ISSUE 0005

“I like to eat crawfish and drink beer. That's despair?”—WALKER PERCY

The first time I went to the South I shot a gun. Then I caught a shark and ripped around on a motorcycle sans helmet (sorry mom) and attended a real SEC college football party at the University of South Carolina…on Halloween. I slept on the floor at Cam Richards’ place the whole week, and shared Natural Lights for breakfast with his dad Kelly and brother Cole. I transformed under the influence of this place and the people.

When I first met Cam’s’ dad Kelly, he came out on his porch and surveyed as we unloaded the car. He instantly asked where the rest of my pants were and what sort of father I had since I had said I’d never shot a gun (I now know Kelly and my dad would get along swimmingly btw). Obviously I was a California boy out of his element and he made sure I recognized that right away. The way I handled it would tell him everything he would need to know. From there, Kelly took us out for dinner at his favorite restaurant called T.G.I. Fridays and we got big pitchers of light beer and became fast friends. Cam recommended I get some sort of enchilada/pizza with fries combo while obscure college sports played on every TV and songs by Hootie and the Blowfish and Gin Blossoms blasted. Drink of choice at the bar seemed to be shots of something called Buttery Nipples. Kelly insisted on calling our filmmaker “Pete” even though his name was Michael Cukr. We never figured out why. That night we immersed ourselves into a place that was as alien and foreign as any international land we’d been. It was clear they did things differently down here, but that didn’t mean they did things wrong. It made you feel a little bit dangerous and pretty free to be a raw version of yourself.  

By the end of our trip I think I had transformed into a better person. I don’t know how to explain why, but I was. I had the pretense beat out of me and I have Cam and his family for keeping it so real. That trip, to one of the most lackluster surf destinations on earth, where the waves never got over shin high, remains one of the best trips of my life thanks to Cam, Cole, Kelly and Pete. By the end of our trip, Kelly let me pick out a shirt from his Village Surf Shop and it’s a treasured piece in my wardrobe. You should get one too, but if you want it free, you’ll have to earn it. 

Since that inaugural trip, I’ve been back to the South many times and to a variety of cities and ports. Even married a Southern girl. I started eating meat again because of the South. I love a good mint julep these days. Fishing. Lightning. Cornbread. Hurricanes. Waffle House. “Y’all” Natural Light. I get all of these things now.  

It’d be easy to not go to the South. It’s easy to think you know what to expect and skip it. Say the waves are small and everyone is a red neck or something. But I hope as you listen to our new tunes from the Southeast playlist and scope this new issue of Fresh Hell that fell together so naturally, you'll appreciate all the people featured because they’re what make the South so rad. Especially Patrick “Tupat” Eichistaedt and his endless supply of enthusiasm, imagery, stories, stoked texts and phone calls throughout this month. He is a major reason this happened.  

I’ve come a long way since those awkward first minutes with Kelly Richards on his porch, but I now realize he was totally right, I shouldn’t have waited so long to shoot my first gun and my pants were a little short. —Travis Ferré 

w/

Evan Geiselman & Noah Schweizer

Surfing in Florida is a bit different. The lineup bubbles over with sharks. Localism is mellow. You can drive your truck right on the sand and it's a good idea to toss a rod and reel in with you because the fishing is always on. We caught up with New Smyrna Beach, FL locals Evan Geiselman and Noah Schweizer to hear and see a bit more of the scene and what makes it unique.

By PAUL BREWER

I used to go to Florida once, twice a year. First to promote shoes, then later to slang surfboards and even later clothes. We’d drive the whole east coast, or sometimes we’d just stay in Orlando at the trade show booth and hope the customers came to us. Like a lot of people’s travels, my memories of Florida are anchored by food and drink. Admittedly, the drink part muddles the food-memory part, but that’s how it goes.

