MICK’S BACK!

MICK’S BACK!

There are a lot of special things about surfing life on the Gold Coast… the perfect points, hidden beachies, secret bombies, the warm water, the sand so soft it squeaks, that seemingly endless sunshine… the list goes on. But there’s one thing in particular that makes surfing on the Gold Coast unlike any other. It’s that certain time of year, sometime around March, when the weather patterns make magic happen. Without fail, about three months after the new year, a cyclone swell hits the southeast Queensland coastline and it lights up those point breaks to perfection.

It’s fitting, then, that it’s just at this time that the 3x World Champion Mick Fanning, Coolangatta local and Gold Coast legend, was ready to get back in the water after injury.

This past August, August 2019, Mick was on a Stab in the Dark trip in South Africa when he tore his ACL, with an estimated recovery time of 6-12 months. In an effort to help speed up recovery Mick flew straight home and landed on the surgeon’s table.

Now, the 3x World Champ is not new to injuries –his list includes a torn hamstring, an injured ankle and many more. He knew what was required to get back in the water, and he set his sights on this sacred time of year for swell on the Gold Coast.

Now, seven months later, well… we’ll let the video do the talking. #MickWeek.

Photos: @nickpolletstudio

Froth With Fanning & Crew

Froth With Fanning & Crew

 I got up this morning, then tripped over this strange pointy thing in the corner of my room. After further inspection it appears that the said ‘strange pointy thing’ is in fact a surfboard, and I appear to have several of them, far too many to be honest. As it’s been flat or onshore for so fricking long I’ve almost forgotten what they are for, it appears they’ve morphed into some kind of clothes hangers. If like myself you’ve forgotten what your strange pointy thing is for you might want to watch this clip. If you’ve forgotten what your other strange pointy thing is for, you need to be looking at a whole different thing that were not getting involved with that you naughty people. 

Check out Rip Curl Team Riders Mick Fanning & Xavier Huxtable as they join Nathan Hedge, Isabella Nichols, Mitch Parkinson, Clancy Dawson, Korbin ‘The Search’ Hutchings and crew for an epic little morning over on the other side.

Surfing, oh how I miss thee.

The Search For Outer Inner Space

Mick and Mase find more than just perfect waves on their voyage into the great expanse.

Words Vaughan Blakey Photos Courtesy Ripcurl

Mick Fanning is jumping out of his skin. It’s taken four days to get here and waking to the sight of six-to-eight foot A-frames unloading right in front of the camp has got the three-time world champ’s blood at maximum fizz. He suits up, skips down the boulders, jumps in a rip and is swept towards the impact zone just as the first true set of the morning begins stampeding over the horizon. Collision is inevitable. Line after line of unimpeded ocean power aims to unload directly onto the famous blond cranium of Kirra’s favourite son. As we watch Mick get obliterated, Mason Ho stops waxing his 6’4”, returns it to his board bag and picks up a knifey looking 6’8” pintail. “It’s a lot bigger than it looks out there, huh,” he says with a smile that’s all eyebrows. “Brah… the Search has delivered again!” Where are we exactly? Ha! As if we’d tell. This is the Search after all. It ain’t for sharing secrets, it’s for inspiring you and your mates to get out into the wild and score your own little corner of perfection. Looking around, though, we could be in any of a million places. Giant scrubby plateaus stretch for miles softened only by the familiar pink hue of the soon-to-be-rising sun. It could be West Oz. It could be Chile. It could be the moon… (if the moon had blue sky, pumping waves and a little lizard doing push ups on a nearby rock). This is the desert and, like any desert, it doesn’t take long venturing into one to quickly discover an overwhelming sense of complete isolation – a feeling that’s becoming more and more absent as modern life invades ever deeper into our personal space… but sheez, let’s not go there just yet.

This ragged coastline we’ll call our home for the next week is lighting up with double-overhead tube after spewing tube for as far as the eye can see.

