Read them. Love them.
I’ll start this posting with a small caveat: If you’re not into surfing history then you probably won’t be interested in these books. After all, good surfing biographies are nothing if not a window into the history of our sport.
Now, there are bios and then there are Bios. What’s the difference? Well, a guy like Mick Fanning is a great surfer, but he hasn’t been around long enough to warrant chronicling his life. Even so, he has a bio. Have I read it? No. Why? Because, in my highly subjective opinion, he still has a long way to go (plus, I couldn’t get a free copy).
Fortunately, there are many surfers who have lived (and some who have died), who have left behind serious legacies. Some of the surfers are loud and controversial while others are quiet and unassuming, but both types share one thing in common: impact. They’ve had an impact on the sport, culture, and collective conscience of the surfing community.
There are many biographies that I’ve enjoyed over the years including: The Soul of Surfing (Fred Hemmings), Bustin’ Down the Door (Rabbit Bartholomew), Increments of Fear (Buzzy Trent), Stories of Rell Sunn (Rell Sunn), Bunker Spreckels (Bunker Spreckels), Eddie Would Go (Eddie Aikau), Morning Glass (Mike Doyle), The Harbour Chronicles (Rich Harbour), and Stealing the Wave (Ken Bradshaw & Mark Foo).
While each of these books had redeeming qualities, there are four others that, for me, managed to truly capture the essence of both a person and a time period. Here are four of my favorites:
I’m a big fan of Gerry Lopez and can vividly remember wanting to be just like him (and Rory Russell) when I was a kid–watching them casually weave through menacing Pipeline barrels. Well, it turns out that in addition to being a surfing legend, Lopez is also quite a thoughtful and articulate writer. The book is part autobiography and part diary, with Lopez artfully recounting memories and anecdotes from his childhood. There are great essays on his sessions at Pakala, his three-wave hold-down in summer surf, learning to surf the Ala Moana bowl and of course his sessions at Pipe. There are also funny stories sprinkled throughout the book, my favorite being the story of Gerry getting misdirected by Rory Russell at Cannons and winding up with a mile-long swim (and Rory running scared). This book exceeded my expectations. Lopez is like Noll in that he can take a rich personal history and give it meaning 20-30 years later.
This is not an easy book to find. It’s out of print, but I found one at Powell’s in the used book section. I had wanted to read this book for some time, so I was excited when it finally arrived in the mail. Like Greg Noll himself, the book is a no bullshit summary of Da Bull’s life during those golden years in the ‘50s and ‘60s when surfing was exploding on the scene. Noll’s narrative is typically solid, but I really enjoyed the brief passages contributed by his friends. In the book, they manage to paint a wistful, innocent and almost idyllic description of Southern California and the North Shore during that time. Having grown up in Southern California during the ‘70s, it’s hard for me to comprehend large, uncrowded surf conditions. If you like surfing history, this is an easy reading, excellent book that’s worth tracking down for your library.
Before buying this book, I didn’t know a whole lot about Miki Dora aside from the occasional reference in surfing magazines. I knew he was the controversial king of Malibu, a legendary surfer who exhibited all that was cool with surfing in the ‘60s. Man, was I off base. Author David Rensin changed my opinion on Dora nearly every chapter. At one point, you think Dora is the biggest ass imaginable, next you wonder why anyone cares. By the end of the book, your perspective on Miki Dora is like the real character—very complicated. While Rensin’s narrative in the first chapter of the book gushes, the rest of the book calmly walks you through Miki’s exploits via printed recollections from scores of his acquaintances (friends would not be the right word). Highlights include Greg Noll’s stories about the horrors of doing business with Miki on the Da Cat line of boards…..twice. In the end, Rensin does an excellent job of demystifying Dora while at the same time managing to maintain the man’s myth. No small feat.
I had been looking for a reasonably priced copy of this book for more than two years before I managed to barter one from an avid collector who had two copies (thanks to Doc Renneker). Originally priced at $6 in 1967, Phil Edwards’ biography is now trading at about $450 for a decent copy–not a bad return if you managed to track one down 40+ years ago. The book is an interesting, one-sided history of the sport from Edwards’ point of view. Co-written with Sports Illustrated writer Bob Ottum, the book is well-crafted and intelligently written. Edwards, like Gerry Lopez and Greg Noll, has a way with words that carries the reader along effortlessly. The book chronicles Edwards‘ introduction to the sport, the inevitable pilgrimage to Hawaii, and his struggles to make a living doing the thing that he loves. The tone is light, and Edwards has a knack for self-deprecating humor. Some of the historical references are questionable (he claims to have named the Banzai Pipeline for example), but most of the anecdotes ring true and color an already rich story. Endless Summer filmmaker Bruce Brown also contributed a nice assortment of black and white surf shots of Edwards, providing some refreshing breaks throughout the text. Fans of surfing history will enjoy this book.
