Surfphoto

Ideal Surfer Jobs...

Nobody wants to work. But very few of us are ever going to be good enough to get paid to surf. So how do you get your fix of surfing and still make enough coin to keep you in boards, suits, red wine and surf magazines?

Well here’s a cut out and keep guide to surfer friendly jobs. Working for the man sucks. We’ve all been there. The idiot boss, the aggravating colleagues, long hours for little reward and the slim chance of promotion. The 9 to 5 is a soul-jacking experience. If you think your job is the be all and end all then best not read on, but if you think your job is a way of making money to give you the means necessary to go and do the stuff you really want to do (i.e. surf), then read on.

One of the keys to a surf friendly job is the hours. If you are stuck behind a desk all day then you are rooted, you can only manage weekend warrior status like that. So with a little compromise on the hours you commit your wage slavery you will be the man (or lady) on the dawnie mission whenever it’s on.

Barkeep/Waiting On A classic surfer occupation due to the hours, it’s either lunchtime (when the surf is crowded) or evening (when it’s dark, durr). If you are working behind the bar you are less likely to be quaffing ales as well so you win on a few counts: 1) You are saving loads of money by not spending it on piss 2) You are staying healthy, we all like a few beers but a beer gut and surfing don’t really mix 3) You’ll be clear headed in the morning and on it for the early.

Maccas Much derided but an easy option. The work is uncomplicated, you get free food (even some healthy options these days) and they have stores everywhere. Once you have got some experience you can work in any of the restaurants, as they are all use the same equipment/procedures. So you can work in Newquay, Anglet, Sydney or anywhere else that you want to surf. Hours are flexible, the pay better than you think and when you are done with it all you can always profit by writing a book about how you flobbed on every burger you ever sold.

Bin Person A good way to keep fit and find lots of interesting things that people throw out. Hours are good, you’re done before lunch giving the whole afternoon to surf and the money is cool. Granted you’ll end up smelling like shit and may meet some very strange people in the gutters at 5.30 a.m. but it’s worth it. Get a rural route where it’s more driving than working and you’re styling.

Postie Same deal as above, start early and finish by lunch. You get paid for set hours and once the work is done you can bugger off for a surf so even though you are contracted till 1 o’clock odds are most days you’ll be outta there by 11. If you get a bike round you keep hell fit and around Christmas time you should be able to skim off plenty of cash from the Crimbo cards. Just don’t tell them you got the idea here.

Surf Photog There is no easy way to start being a surf photog. You just have to go out and do it. Sure you’re gonna make mistakes and you will blow heaps of cash on camera gear but get it right, make a name for yourself and you could find yourself getting paid to go on exotic trips. Never gonna make a million doing it, but you’ll be chasing the surf 24/7 and so will surf more than anyone apart from the pros. Unless the waves are firing and the lights good in which case you’ll be shooting with gritted teeth. It’s the devils bargain. You just have to pray for rain cos then you can surf all day.

Surf Journo A rare breed worldwide. All you need is a spark of originality, a good grasp of what works in the surf mags, a tonne of real life experience and access to a computer. A 2000-word article can net anything up to £300 from one magazine, write something really good and you can sell the same piece again to mags in the US, Oz and Europe. Ch-ching. The beauty of the job is you get to go on trips to simply surf and observe, unlike the poor photog that has to carry two tonnes of equipment.

Drug Mule/Runner Not technically legal in some parts of Europe but still a career path that surfers are always gonna take or be associated with by the lazy mass-media. Morally tricky, ethically unsound and there is always the risk of being gunned down when you step on some kingpin’s toes … it’s never pleasant when someone pops a cap in your ass. Not really advised unless you are extremely stupid/desperate/lucky/have a deathwish as recent cases in Bali etc confirm.

Drug Guinea Pig If you can get past the queue of South Africans, the drug test is a legal way to make cash quick for minimum effort. Jarvis is the world authority on the many aspects of this field. Some tests involve a control group being given a placebo (a dummy drug), so you get paid to take a sugar pill and not some shit that may thin your blood or something weird. Course you don’t know if you are on the heavy stuff or the dummy until people start wigging out and spewing everywhere. No surf for the weeks you are doing the test but you can score a couple of grand for a few weeks playing pool. The best we heard was one test where the control group had to drink vodka all day every day? That’s science?