In landlocked Orlando, I’ve had both tremendous sushi as well as cringeworthy Greek spreads at joints where it’s obligatory to throw paper napkins in the air (an obligatory opa! Is the worst kind of opa!). I’ve had greasy hot wings in Jacksonville, unbelievable Cuban food at 3 a.m. in Miami and Waffle House just about everywhere. I’m no Bourdain, but Florida has more than enough great food, grimy joints and interesting characters to make any visitor who’s got a half-curious mind feel like they’ve seen some shit. The state has led to three valuable lessons: always skip the offer to drink 3 a.m. Red Label in the hotel room, be careful who you smile at and just eat the damn oyster. And while the first two lessons kept me out of trouble, the last, the one about the oyster, is the lesson that I remember most.    

Up around Pensacola, the oysters are the call. Well, the Bushwhackers too, but really the oysters. Now, these aren’t the four bucks a pop, artisanal accoutrement, martini on the side oysters I spend too much money on in San Diego. These are super fresh, probably from the bays right there. These are served with an icy Coors Light and some Florida charm.

I’m sure most joints will prepare them however you’d like, but Oysters Rockefeller always reminds me of warm horse boogers covered in cheese, and the oysters served with cocktail sauce/horseradish/hot sauce do a great job of hiding flavor (some say, many spices and sauce and heat were originally created to cover up rancidity, but now they’re so ubiquitous we accept they’re just something you have to put on expensive things like oysters).

Good ingredients can stand on their own, making dinner prep and life in general easier. 

A good oyster tastes like whatever ocean it came from, and that’s one of the best tastes ever, so no need to cover it up with extra flavor. When I need a quick dinner, an easy dinner, I grab a heavy dozen oysters. I suggest a lemon, if you want your oceany oysters lemon-flavored. You can keep the whole dinner down home and simple with some Coors Light, or shake up that aforementioned gin martini if you want to take it uptown. Maybe a salad (a Caesar!) on the side. And buy the oysters unshucked and open them yourself at home, because you’re an able-bodied big kid and, besides, carrying pre-shucked oysters home on the passenger seat is a messy nightmare. All you need is a knife and some pressure and a wiggle, you’ll be on your way to a great evening. Fresh, crisp, clean — just eat the damn oyster. It’s a Florida lesson worth remembering. 

AGE: 22 | LOCATION: Flagler Beach, Florida | on the Proust Questionnaire

“Rasta Rob” is the quintessential cult hero. For the past few years, he’s made cameos in dozens of short vids and his name always comes up in conversation and email (anyone I spoke to about this issue made it clear they suggest me talk to Rasta Rob), but until now it was kind of hard to put your finger on who he was, where he came from or even how old he is. Well, we’ve since learned he’s 22 and from Flagler Beach in Florida and there’s a good chance he’s going to be one of your favorite surfers once you put it all together.

Being from Florida, he knows how to get pop out of any kind of wave and with a pretty solid connection to the North Shore through his brother who lives there, he’s down to send it with the best of them. And the sickest thing about Robbie is he’s one of the most likable dudes there is. When Nate Lawrence calls us from Indo and says, “Do you guys know this Rasta Rob dude? He’s so sick!” we know it’s time to start paying attention.

We put Rasta Rob through the Proust Questionnaire to put some context on his cameos, but it’s only a matter of time before he’s the main attraction.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Perfect happiness. Um, fuck…my idea of perfect happiness is perfect waves [laughs]. Just surfing every day and doing whatever I can to stay in the water. That's happiness for me.

What is your greatest fear?

I'm pretty scared of spiders. I'm actually really scared of spiders. One time I woke up in the middle of the night and I had a huge spider on my chest and I freaked out but couldn't find the spider so I didn’t even sleep in the house for the rest of the trip.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

I'm really bad at communication. That’s definitely one thing that I don't like about myself. I'm pretty bad at socializing and talking to people and groups. I get shy.

Which talent would you most like to have?

I've always wanted to be really good at soccer. I always try to dribble the ball on my foot but I'm so bad at it. Everyone's super good at soccer and I suck. So that’s a talent I wish I had.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Can I say nothing? I wouldn't want to change myself. I've been working really hard lately on just being the best person I can. So I guess there isn’t really anything about myself that I would want to change right now. I'm super stoked with where I am in life. I'm fucking traveling the world and surfing perfect waves and hanging out with my friends, I have a beautiful girlfriend at home and my parents support me — life is really good right now. 