The tremendous expanse of the heavens above us and the nothingness of the surrounding landscape have nothing on today’s ocean, at least not during the daylight hours. This ragged coastline we’ll call our home for the next week is lighting up with double-overhead tube after spewing tube for as far as the eye can see. With the wind expected to be offshore for the whole week, with not another soul around for miles and with absolutely no contact to the outside world, it feels as if this might all be a giant prank of the imagination, but if something can’t exist without nothing… then right now the nothing is where it’s at. Mick plays cat and mouse with the shifting A-frames for a good 20 minutes before he finally picks a plum. Taking off behind the peak, he knifes hard off the bottom, rips the handbrake and casually stands bolt upright as the entire world spins around him. It’s goosebumps stuff to watch, and not just because the wind is 18 knots and cold enough to freeze the nipples off a penguin. This is all Mick, the kind of line and surfing we’ve clearly missed since he hung up the comp rashie back at Bells, and as he exits the tube and flies into a deep and flawless down carve you remember that the style, precision and power of a true surfing master are marvellous things to witness in the flesh. Mase reaches the line-up and Mick has to be happy for the company. There are seals jumping around all over the place and while there are no polar bears or killer whales in these parts, there is another apex predator with a fondness for seal meat and world champs born in Penrith. After trading a few clean ones with Mick and feeling out the extra length in his board, Mase snags an absolute bomb. Freefalling down the face he finds rail off the bottom and drives up into the maw before being spat into the channel like a sour villager from the mouth of a fire-breathing dragon – a creature Mase says he would like to be one day, so he can fly to the top of mountains and check the surf before torching villages on the way back home. It’s just one of the many things we’ll learn about Mason over the coming week, he’s a man who approaches every conversation like he does his surfing – an opportunity to fire up the imagination and create something magical – and he knows how to get in the hole.

The two friends share barrels for the entire day. They stay in their wetsuits from morning till night. As the sun sets and the campfire crackles to life, they are beat to the point of total exhaustion. The elements and the day’s surfing have taken their toll, and tonight they’ll sleep like the dead in tents flapping so hard in the offshore they may as well be pitched at Everest Base Camp. This is what Searching is all about. “My great grandfather was Chinese. He escaped persecution in China by fleeing to Hawaii. He was a good fisherman and I guess my great grandma was into that a whole lot because they ended up having 14 kids and one of them was my dad’s dad, but maybe I shouldn’t tell you that in case they’re still out to get us.” Mason Ho is sitting by the fire telling us the origin of his famous last name, a name of absolute legend in surfing circles. His dad, Mike, is one of the few surfers to have won all three Triple Crown events of Haleiwa, Sunset and Pipe. His baby sister, Coco, is on the Women’s WSL Championship Tour. His uncle, Derek, is of course Hawaii’s first World Champ and a Pipeline Master. The Ho family are out of this world stokers and a case could be made that Mase is the most stoked of them all, that is until you hear the story of the only time he ever saw his dad cry. “I’d seen his eyes go watery when someone in the family died and stuff like that, but when his boards got stolen in France one year, I swear that was the only time I saw actual tears.” Maybe the only thing the Ho’s love more than surfing is their surfboards.

It’s our fourth night out in the desert and the fire has dragged out all manner of conversation since night one. With the wind having backed off and with everyone being surfed out of their brains, desert life is in full swing. Lobsters have been pulled from their nooks no more than 30 feet from where we sit and are devoured by the bagful like bowls of pub peanuts. Our skin hasn’t touched fresh water since we arrived and everyone’s eyelids have that much salt crust caked on them you’d swear they’d been deep fried. The days are for surfing, but the nights are for tales tall and true. In these surrounds the relationship between Mick and Mase, brothers of the Search, is something to behold. Mick, the youngest of five, inhabits the role of big brother with ease. Mase, who has been but never had a big bro (he’s had 10,000 uncles, but never a brother) views Mick in wide-eyed awe. The two bounce off one another with an affection that’s genuinely heartfelt, right down to Mick hassling Mase to put his seat belt on whenever they jump in the car. At the heart of their dynamic are similar values, a deep love of family and friends, and a mutual respect for the very different approach the other brings to their surfing. With every trip they learn from each other, both in the water and out. And they enjoy each other’s company to no end.