High Class Professional Escort Manwhore Or Regular Lady Hooker: if you’ve got it flaunt it. Can work in any country, although local rates or awkward pimps may make it unworkable in poorer nations. Evening work as well so it frees you up for the early. Possibly illegal, depends on the country and obvious moral/health issues.

Lifeguard: Torture. Sitting on the beach watching witless tourists make tools of themselves whilst the waves pump. Only upside is you can annoy the shit out of other surfers by setting up the swimming area right on the best bank on the whole beach. Good money for sitting on your arse reading the paper all day.

Pilot: Bit of a long shot this one, but if you make the grade you are styling. Plenty of time off, oodles of travel, good salary and you can keep an eye out for new spots when flying. Just don’t let anyone know you’re taking the scenic route to check out that new reef.

Hostie: Traditionally a job reserved for ladies and and men that have a skin care regime but surfing is a broad church and as such all are welcome. Similar perks to pilotry but minus the fun of tooling around in a 747 like you are Luke Skywalker or something. Get an Indo or Pacific route and you will score heaps of waves.

Rig Worker: For the serious surfing monk. You want to surf? You want to travel? Don’t mind being cooped up on a rusting metal box in the middle of the sea, with some very butch men for four weeks at a time? Oil and gas rigs need cleaners, cooks etc and the pay you get for suffering low-grade porn, burly bearded men and having no life at all for half the year is ample. Enough to bog off to Indo every time you get a few weeks off between stints.

So there you go, a smorgasbord of job opportunities for you. Get out of the office and out into the real world and spend more of your time surfing and living than chasing the false gods of money and possessions.

A Green And Peasant Land...

This piece is from four years ago when freelancing was a workable proposition and international photo trips were the norm.

Your humble correspondent is proper knackered. That’s right, I’m ready for the knackers yard, fit for being boiled down into glue or fertiliser or whatever the hell it is they do with half-blind, old horses.

My current malaise is due to some grade ‘A’ jet lag. When I’m trying to get up at 8 a.m. Brit time my body clock is freaking out thinking Hey there! It’s still midnight here in California get some sleep buddy! or it might be thinking It’s still 4 p.m. in Indonesia dude, why are you in bed anyway you lazy sod, mid afternoon disco nap is it? Travelling will do that to you. Whenever you go anywhere that’s eight time zones away it buggers you up.

When you go to one that’s GMT+8 then make a beeline for one that’s GMT-8 without any good old regular GMT in between it ain’t good. Suffice to say in the first two months of this year I’ve hardly had a good nights sleep anywhere and am feeling pretty curmudgeonly (def: crusty, ill-tempered, usually old man). Which is good for one thing: writing bile.

My back to back trips couldn’t have been more polar opposite if they sat at each end of the planet, covered themselves in snow and started callings themselves Poles. In the red and white corner: Indonesia. Third world, malarial, subsistence living, people living a life on the land with a few making western style living through tourism (on Sumbawa at least), local surf population <1000. In the star spangled red, white and blue corner: United States of America. As first world as you get, the richest and most powerful nation on earth, celebrating a brave new age in politics with a fresh, funky leader what can actually read good. They’re the example the rest of the world supposedly looks up to, well, we’ll ignore the Central American style political coup of Bush getting a second term, but you get my gist. Local surf population in the thousands most of whom seem to be old longboarders.

I’ve not been to mainland America or the Bali/Nusa Tenggara end of Indo for ten years so I was expecting a whole heap of change in both. Arriving in Bali was a real clusterfirk for the brain, it took over an hour for the cab to do the few miles from the airport to Poppies Lane. I sat there open mouthed, marvelling, or wincing, I’m not exactly sure, at what used to be Kuta (which to be honest has always been a shithole). There’s a Marks and Spencers and Boots now. There’s Starbucks and Maccas everywhere (as opposed to one Maccas in all of that end of Indo last time) and more polished chrome and glass than you can shake a stick at. There’s even a new dedicated shopping street rammed with all the surf brands that wouldn’t be out of place in Santa Monica.

It was only the ever-present sweet smell of incense and sewage and constant cacophony of car horns that convinced me I’d not got on the wrong plane. A day and two islands later I was in the tourist dollar free end of Indo: Sumbawa. The people there live simple agrarian lifestyles, growing rice, fruit and veggies and living in wooden shacks they knock up themselves. Family is important, village life is strong, everyone’s looked after, polygamy is fine, there are no doors to have locks on and everyone seems happy. Well I say everyone. If you toil in the tropical heat in a rice field all day you get something in the region of 50p for your trouble. If you give surfers rides to other surf spots on your moped or video them surfing the going rate is six times that for less than a few hours sitting on your arse. Yet these guys are the unhappy ones, guys who on a good day can make 1000% more money for a 1000% less effort than they would without the surfers. Some were so unhappy they threatened some surfers with violence to leave as they weren’t getting paid enough. Not enough for them to buy as much beer as they wanted at least. The surfers did leave, so it kind of backfired. A classic case of biting the hand that feeds.