What would you consider your greatest achievement?

My greatest achievement was freaking when I got sponsored by O’Neill! They've just been freaking helping me out ever since. Definitely, probably getting on O’Neill and traveling the world and surfing is my greatest achievement. It's always what I wanted to do when I was younger is just travel the world and surf. So it's so sick to be able to do it now. 

If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

I always told myself I wanted to be a fish or a dolphin or a shark or something like that. Something in the ocean that swims, I thought it was so cool seeing fish swim around on the reef and stuff and they always look like they're enjoying life [laughs].

Where would you most like to live?

Probably in Hawaii with my brother. My brother lives on the North Shore of Oahu. That would probably be my dream place. I'm going to try to get a house and stay there every winter and then come home to Florida for the summers. 

What's your most treasured possession?

My surfboards and my fishing poles — actually probably my fishing poles though because I break way too many surfboards. I don't really break fishing poles [laughs]. I have a bunch of really expensive fishing poles. I love fishing. That's all I do whenever I'm home.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Probably getting in a plane wreck where it just started falling out of the sky. That would be like the worst thing that could happen to me.

What's your favorite occupation?

Can I say surfing?

What's your most marked characteristic?

Um, I don't know… happiness. I’m always stoked. 

What do you most value in your friends?

Probably just the good times that we live every day. All my friends and I are super close. We all grew up together and we're all like brothers. So we all go fishing together and do everything together. I just value every moment that I have with them. 

Who are your favorite writers?

I have never finished a book in my whole entire life. I’ve never had anybody tell me that I need to read a book or anything. So besides when I was younger — actually I think I read Huckleberry Finn — that was like the only book I think I I've read before.

Who's your hero of fiction?

Spiderman was my shit. I used to go crazy over Spiderman. I'd wear the Spiderman Halloween costume all year round. 

Who's your hero in real life?

My biggest hero is my surf coach, Jamie Ridgewell. He was probably the coolest guy I could have ever had in my life. There was no reason for him to do what he did for me. And he just did it because he liked me. He was always my hero. I always looked up to him. Everybody always looked up to him.

What are your favorite names?

I always thought the name Forest was really cool.

What is it that you most dislike?

I hate when people are negative. I'm a pretty stressed out person — and I probably shouldn't be because my life is pretty great, but I always try to stay positive. And when people are negative, it just brings me down. It’s my least favorite thing.

What's your greatest regret?

One time I got invited to go up to North Carolina and all my friends went and it was like one of the best swells that ever came to the East Coast and I didn't go. I stayed in Florida and for four days in a row my friends were sending me videos every day of perfect waves. That was probably my greatest regret because I missed the best waves of all-time and totally could have went. I'm pretty sure I was just arguing with my ex-girlfriend and that was the reason why I didn't go. So I was so pissed that I didn't go —because me and my ex-girlfriend ended up not even working out and then it was just a waste of me sitting at home being pissed off.

How would you like to die?

I’d rather die surfing than anything else. Just because that's what I love to do. I wouldn't wanna die any other way, even though it's kind of shitty to say, because that's all I do is surf, but I feel like if I'm gonna surf and push the limits and one day you never know, whatever it could happen. I've always kind of learned to accept the fact that you could die anytime whenever you're surfing. So that would probably be the way I'd wanna die.

What is your motto?

Can I make one up? I guess just stay happy and positive and life will be easier.

Warren Smith is a man with range. There isn’t an obscure sector of the surf, skate, art, photo, fashion or music world he can’t navigate his way through with ease. He’s appeared in surf vids with Dion Agius, he’s photographed for big name clients, he’s the co-founder of Welcome Rivers, he art directed with Former at its inception before going on to WR, and unbeknownst to many: he’s a Southern boy through and through. We should all be so lucky to have a text/email thread going with Warren at any given time. He’s the funniest fucker I know. And the dude rips at surfing and skating to boot.  