It’s when Mick talks world titles, the QS, tour life and winning, that Mase’s ears really prick up. The Hawaiian loves competition fiercely and wants a piece of that tour life so bad it makes his body twitch at the mere mention of it. When Mick is asked at what moment does winning the world title feel best, Mason is leaning so far forward to get every piece of the answer he nearly falls in the fire. “In the shower after you get home from the heat that decided it,” says Mick, by the way. “Once you’ve dealt with the adrenalin of the moment and all the energy of the beach and the well wishes and stuff, getting home and into the shower is the first time you’re truly alone, and that’s when all the hard work and the personal sacrifice you made to get that achievement hits you… and you just fucking ROAR!” Mase leans back shaking his head and offers a closed fist. Mick obliges and bumps it with his own. “That’s pretty much as good as it gets right there,” continues Mick. “When Joel won the World Title, he asked me after a week or so, ‘Is that it?’ And I was like, ‘Yep, that’s it, mate!’” Mick laughs and Mase offers the closed fist again and Mick gives it bump. “Brah,” says Mase. “I would do anything to feel that moment. You World Champions are like gods to me!” Mick laughs. “Not even, we’re just another bare bum in the shower at the end of the day, mate,” he says.

he two friends share barrels for the entire day. They stay in their wetsuits from morning till night. As the sun sets and the campfire crackles to life, they are beat to the point of total exhaustion.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone’s gaze turns to the stars. Unaffected by light pollution, the Milky Way is in full splendour. The moment lingers with calm contentment as we quietly ponder our place in the universe. Mase suddenly breaks the silence by telling us he was conceived during a macking Pipe swell. “There’s a good chance that the morning of the night my mum got pregnant, I was getting barrelled out at Pipe with Pops. Ho! That’s the strain right there, brah!” The camp erupts in laughter and this time it’s Mick offering Mase the closed fist of appreciation. Mase can’t bump it quick enough. There comes a point after long surfs in cold water where your thumbs cease working. The veins contract and the blood flow halts and no amount of hot breath can thaw the bastards out. Thumbs are what separate us from primates and the rest of animal kind, so when ours fail to work, especially after a week in the deep wild, it’s easy to feel like you’re regressing into some sort of primitive hominid. Simple tasks such as the removal of a bootie, complete with grunting vocalisation, could easily be misinterpreted as some sort of ritualist courting display, chopping wood becomes an exercise of absolute folly. With Mick and Mase both suffering the debilitating effects of prolonged digit exposure to the cold, the camp has taken on a very primal mood, and it would be no great surprise to discover a giant black monolith sticking from our fire while the score to Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey echoes over the plains. Things are getting seriously sci-fi, alright, but man or ape or whatever it is we’re turning into, it’s all worth it because the surf has not stopped.

At the risk of sounding ridiculously obvious, it’s ridiculously obvious how good searching out, finding and riding perfect waves makes you feel. With the camp packed up, we feel a sense of foreboding at returning to the real world, but it’s overwhelmed by gratitude for the experience we’ve all shared. Despite the aching muscles, cracked lips, cooked eyes and useless thumbs, none of us have felt better. “This is living!” has become the tagline of the the trip as the Search for perfect waves delivers life lessons that stretch far beyond the shoreline. It begs the question: Why don’t we do this more often? Everything about fire and stars and being outside and endless tubes screams at you to simplify the way you live. Sharing it all with friends only reinforces that feeling. The space of the desert allows for the space of the soul to stretch out. Things you may never hear in normal conversation become the norm. Everything is up for discussion and to be explored. That’s the thing about space, isn’t it? The final frontier, it’s as infinite outwards as it is inwards, and you cannot venture to the outer limits without also expanding your inner perceptions. It’s in the outer inner space where you truly learn what you’re capable of and who you want to be. This is where surfing has brought Mick and Mason today, and there are more adventures to be had in the great out there. It’s a place you can easily visit, too. Are you up for it? When will your Search for outer inner space begin?

Beyond the WSL

One of the brightest lights in the surfing firmament hung up his contest rashie for good. The Bells event was his last CT event and a fitting place to bow out of his stellar competitive career. Mick, of course, isn’t retiring totally, there is an awful lot of planet left for him to explore as Sharpy found out.

Photos Redbull content pool

What’s the worst part about being a brewery owner?
The recycling bin at home is always full. Umm … other than that there really isn’t any downside.

Have there been any more sessions at the Snake to your knowledge?
Not that I know of. I still frequently get asked where it is. I’ll never tell.

