughable takeoff on road rage, a sort of "trouble in paradise" about as serious as a sunburn.

But in a nation with 7,000 beaches, year-round surfing and 85% of the population within 30 miles of a coastline, surf rage is now seen as a serious and growing national problem.

The catalyst came in March when Nat Young, 52, a former world champion and Mickey Mantle-type legend in Australian surfing, took a horrendous beating after an argument in the waves. His injuries included two broken eye sockets, two broken cheekbones and smashed sinuses.

That prompted Ian Cohen to recently stage the first "national surf-rage summit" in Byron Bay, an iconic surf beach about 500 miles north of Sydney on Australia's East Coast. The idea was to gather the sport's "tribal elders" to search for ways to prevent bashings on the beach.

Cohen is an avid surfer and Green Party member of the upper house of parliament of New South Wales, which is one of Australia's six states and contains Sydney. He seemed pleased at the end of the summit, the exact location of which was meant to be a secret. "This was the first and biggest gathering of its sort in Australia and maybe the world," Cohen says.

And whatever the differences among its 40 attending elders, Cohen says they agreed on at least this: Given the surf brawls in America that have led to legal actions such as beach arrests and lawsuits, " None of us want to go down that road here."

That shouldn't be much of a problem. John Veage, a Sydney photographer and president of the Boardriders Club on the Cronulla beach where policeman Randall was beaten, says nobody looks for protection from the law.

"Surf rage is like your road rage; people just lose it," Veage says. "But it's a bit of a culture thing that no surfer will run to the police. And what would a copper say? They'd laugh. They wouldn't look at you."

Follow the winding dirt road

For a politician, Cohen is pretty reclusive. To find him, just go about 20 miles south of Byron Bay, a hip village where body-piercing is obviously popular, on a winding dirt road through a rain forest preserve to a driveway marked only with a couple of old surfboards.

Cohen, a career environmental activist, says his big break came when he got wide publicity for riding a surfboard, in protest, as he clung to the bow of a U.S. Navy warship sailing into Sydney.

With a Green Party sound truck out front and avocados growing at his doorstep, Cohen lives in a wooden cottage devoid of mass-marketed products and chuckles at the idea of a "radical ratbag like me" holding elective office.

But at least his activism gives him a good retort when he faces surf rage in the waves: "I just try to turn it around and say, 'You're enjoying surfing in clean water near forests, not in sewage from hills covered in houses. And what have you done to keep it that way?' I try to go beyond issues of surfing."

If that sounds like heady stuff for people out in the swells, he says, then so be it. "There was a sense of maturity of elders at the summit," says Cohen, noting participants included psychologists, surfboard designers and cinematographers with a passion for surfing.

"We want to expand surf thinking to ecological and social issues to make ourselves, if you like, into 21st century surfers with a social consciousness," he says.

Neal Lazarow, president of the eastern Sydney branch of Australia's Surfrider Foundation, nods nearby as he sits on Cohen's living room futon.

Lazarow will visit the West Coast of the United States in coming months to introduce surfers there to the foundation's Surfriders Code, meant to provide order with a set of surf protocols on rights-of-way in catching waves and paddling back out.

Young, after his attack near the town of Yamba, just south of Byron Bay, says he'd put up $3,000 for these "tribal laws" to go on plaques at the top Australian surf sites. "The idea," Surfriders' Lazarow says, "is for surfers to see themselves as custodians of the water." Instead of being overly territorial, that is.

Getting territorial on water

By all accounts, the biggest cause of surf rage is "dropping in," which means breaking an old rule thought to have been created in Malibu, Calif. The idea is that the surfer closest to the curl, the breaking part of the wave, gets priority and no one can drop in.

Dropping in often leads to heated arguments, and sometimes fights, when too many surfers are chasing too few waves. As a result, says Fred Pawle, who covers surfing for The Australian newspaper, the surfing "brotherhood" has "turned into a screaming bunfight."

But it's a hard one to quantify. Most surf rage goes unreported, Cohen says, "so it's a little bit like violence in jail. You never get the true statistics."

But Cronulla Veage, a 30-year surfer, says everybody thinks things are getting worse -- and less organized. He remembers the "rigid pecking order," based on seniority and skill and meant to dictate surf traffic on Australian beaches when he was growing up. "

Now almost no one hangs on the beaches all day like back then," he says. "Back 20 years ago, you'd get beaten up all the time by the blokes in charge -- but you'd know why."