His brand Welcome Rivers is ahead of its time and always has been. It is high end, but with a surf twist that will provide answers for any fashion emergency you come up against. High quality, tailored and field tested from Paris to Hooters. We buy pieces with every drop and there is great news in the world of Welcome Rivers: their Spring collection will be hitting the website any minute, and if you live in Australia Welcome Rivers will be hitting stores there in September. 

We asked Warren to take us to sweet home Panama City Beach, Florida and he did not let us down. This is what Southern hospitality looks like.—Travis

All Photos and Captions by Warren Smith

This was the best spring for surf I can remember on the Gulf. We can regularly go a month or two without surfing at all. But I was legit surfed out this season, which is not a thing here. Growing up in P.C.B. I was pretty eager to leave, but it took me a long time to realize how special this bizarre place is.

This is Hooters, right on the freaking beach. It’s epic. I don’t know if all the other Hooters on the planet are somehow completely empty but still open, but this one is. The food is real close to meh, but thats not the point.

Southern grocery haul.

My beautiful babe Lindsey.

Backseat mobile shrimp boil.

Our beach cottage.

This is the disco ball salt shaker that comes out of a plane at Margaritaville randomly while you're eating. It’s a goof about the time Jamaican authorities mistakenly tried to shoot Jimmy Buffet's plane down, so he wrote a song about it called “Jamaica Mistaica.”

One of our favorite bars, Medhis. It’s a trailer right on the beach, and if you go with like eight people its completely filled.

My beautiful babe Lindsey, this time screaming at spring breakers from our front porch.

Spring Break in PCB in the ‘90s was totally insane. MTV Spring Break for five straight years, all the fights, people peeing on each other, naked humans you could imagine, and at one point we had the two biggest nightclubs in the country. It was awesome, when you're like 17. Now I’m old and it's the worst. So, like most tourist towns, we have a new short term rental problem, and right next door to us is one that advertises "sleeps 18” on Airbnb for a 3 bedroom. So spring break this year was hell. Every week we had like 20 different children too young to go to the bar going bananas right next door, and every week I had to go outside with no shirt on and yell at kids for partying on a Tues. One of the kids from this particular group of Alabama breakers was peeing on Lindsey’s car, so I went out a little hot and next thing I know I was surrounded by like 10 teenagers. But I guess I looked so crazy — steaming red hot in my little shorts with my babe in her nighty ready to rumble right behind me — that instead of getting a beer bottle to the head and jumped by children, I very luckily got a bunch of "Yes sirs, we're sorry.” I probably won’t be doing that move next year.

Little me time.

I know what you’re thinking: Having beer for breakfast sounds a little sketch, no? A slippery slope straight into a drunken haze. And without the right prowess you might be right. But, hear me out. When executed, a perfect breakfast beer — a concept the Germans, Mexicans and Nebraskans have significantly improved over time with additions like tomato juice, Clamato and coffee — can be the perfect kick in the ass a day needs.

If you’re traveling, a breakfast beer is a no-brainer.

Everyone knows that once you’ve passed security in any airport, the clock no longer dictates your food or drink intake.

You are a free agent to do as you will, and the breakfast airport beer can be salvation in that purgatory created at the airport bar top awaiting your inevitable delay.

But what about the random one? Maybe you’re at a diner. With an hour to kill and a seat by the window. Maybe you’ve had too much coffee. Maybe you need a new buzz. Let me be the first to tell you that eggs and beer work. And while many towns and cities across the U.S. may look down upon this order, try it in the South. You will be admired and there’s a good chance you’ll kick off a trend and be toasting your fellow patrons for taking the edge of the day.

And I you are in the South, there’s a high likely hood it’s already hot out regardless of the hour. The humidity will already have you steaming and a cold light beer joining your breakfast will douse the flames of heavyweight heat and send you skipping through the rest of your day.