You’re more well travelled than most surfers on the planet, are there any spots still on your hit list?
There are still heaps, nowhere in particular though. There are world class waves I want to check out but also some countries and destinations that have novelty waves I’d love to experience.

Who are your favourite people to travel with? Both surfer and photog/filmer wise.
Travelling for me is more about the people I meet along the way. In saying that I’ve been on the road with my photog mate Corey Wilson and he always makes things pretty damn funny. Mason Ho is also a classic to explore with. One of my favourite things to do is take friends from home on trips to places I’ve been before. I get to show them around and it makes the adventure feel fresh for me too.

Shooting that Northern Lights session in Norway how cold was it surfing at night in the Arctic Circle?
Pretty damn cold. Shrivel factor was extreme. In saying that you’re going to the Arctic so you’re mentally prepared and you got all the gear for it. Nothing a good old soak in a hot tub didn’t fix.

Insane as the wave pools are getting won’t the lack of paddle battles and wave choice remove the drama?
I don’t think so. There will still be drama when competitors are chasing scores and they only have one opportunity to nail it. It’s one event in the schedule that will have a really unique feel and we don’t really know what format they’ll run with or if the criteria will be any different. I think it’s gonna be fun.

Following up pool comps will become more like half pipe comps, all about nailing a routine, are the judges ready for that?
We’ll see. I’m not sure they’ve locked down the criteria for it just yet. The WSL has had plenty of time to run through the event plan and I’m sure they’re exploring the best formula for the Surf Ranch event.

Does the muscle you tore off your arse still give you gip when it’s cold?
It’s actually not too bad. I’m always stretching it and doing Pilates so it doesn’t tighten up.

Did you ever expect a sandal with a bottle opener in the sole to be such a winner?
Not as much as it has. It felt like it could be something that surfers might find useful but I’ve been to some landlocked parts of the world and seen people rocking the sandal and that kind of blows my mind. I’m sure they have no idea who I am but the idea of a bottle opener in your sandals gets them over the line.

How much does it pain you to miss a cyclone swell at home?
It stings for sure, nothing better than getting shacked at home. I’ve been lucky enough to catch so many good waves around the world while my mates back home are getting nothing so I don’t complain about a missed swell here and there though.

You have been an emotional roller coaster over the last 18 months or so. What is the most valuable lesson you have learned? There is a huge crisis in men’s mental health at the moment. Issues about anxiety, depression, isolation, high rates of suicide and the conflict between ‘being a man’ and being able to talk problems through. Any advice for people reading this who are suffering.
First up there’s nothing wrong with telling friends and family that you aren’t doing so great but you have to be open to accepting their help. I leaned on my mates through the hard times and they were there for me in a big way.

Post Bells are you going to get stuck in to making some of the sickest Search films ever? And if so can we come?
I’m definitely looking forward to going on The Search with Rip Curl and some of the team. It’s going to be fun to explore some different locations that aren’t tour stops. Can you come? That depends. Can you keep a secret?

You can follow Mick on Instagram here

Join Mick Fanning, as he goes home… and faces the Irish Crossroads

Mick Fanning revisits his past and looks toward his future in Ireland.

Photos courtesy Rip Curl

After a whirlwind 2016 in which Mick had a close encounter with a shark at Jeffrey’s Bay, separated from his wife and lost a brother, he decided it was time to take a sabbatical from the world tour. It was time to reset, get back to the basics and get to know himself again. He spent the year travelling the globe, venturing to places he’d only dreamed of in the past… During that time, it only made sense that he returned to his roots – the land of the Irish.  Because as you’re reading this, he’s facing one of the hardest choices of his life – will he return to tour in 2017, or will he hang up his jersey forever?