On to California. The one thing that struck me most about most of Cali is how wild and undeveloped it is. Outside of the madness of L.A it’s easy to find wilderness and solitude. Wildlife is so abundant I saw dolphins, seals, sea otters, pelicans, hummingbirds, coyotes and odd little squirrel things without even trying.

The American way is every man for himself, which is fine if your winning, not so if you’re losing. The society the world wants to emulate lets the poor and damaged slip through the cracks. Which explains why there were beggars, homeless people and ice-fuelled mentalists wherever we went (even in the really posh towns). In Indo where the people have nothing you can roam at night only worried about snakes. In the richest nation on earth there are no go areas, places you just can’t go to at night if you value your safety. Everyone has fences, intruder alarms and guns. Something somewhere seems a bit arse backwards but I can’t quite get my head around it.

Driving down from Ventura towards L.A there are vast tracts of fruit farms. In the most high tech society on earth the fruit is picked, not by some whizzy automated machine, but by gangs of sweating Mexican labourers. The only visible difference between them and their Indonesian counterparts is they had portable loos on a trailer, the Indo’s just squat and crap in the nearest gutter.

I can’t help but wonder who is happier. In the surf it doesn’t make any difference which society is on land- some people are really friendly, some are dicks and most keep themselves to themselves. The waves are infinitely better where the rice grows though.

Folio 12: How To Get Stuck...

This is Reubs at Pitstops, in the Mentawais, a cracking little right that's uberfun. It's a little reef ledge on take off and then it runs on to sand so you get a heap of speed then a perfect section for doing some stunts. It's also home to one of the best backdrops anywhere in the surfing world. So it's understandably popular with photog's.

This session Mr B and I got dropped off by the tender boat in the key hole and jumped off with our gear in a Peli case each for the quick wade up the beach. No stress. 

Well. It wasn't until the swell started to build ... and fast. Within an hour it was starting to close out the little beach on the inside and we were stuck. The boat couldn't come in, so we had to go out, walking out over a dry reef ledge to the left of the shot.

There's nothing more amusing than putting nearly ten grands worth of gear in a Pelican case. Knowing full well that you have to jump off some rocks and swim out through surf with it ... with no swimfins. Hilarious it was. We made it but it's one of those occasions you really are putting your trust in your kit.

I've used Peli cases forever and they're the bomb. So waterproof are they that at Lakeys if I want to shoot from the tower and I just swim the lagoon with the Peli. The cases also make a handy seat in airports and are padlockable to cars/radiators etc so secure as hell. I'm a fan, can you tell? The main takeaway is: be prepared, the ocean can ream you otherwise.

Government Sanctioned Copyright Theft

If you follow me on Twitters (if not, why not?) then you might have seen a few exasperated tweets and links to a couple of stories on the Government's Enterprise and Regulatory Reform Act. The one that got a lot of photographers, including David Bailey's, knickers in a knot. 

The two articles linked below explain it in more detail but the short version is as the act becomes law it means your photos can be used and abused and there's nothing you can do about it. Even though as the creator/author of those images you have the copyright. If someone or some corporation does a 'diligent search' (in other words a quick Google search, which won't bring up any results from FB/IG etc as they aren't searchable) for the author and finds nothing then they can go ahead and use your work commercially. Reproducing it however they like, for cash, including sub-licensing.

Yep. Terrifying eh? If your work is watermarked or has the metadata intact you are okay. But obvs it only takes a screengrab to strip metadata and a quick crop/clone to take off the subtle watermarks most people use at the moment so as not to impede enjoyment of the image.

Welcome to the new era of content farms and wholesale image abuse. As if pages like Surf, Sex, Sea weren't bad enough when it came to blatant image theft now they'll be legalised.

I urge you to read the piece from the New Statesman:

The act aims to legislate a way for publishers to use copyrighted material which has no obvious author, or no way to track down the author. In the past, orphan works were typically older media, like out-of-print books, with little-to-no contact information available. Those works still cause problems, and are covered by the Enterprise and Regulatory Reform Act, which ought to aid plans to catalogue them, like Google's audacious attempt to scan every book in America.