At the same time, more surfers are in the water, especially mediocre surfers.

In the 1970s, top surfers began riding shorter boards, requiring more skill. Lately, there's been a resurgence of longer "Malibu" boards, known as "Mals," which allow even unskilled surfers to catch waves. And more people are wading into the water with bodyboards, or "boogie" boards, which make it even easier to catch a ride.

Naturally, the best surfers resent the intrusions. They often sport messages on their T-shirts or boards that deride long board riders and "the nancys" who ride boogie boards.

"You're right those types shouldn't be in the water," says Kieran Smith, as he waxes his short board before hitting the waves at Byron Beach. "They just get in the bloody way."

Out with drop ins

At Manly Beach, in Sydney's suburbs and the past host of surfing world championships, hundreds of surfers in wetsuits float in the crowded late-afternoon waves.

An American reporter, a novice surfer, found them to be pleasant enough. Until one drops in, perilously close to another -- which prompts the victim to use his feet to bail out and flick his surfboard at the intruder's body. Well, now how about that, nearby surfers are asked.

Their responses couldn't be printed in a family newspaper.

Back on shore, surfer Nigel Peters, a teenager who works construction, explains that the surfer who flicked his board at the surfer dropping in really didn't do the right thing. "Instead," Peters says, "he should have poked his board in that other bloke's eye."

If the potential for surf-rage violence isn't quite as palpable as what you'd find on crowded U.S. highways, it still seems odd to find in the pursuit of pleasure in beautiful surroundings.

But surf rage, like U.S. road rage, probably will have to get a lot worse before people stay away rather than subject themselves to the risks. The sport, obviously, has gotten under plenty of Australian skin.

Consider policeman Randall, who has surfed for 26 years. When asked what he does when he sees sharks while out on his board, he says, "You hope they go past. And if the surf's good, you don't worry about them."