So I’m downstairs in a rental house in Ireland, drying things that are wet, which are most things, when I hear him from the floor above. Driving through the pit, Florence, greatpositioning… It’s Joe Turpel calling a round 4 heat on the webcast. …successful tube ride and a solid finishing move.I stop. I listen. My heart skips a beat.Normally, hearing the echoes of a webcast in a house full of surfers is nothing special.
But this is special. This is the penultimate day of the Meo Rip Curl Pro in Portugal, andthere is a world title race afoot. John John has an outside chance to clinch the title,provided he makes the final and Jordy doesn’t win the contest. Which is interesting initself, but not what caught my attention. What caught my attention is that Mick Fanning,a fixture in the last decade’s world title races, and who is taking a gap year to decide if heeven wants to compete again, is upstairs. He excused himself 20 minutes ago to “take anap.”
Taaake a naaap…
Nice try, champ. The fact that I can hear the webcast means he can’t sleep, can’t sleepbecause he is invested in the race, invested in the race ‘cause he misses it — the jerseys,the performance, the pressure — and so maybe, just maybe, this is a clue to the presentlyunsolvable puzzle called The Future Of Mick Fanning.
I must confirm. I tip-toe up the stairs, heart pumping like a cop on his first raid. Thump-thump. Top of the stairs. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Down the hall, floorboardscreaking. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. I reach the room and peek aroundthe corner and -– he’s fast asleep. In the bed next to him, Irish grommet Gearoid Mcdaidis under the covers, phone raised above his head. He gives me a nod, then returns hisfocus to the webcast.
John John beats Michel Bourez and Adriano de Souza with a 16.33 heat total, andadvances directly to the quarterfinals. From Mick’s side of the room, Joe Turpel’s voiceis joined by a light snore.

Remember the Comfortably Numb trip? Where we went to a frozen northern land androde glacier waves and real waves, too? That happened right after Mick walked off thebeach at Bells Beach. He was missing Margarets, starting his sabbatical because, as Iwrote in that story, “After a rollercoaster 2015 that included contest wins, a shark attack,a marital separation and the death of his brother amidst a world title race, he figured hehad met his drama limit for the decade.”
The year off was supposed to be an exploration, of himself and life outside a jersey, tosee if competition was still quenching his surfing thirst. Or, if it was maybe time to retireand do something new — video trips, make beer, save the elephants

After Comfortably Numb, I would have bet big money that he wouldn’t retire. He’d betoo bored, I thought. And the structure that contests provide cannot be overstated — theonly thing worse than having to be somewhere is having nowhere to be at all. How manyfreesurf trips could he go on? Mick is a competitor. Didn’t he have more to accomplishon tour? Another world title, perhaps?
But today, here in Ireland, I’m not so sure. After seven days, 950 miles, 10 surfs, 43drinks, eight Irish sing-alongs, and a few heart-to-hearts, I must say, he seems genuinelycontent. So, what is next for Mick Fanning?  What direction will he travel in 2017?Forward — and that’s about all we can say for sure.

People probably look at it and think it was last year that prompted this [year off] when it actually wasn’t. It was something that had been building for two or three years, and I think that the events from last year were the final nail in the coffin. Like, “Just take a break, go do you for a minute. Fill up your fun tank.” Because I got to the end of[2015] and, once I finally got home from Pipe, I just had nothing. I was totally empty.

I often try and help other people because I always feel like I’m in a place where I can do that, but this time, I couldn’t even pick myself up. Something had to change. Just to be out of the spotlight and outside of my comfort zone, be in places where I wasn’t getting looked at. Because it felt like people were looking at me going, “Is he OK?” They don’t always have to say something, you can just tell by how people are looking at you. And I don’t need to be reminded of it everyday, because I am thinking of it anyway. But when you walk down the street in Dublin and not a soul knows who you are, you’re just a passing person. And that’s really refreshing.

Mick

It’s our first morning in Ireland and Mick’s doing 75 mph along a narrow, windy, stone-walled road. It’s 5am. Still dark. We’re driving three hours to a wave-rich region in the north, trying to get there at first light. Mick handles the oversized van with a confidence he brings to most things he does in life. I feel safe. I doze for a bit. I awake to Mick’s voice.
“How’d you guys sleep?” He asks us (photographer Corey Wilson, filmer Nick Pollet and me). We’re on a wider road now, and the first light of day is forming a dim dome to our east.
We all slept fine.“I had the weirdest dream,” he says.“What was it?” I ask.“I was at a comp, I don’t know where the event was, it felt like a city, New York or something,” he takes a sip from his water bottle. “I don’t know if I lost the heat or what, all I knew was that I had to get out of there. Just grab all my stuff and leave. But every time I went back to my locker there was something more to clear out. Obviously there were boards and wetsuits, but then there were like, [dress] suits and other luggage, just weird stuff that I would never take to the beach. I just wanted to sneak out and disappear, but cameras kept following me and I was like, ‘Just go away…’”