But the reason why orphan works are kicking up such a fuss now is that more and more works are being orphaned shortly after creation, thanks to the internet. You can see it all the time online: a photo is tweeted, someone cross-posts it to Facebook, someone else reposts it to Twitter from there, it makes it over to Tumblr, and then is incorporated into a Storify which a media organisation reports on. In such circumstances, it can very quickly become nearly impossible to track down the original image. That's why the law has been nicknamed the "Instagram act". (Source: New Statesman)

And the one from The Register for a more complete look at this.

For the first time anywhere in the world, the Act will permit the widespread commercial exploitation of unidentified work - the user only needs to perform a "diligent search". But since this is likely to come up with a blank, they can proceed with impunity. The Act states that a user of a work can act as if they are the owner of the work (i.e. you) if they're given permission to do so by the Secretary of State, acting as a regulated body. The Act also fails to prohibit sub-licensing, meaning that once somebody has your work, they can wholesale it. This gives the green light to a new content scraping industry, an industry which doesn't have to pay the originator a penny. Such is the consequence of "rebalancing copyright," in reality. (Source: The Register)

Whichever way you look at it any photographer that works commercially will be giving away their rights if they leave decent size copies of their work online unwatermarked. So much for the protests from the NUJ and every other photography orientated organisation. Cheers Dave, Cheers Nick you berks.

(Another piece just popped up by the BBC).

How To Couch Surf...

If you surf you will travel.

Whether it's in this country or the far ends of the planet you'll meet people on these travels and form bonds. Some are temporary and involve mixing your genetic code with each other for fun.

Others are more tangible: those fellow surfers you share waves, beers and good times with that become mates. So it's inevitable that you'll be offered to crash at a mates house while on the road. It's a simple courtesy that can be a lifesaver. Couch surfing is a fact of life; if you are a decent human.

To ensure your welcome and that for others after you stays open make sure you do it right. Being a good guest is a skill which needs to be learnt … fast.  

• Suss the situation asap. Is there a partner/wife/husband/kids? This is a major thing, what's cool in a single guy's pad is not cool in a dude's family home. Respect and consideration are key. 
• Stay as long as was agreed. Most couch surfs are a night or two. If it's a longer stint then you really need to make sure you win 'House Guest Of The Year'. You want to leave the hosts with a happy tear in their eye as you leave so sad are they that your glittering and easy company is going. 
• Don't be a sponge. Turn up with bread, milk and a bottle of wine/beers. Even if it's not needed it lays out your intention not to be food hoover. That consideration we mentioned earlier is key here. Help out with groceries. Try and feed yourself as much as possible. Of course it's inevitable your hosts will offer you meals but don't take the piss. You've got free digs so shout them a good takeaway or take them out for dinner. Nando's never broke the bank. Also learn how to wash up/load a dish washer. Helping out spreads the load and earns you brownie points. 
• Be hygienic. Keep yourself clean and smelling good. A shower every other day is no big deal and always deodorise. Bring your own towel and leave the bathroom immaculate. You want your hosts to wonder if you ever use the bathroom. So that means no skids in the pan, floaters or stenches that would fell a frail person. The good old lighter trick works if you've got a rank, odour producing dump, a quick flame will burn your noxious methane bum burps. As does going for a flush the second you've dropped the main load out the bomb doors. 
• Keep your language respectable. Shouldn't need saying but especially if there are kids around. No mother wants to have to try and deprogram their child from saying 'sick hunt' because they picked it up from dad's visiting surf buddy. Also avoid the sensitive subjects like religion and politics. You may be Richard Dawkins biggest fan but everyone is entitled to their beliefs. Even if you consider them mental. 
• Sleep tight. If you've been lucky enough to score a guest bedroom then keep it spotless. Don't be a sloth. You're here to surf so make sure you're off and out early. Drag your host if possible. They'll thank you for it. Don't hang out all day watching Jeremy Kyle. Even if the surf goes bung explore the local area. If you are sleeping on the couch sleep when the hosts go to bed and be up before they are. Bring a sleeping bag. Good guests don't turn their hosts lounge into their bedroom. 
• Be polite. As with language make sure your actions are beyond reproach. No flirting with your host's partner. Down that road a chinning lies. So eyes front soldier. Don't be stupidly polite though, if someone offers you a cup of tea they shouldn't need to have a debate with you to convince you it really is no bother. 
• Don't get pissed. Simple. The two drink rule applies. Two glasses of wine or two beers gets you a nice buzz on and keeps the conversation lively. You're here to surf so waking up with a brain dehydrated to the size of a walnut and scrambled guts is not a good idea. If you dig chemical recreation then it goes without saying that shit doesn't float when you're being a guest. 
• Leave well. Suss out what is favoured in the wine department. Leave a bottle that your hosts will dig and maybe some chocolates to say thank you. And of course offer your couch/floor space in return should the need ever arise. Once on your merry way drop a text when you've hit your next destination thanking them for the hospitality. 

