ysolz.blogg.se

There is something inherently slippery about the writing of surf stories. He told me the sharks started coming up and circling him. According to fellow surfer Jeff Johnson, “A little thirteen-mile swim didn’t bother him a bit.

When he got to the island he walked four miles through dense jungle until he found a payphone and was having drinks with the boys that very evening.

And that’s what he does – thirteen miles, circled by sharks the entire way. After getting his bearings and making a few estimations, he decides there is only one solution to his little problem: swim to Molokai. So there’s José, bobbing around in the Pacific with nothing but his swim shorts, fins and a dive knife, wondering what the hell to do. It was said that he could free-dive to a depth of over three-hundred feet. Angel was the principal of Haleiwa elementary school at the time and, in the words of Greg Noll, “The gutsiest surfer there ever was.” He was known to get up to some pretty wild things, like back-flipping off the lip of twenty-footers at Waimea for the hell of it. One afternoon in the mid 1970s, while diving for black coral off the coast of Maui, José Angel lost his spotting boat. Surfing is awash with staggering stories of waves conquered and heroes made, but where are all the great surf books? Tetsuhiko Endo trawls through waveriding's slim literary canon and finds a world that lies beyond words. Surfing is awash with staggering stories but where are all the great surf books?