A clear message from his subconscious? Entertaining nonsense that I’ll interpret for this story’s benefit? Regardless, the relative anonymity that Mick’s experienced has certainly been a perk of his year off. More space to live and think and grow, uninterrupted.
As we analyze Mick’s dream, the sun creeps skyward and the Irish pastures turn from black to a vibrant green. In the grass: cows lie down, horses graze, sheeps are spray painted with double digits, a crude form of livestock ID. Going ‘round a round about, Mick sees a white horse. We stop to pet it. Do we still have that apple in the van? We do.Mick feeds the white horse the green apple and we get back in the car. We drive.
Gearoid Mcdaid, local ripper and Mick’s newly minted Rip Curl teammate, meets us at aleft slab. There are a few guys out, a few guys checking it, and the waves are absolutely pumping. Four-to-six-feet and perfectly groomed tubes. We watch two sets, suit up and paddle out.
Mick chats with the ever-expanding local pack and only goes for one out of every 30waves or so. When he commits, nobody else paddles, and he gets deep backside barrels across a shallow reef. On land, a trickle of humans has turned into a flood, and dozens of people line the cliff, watching. Gearoid will later say he’s never seen so many people there.
I am the first one out of the water, and as I change from my suit, I see a car racing down the residential street. The driver slams his breaks and reverses, parallel parking like avalet on New Year’s Eve. He jumps out, slams his door and runs — literally runs —toward the cliffs. When he passes me, as if to justify his haste, he says, “Heard Mick Fanning’s out there.”

Once I took the shirt off at Bells, it felt like this whole weight lifted off me. At the time, Iwas lost a little bit in what I wanted to do. I had all these bright ideas of doing this and doing that, and then as time wore on, I found that I was happy just being wherever. I
didn’t have to go and chase all these different things. And while I was still busy, I was busy doing things that I wanted to do.
Look, being on tour is a really easy life. But, in addition to constantly trying to get yourself to 100-percent peak performance, you’re always focused on the next day. Like,“Is the event on today or is it going to be on tomorrow?” You don’t actually stop. Even if
you lose your heat, it’s like, “OK, when am I getting home? What do I have to do for the next event, how do I get my body right for that event? Do I book accommodation? Are my boards ready? Is my mindset right?” But now, I can actually stop and be more present.And that was one thing I’ve learned — is that you can just be here. You can be here today and deal with tomorrow when it comes
Mick