That's about it. It ain't rocket science. Be considerate. Be funny. Be warm. Be you. Leave your hosts thinking the sun really does shine out of your bomb doors and eager for you to swing by another time when the surf is cooking.

Photo: Felix Dickson getting some PT gold earlier this year shot by moi of course.

An Ode To A Crook Neck...

There was a time, back in the day, when sleeping in your car was the done thing. We thought nothing of rocking down the Welsh coast* for a surf, having a good session, then getting out near sun down before heading in to town to get fish'n'chips and a few tinnies for the evening.

After the deep-fried, fat-injection we’d truck back to the beach, watch the last wisps of the sun go down over a few cold ones and talk story. As the dusk turned to night we’d still be there, talking crap, drinking, by now slightly tepid beer, and chewing over the days rides. At some point, generally when the beer was all gone and the regulation Austin Powers style piss had been unleashed, we’d assume our positions.

Is That Glass Half Full?

Us Brit's are renowned for our 'fortitude'.

A posh word for that inherent British trait of courage during adversity. Famous examples being the war time 'Blitz spirit', the Victorian breed's famous 'stiff upper lip', but it's probably, most amusingly, best summed up by Monty Python's 'tis but a flesh wound'. Best said to your foe when your leg's been lopped clean off with a sword.

The Amazing Panorama Machine...

Panoramic cameras cost a fortune, especially ones that can do huge wide angle field of views. Of course these recent ones from Welsh Wales were all done with a really expensive crazy technical camera. Honest.

Yep. The tech details for all you camera geeks that want to nail some uber wide pano's like these ... the camera was: an iPod Touch. Yes sir. An iPod. A whole £250 of image making machine.

Modern life is rubbish eh? :)

Folio 11: How To Shoot The Mundaka Runaround...

The glorious Mundaka ... one of the finest waves in the world when it decides to work. It doesn't happen that often and when it does you are limited for angles. It's either the classic shot from the town, generally somewhere on the ledges below the church. Or swim it. 

It's a long old swim and if you get your tides wrong can be pretty spooky. It's a really good place to get hurt. On the one hand it's mentally busy with surfers dropping out of the sky in failed drop-ins all over the shop. It's also heavy as firk breaking in a few feet of water on a sandbar that feels more like concrete. Terrible place to get caught inside. My left knee is buggered because of this place: ligament/cartilage damage and loose bone chips thanks to going over the falls on a juicy day in 2001. Never been the same since. Couldn't surf for years because of it.

But anyhoose. I digress. This post is about the other angle. The other side. The risky mission. When it's really pumping it's a heavy call to venture to the other side of the beautiful Urdaibai Biosphere Reserve. Doesn't look that faraway and it's not, it's only about a kilometre as the crow flies. But by road it's 24km.

Yep. 24km back to the frequently traffic buggered Guernika and up the other side of the estuary. But it's so worth it. The view from the other side is spectacular. And when it's big and clean you can spaff yourself stupid with creative line-ups from the roadside lay-by.

For the truly unique angle though you need some hiking boots, a machete and a 'can do' attitude. So you can yomp through the bush to the top of the hill for the awesome overview. It's a stunning panorama running back to the city of Bermeo in the distance (I've seen the few pics from the top, never done it, I ain't Ray Mears).

So there you go. The Mundaka line-up that beats the town angle into a cocked hat. Whatever a cocked hat is.

Andy...

I first photographed A.I at La Piste in France in the Autumn of 1999 when he was still a brash, teen wonderkid. This shot is from the Hawaiian winter of 2005 when Slater had just broken A.I's stranglehold on the world title.

A.I's story, as you'll know, came to an abrupt and controversial end in 2010 (this piece was written 2011 as I needed to write something just for my own benefit, it's only been published in my book before).