	Battle of the Boards Down Under Everybody's gone surfin', surfin' Australia By Michael Hiestand, USA TODAY 7/5/00 BYRON BAY, Australia - On a calm day last month on Cronulla beach in Sydney's suburbs, Greg Randall was cut off in the waves by another surfer. Later, they came to blows. "I (took) an absolute beating," says Randall, who tries to find time to surf every day. "The bloke was foaming and frothing at the mouth. The frothing was bizarre." The assailant was arrested. But only because Randall made the arrest himself. Randall is a Sydney police officer, and he was able to call on the help of another off-duty cop nearby. Good thing, he says, "because I don't think I'd have managed to arrest him by myself." Surf rage had struck again. To most Americans, the concept might seem like a laughable takeoff on road rage, a sort of "trouble in paradise" about as serious as a sunburn. But in a nation with 7,000 beaches, year-round surfing and 85% of the population within 30 miles of a coastline, surf rage is now seen as a serious and growing national problem. The catalyst came in March when Nat Young, 52, a former world champion and Mickey Mantle-type legend in Australian surfing, took a horrendous beating after an argument in the waves. His injuries included two broken eye sockets, two broken cheekbones and smashed sinuses. That prompted Ian Cohen to recently stage the first "national surf-rage summit" in Byron Bay, an iconic surf beach about 500 miles north of Sydney on Australia's East Coast. The idea was to gather the sport's "tribal elders" to search for ways to prevent bashings on the beach. Cohen is an avid surfer and Green Party member of the upper house of parliament of New South Wales, which is one of Australia's six states and contains Sydney. He seemed pleased at the end of the summit, the exact location of which was meant to be a secret. "This was the first and biggest gathering of its sort in Australia and maybe the world," Cohen says. And whatever the differences among its 40 attending elders, Cohen says they agreed on at least this: Given the surf brawls in America that have led to legal actions such as beach arrests and lawsuits, " None of us want to go down that road here." That shouldn't be much of a problem. John Veage, a Sydney photographer and president of the Boardriders Club on the Cronulla beach where policeman Randall was beaten, says nobody looks for protection from the law. "Surf rage is like your road rage; people just lose it," Veage says. "But it's a bit of a culture thing that no surfer will run to the police. And what would a copper say? They'd laugh. They wouldn't look at you." Follow the winding dirt road For a politician, Cohen is pretty reclusive. To find him, just go about 20 miles south of Byron Bay, a hip village where body-piercing is obviously popular, on a winding dirt road through a rain forest preserve to a driveway marked only with a couple of old surfboards. Cohen, a career environmental activist, says his big break came when he got wide publicity for riding a surfboard, in protest, as he clung to the bow of a U.S. Navy warship sailing into Sydney. With a Green Party sound truck out front and avocados growing at his doorstep, Cohen lives in a wooden cottage devoid of mass-marketed products and chuckles at the idea of a "radical ratbag like me" holding elective office. But at least his activism gives him a good retort when he faces surf rage in the waves: "I just try to turn it around and say, 'You're enjoying surfing in clean water near forests, not in sewage from hills covered in houses. And what have you done to keep it that way?' I try to go beyond issues of surfing." If that sounds like heady stuff for people out in the swells, he says, then so be it. "There was a sense of maturity of elders at the summit," says Cohen, noting participants included psychologists, surfboard designers and cinematographers with a passion for surfing. "We want to expand surf thinking to ecological and social issues to make ourselves, if you like, into 21st century surfers with a social consciousness," he says. Neal Lazarow, president of the eastern Sydney branch of Australia's Surfrider Foundation, nods nearby as he sits on Cohen's living room futon. Lazarow will visit the West Coast of the United States in coming months to introduce surfers there to the foundation's Surfriders Code, meant to provide order with a set of surf protocols on rights-of-way in catching waves and paddling back out. Young, after his attack near the town of Yamba, just south of Byron Bay, says he'd put up $3,000 for these "tribal laws" to go on plaques at the top Australian surf sites. "The idea," Surfriders' Lazarow says, "is for surfers to see themselves as custodians of the water." Instead of being overly territorial, that is. Getting territorial on water By all accounts, the biggest cause of surf rage is "dropping in," which means breaking an old rule thought to have been created in Malibu, Calif. The idea is that the surfer closest to the curl, the breaking part of the wave, gets priority and no one can drop in. Dropping in often leads to heated arguments, and sometimes fights, when too many surfers are chasing too few waves. As a result, says Fred Pawle, who covers surfing for The Australian newspaper, the surfing "brotherhood" has "turned into a screaming bunfight." But it's a hard one to quantify. Most surf rage goes unreported, Cohen says, "so it's a little bit like violence in jail. You never get the true statistics." But Cronulla Veage, a 30-year surfer, says everybody thinks things are getting worse -- and less organized. He remembers the "rigid pecking order," based on seniority and skill and meant to dictate surf traffic on Australian beaches when he was growing up. " Now almost no one hangs on the beaches all day like back then," he says. "Back 20 years ago, you'd get beaten up all the time by the blokes in charge -- but you'd know why." At the same time, more surfers are in the water, especially mediocre surfers. In the 1970s, top surfers began riding shorter boards, requiring more skill. Lately, there's been a resurgence of longer "Malibu" boards, known as "Mals," which allow even unskilled surfers to catch waves. And more people are wading into the water with bodyboards, or "boogie" boards, which make it even easier to catch a ride. Naturally, the best surfers resent the intrusions. They often sport messages on their T-shirts or boards that deride long board riders and "the nancys" who ride boogie boards. "You're right those types shouldn't be in the water," says Kieran Smith, as he waxes his short board before hitting the waves at Byron Beach. "They just get in the bloody way." Out with drop ins At Manly Beach, in Sydney's suburbs and the past host of surfing world championships, hundreds of surfers in wetsuits float in the crowded late-afternoon waves. An American reporter, a novice surfer, found them to be pleasant enough. Until one drops in, perilously close to another -- which prompts the victim to use his feet to bail out and flick his surfboard at the intruder's body. Well, now how about that, nearby surfers are asked. Their responses couldn't be printed in a family newspaper. Back on shore, surfer Nigel Peters, a teenager who works construction, explains that the surfer who flicked his board at the surfer dropping in really didn't do the right thing. "Instead," Peters says, "he should have poked his board in that other bloke's eye." If the potential for surf-rage violence isn't quite as palpable as what you'd find on crowded U.S. highways, it still seems odd to find in the pursuit of pleasure in beautiful surroundings. But surf rage, like U.S. road rage, probably will have to get a lot worse before people stay away rather than subject themselves to the risks. The sport, obviously, has gotten under plenty of Australian skin. Consider policeman Randall, who has surfed for 26 years. When asked what he does when he sees sharks while out on his board, he says, "You hope they go past. And if the surf's good, you don't worry about them."