Tomorrow is now today and, as we wait for the tide to drop, we stand atop a 600-footcliff and stare down at a cartoon-like right below. Mick will later describe it as a mix between Sunset and Haleiwa and I would confidently add Maverick’s in there. Next to usare heavy-water hedonists Tom Lowe and Nic Von Rupp, and as the waves really start to pulse, we opt to paddle out. Walking back to our cars to get our gear, I notice Mick exhaling through his mouth, lips fluttering like Vince Vaughn doing the motorboat inWedding Crashers. I figure it must be some special breathing exercise.
Halfway down the cliff side, on a ledge next to the dramatic precipice, we suit up withTom, Nic and a handful of other locals, all armed with boards in the 7’, 8’ and 9’ range.As Mick pulls on his suit, he emits another motorboat-exhale. Down the muddy goat trail.Off the rocks. Through the shorebreak and into flat water. I paddle next to Mick, who’s impact vest beneath his suit makes him look like a superhero, and he exhales again. I hang back, waiting till he’s out of earshot, and start motorboat-breathing myself. If Mick’s doing it, it must work.
The waves are much bigger and less organized than they appeared from the cliff. Twelve-foot slabs of glassy, green water rise from deep and hurl themselves forward over the shallow reef. Mick doesn’t stop moving the entire session, stalking the bowl like a hunter with a 6’8” spear. Hungry. He catches good waves and bad waves. He gets barreled and he gets smashed and he does the motorboat exhale and paddles back to the bowl. Mick surfs for four hours, the last one out of the water, ascending the cliff in near darkness.
“I forgot I had to save enough energy to climb back up,” he says as he collapses in a heap at the changing plateau. “This is one of the most beautiful setups I’ve ever seen.”
That night, we join the local crew at the pub for Guinness and stew. It’s Friday. The placeis packed. We sit at a long table and eat and drink to our heart’s delight. During a breakbetween bites, I lean over to Mick to talk over the hum of the bar. “I noticed you doingthis thing at the right…” I say, and I reenact the motorboat exhale. “Is that some sort ofspecial breathing technique?”
“Nah, mate,” he says. “I think I was just nervous.”—
What do I miss about tour? Just friends, really. You travel with these people for so long and you ride highs and lows with your competitors, but they are also your family, and the people that pick you up and help you out when you’re on the road. And you don’t miss everyone. [laughs] But that’s a trend, speaking to older people that have retired — they miss their friends. But there are a whole lot of other people out there, too.
—
Boards are packed, wetsuits are dry. We are in Ireland’s far north and we aren’t lookingfor waves. We are here to surprise Mick’s family, a dozen or so aunts, uncles and cousinswho live next door in a small town above a craggy bay. Mick’s dad was born and raisedjust up the road. As we drive up the headland toward his godmother Barbara’s house, Iask why we didn’t call first.
“Well, we didn’t really know when we we’d be getting here…” Mick said. Then he grins,“…but really, I just don’t think Barbara would have been able to hear me on the phone.”
We pull into the driveway of a modest, two-bedroom house and before we can exit the car, Barbara is opening the front door, wagging her finger at Mick and smiling like, “It hought I smelled you in this country.” Mick gets out and envelopes her 5’ frame in his arms.
Full disclosure: I could only understand about one out of 10 words that Barbara spoke.The 80-something matriarch had a thick Irish accent, a heavy mumble and a command of the room that was total. I didn’t dare ask her to repeat anything. So there will be no quotes from Barbara. But the afternoon went something like this
• Barbara grins and wags her finger at me, mumbling something about “picture.” I don’t think she wants a selfie. I put my camera away.
• Barbara offers us tea. We accept.
• Barbara pours us tea and feeds us biscuits. Before the tea is cool enough to drink,
10 of Mick’s relatives are in Barbara’s living room. To say this is a small town isan understatement.
• Barbara asks Mick a dozen question about his family, his trip here, the last timehe visited, etc. At one point her cell goes off, a loud techno rhythm blares fromthe flip phone. Mick’s cousin leans over, “We had to change the ring tone so shecould hear it.”
• More tea, biscuits. Barbara disappears.
• Barbara busts through the living room door with a faded surfboard under her arm.Mick left it here last time he visited. We ask if she’s going surfing. She shushes usand wags her finger. We all laugh.
There are awkward silences, but Mick sits stoic through them all, forgoing every opportunity to say, “Welp, we should probably get going.” He’ll later tell me, “You don’t get that opportunity everyday, so it’s good to take the time to show them you appreciate them.”

That time and appreciation doesn’t stop with family. He Face times with friends from the road. He takes selfies with randoms on the street. He promotes other people’s agendas on his social accounts. Friends, acquaintances, strangers — they are all approached with respect, patience and intrigue. As 12-year-old Sabre Norris said on her Instagram,“Sometimes, when I ask adults questions they talk to me like I’m a baby. Mick never does. He talks to me like I’m an adult and gives me proper answers.” His ability to make someone’s day is as honed as his frontside carve and, dozens of times everyday, Mick has the opportunity to exclude or include, and he almost always includes. That’s rare for anyone, and nearly unheard of for someone with any inkling of fame.
It is this ability to effortlessly connect with people that makes me question his return to tour. Because sure, he has a family of a couple hundred people that he sees on the CT, but there are 7.4 billion people on earth. That’s a lot of selfies to take. A lot days to make.

I think the goal posts have changed. Obviously, world titles are incredible things. They’re something you strive for as a little kid, and people always ask me, “Do you want to win more?” To be totally honest, I couldn’t care. The ones that I won were amazing, and it was great to achieve something, but now it’s not my biggest desire. I think the last thing that I really wanted to achieve was to right the wrong of J-Bay. I actually had a flash go through my head when the final siren went and I thought, “Is this it? Am I walking away right now?” And, for me, that was just the last accomplishment that I truly believed I needed to achieve. And now I want to go and surf different waves and explore my surfing in different areas and try and create film or photos that I’m proud of. Growing up, that was never very high on my priority list. It was just contests. Where now, working with photographers like Corey [Wilson], or filmmakers, like Taylor Steele, they really put their heart and desire into creating the most amazing things, and that inspires me to be better in that area. I want to do my best so they can do their best. That’s where the goalposts are at the moment.
I’m still unsure what next year will bring. At the very least I’ll do Snapper and Bells, because when I do retire, I want to do it at Bells. But winning events isn’t the big on my priority list. It’d be great to do a year like CJ, where he pretty much knew at the end ofthe year that he was going to retire, and he celebrated with all the people around the world along the way. But then I also think, “I can always go back to these places and see those people away from the event and actually give them more time, rather than go for the event and be on my own schedule.” So, I don’t know…I still haven’t fully decided. Iguess, once I spend time at home and just sorta sit with it, I’ll come up with the right decision. But I’m happy not being [on tour] right now.
Mick is a Gemini, and identifies with its “twins” characteristic, that there are two sides to him. The yin and the yang. The devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other, perhaps best exemplified by Mick and his alter ego, Eugene, who sometimes emerges during nights of drinking. (He’s currently waging a personal battle against Eugene in hopes of rebranding him the more lovable, “McMuffin.”)
Which isn’t to say the tour is good and free surfing is evil, or vice versa. But it’s thepolarizing nature of the decision that seems to fit with his zodiac label. Here he’s faced with a fork in the road, equipped with vehicles that are suited for each. The choice has always been solely his own, trouble was, he wasn’t in a place to make a clear decision at the start of the year. He’d been through a lot. He had to rebuild. And it’s only now that he’s coming to the point where he can make that decision from a place of strength.
I was thinking about it just yesterday, actually, and…I’m feeling full again. I feel like I can go and do stuff and my self confidence has got to the point where I’m comfortable in my own skin again, which is a really good feeling. I feel like I’m back on the right path. It
took a while, but…I’m not running from issues anymore. It’s like, OK, I can deal with shit now.—
It’s our final day and we are back in Dublin. John John won the title yesterday. We weren’t watching. We were nursing a hangover from a night out at the northern-most pub in Ireland. An evening of drinking and singing and banjo playing with the local crew.Last night we went out in Dublin, caught a comedy show and heard some more live music.
Right now, I’m interviewing Mick in our hotel, and he’s giving me the answers you’ve read above. He’s thoughtful and well-spoken in his responses, the consummate professional until — ping! — his phone announces a text message after I ask him whether he’s accomplished everything he wants to in surfing. He pulls out his phone to silence it, but looks at the screen first.
“It’s John,” he says. As in, recently-crowned world champ John John Florence. “I textedhim yesterday and he just wrote me back.”
“What’d he say?” I ask.
“Umm…” Mick swipes his finger across the screen and reads quickly, almost bashful,“He said, ‘Thanks for the text. I’m so stoked. Couldn’t be happier. Thanks for inspiringme. I’ve learned a lot from watching you and can’t wait to learn more. Hope you’rescoring waves and enjoying the year.’”
“That’s awesome,” I say.
“Um…yeah…” Mick’s looking down, his wheels are turning. I don’t know what he’sthinking, but I know what I’m thinking — I wonder if John would have won if Mick hadbeen there. After a few moments, he looks up at me, “What were we talking aboutagain?”
Tonight we’ll see The Lumineers in concert. Tomorrow we’ll leave. Mick will go toLondon for a few days to rendezvous with Parko, Alain Riou and Ben Howard. Then he’ll go to Amsterdam for a week. By himself. He’ll work on a book project, he’ll wander the city, he’ll be invisible. Then he will go to Norway to surf beneath the northern lights. Two weeks later, I’ll bump into him in the Dubai airport on his way home, theplace where he’s going to “sit with it” and make the right decision. He’s pale and unshaven. He buys me a coffee and we talk for while. He doesn’t mention the tour and I don’t ask. He just wants to know how I’m doing.