Some people really embody where they’re from and Patrick “Tupat” Eichstaedt is one of those guys. He literally is Florida surf culture. Hailing from New Smyrna Beach, Florida, Tupat has been documenting and participating in the surf scene there for decades now. He’s surfed, traveled, photographed and hung and hosted most of the big names of surf — even taking Bruce, Andy and Freddie P under his wing when the Hawaiians came to Florida for comps as groms. Every phone call you have with Tupat makes you appreciate his passion for all the things he loves. From fishing and surfing to poke and oyster farming, Tupat is your guy.

His latest and (highly successful) new endeavor is Tupat’s Hawaiian Authentic Poke Sauce. An exclusive and secret recipe he developed over the years visiting the islands with the Irons bros in Kauai and the North Shore. It’s now a go-to and we highly recommend it for those of you looking for the real deal poke no matter where you’re from. Just add fresh fish and go.  

When we decided to devote this issue to the South, we couldn’t get enough of Tupat, his photos, stories and enthusiasm. Below is a bit from our catch ups that you will love.

Inherent Bummer: Your contributions to the Lost videos were kind of our only window into the East Coast surf scene growing up in CA. A lot of videos didn't do that and you kind of put all those guys together and elevated the scene with the Lopez bros and Aaron Cormican surfing with Bruce and Andy, etc.

Tupat: [Mike] Reola and [Matt] Biolos gave us that canvas to showcase what we had here. But in our younger years our crew was core man even before the …Lost days. We had a lot of really good surfers. Unfortunately, Sebastian [Inlet] took all the credit. And that lit a fire in my ass to showcase what we had going on here in Smyrna.

When did you first see surfing in print?

When I was a grom my mom would bring home surf mags because she was a traveling flight attendant. So I was seeing the mags before anybody else saw 'em over here and I would rip out these pages and I'd put 'em perfectly on my wall. I would look at 'em and be like, man, ‘I wanna be one of those guys in the mags!’ — not knowing that I'd be the guy shooting the photos.

Is that how it all started for you then?  

Well, my brother [Shannon “Hopper” Eichstaedt] left the house early — he was 10 years old flying on a plane by himself to go surf with Bruce and Andy [Irons] in Kauai. And he'd come back, he'd be like, “Dude, you gotta see the way these guys surf!” And I was like, “You need a camera over there man.” So, he ended up getting a handy-cam from somebody over here and started filming it all. This was back before those guys weren’t anybody yet…and we were just gallivanting around, out on the North Shore, South Shore, just surfing and ripping around surfing and shooting stuff.

Do you, do you remember the first time those guys came over to Florida?

It was ‘91 or ‘92. Their mom had called my parents and said,” Hey, the boys have a contest at Sebastian” — which my brother Hopper was in too. They were all psyched up because Hopper would always tell 'em about our big seafood fest that we would have at our house. So they came out with Dayton Segundo and little Fred Patacchia.

What’s it like showing Hawaiians around in Florida?

I took them to this spot down the street from my house called the Poles. I hadn't ever seen these kids surf live yet. And I thought, at the time, like, “oh man, I rip.” And then I saw Andy take off on a wave, it was like a six-foot wave, he comes off the bottom and I'm looking over the top, looking back at him, he blows his tail, goes into a rock ‘n’ roll roll floater, and then blows his tail again. And I was like, “Whoa, this is like Slater….like this is beyond Slater. Like, what is this?

That’s so sick.

I remember I took them fishing one night too. We catch all kinds of fish off this dock at night because the fish are all attracted to the light on it. Anyway, Bruce is a little punk, you know — he's always competing and fucking around, just ragging on Andy or Hop or whatever. He ends up catching a catfish, not knowing how dangerous a catfish is and he goes to kick it off the dock barefoot and the fucking fin of the catfish sticks under his toenail and shoots the poison in his toe.

Heavy! 

Well, he goes on to win the US Champs, then goes home and gets put in the hospital for a couple days because the poison had fucked him up so bad.

When did you start heading over to Hawaii more to visit them?

After high school, my buddy went to the Coast Guard. He was stationed in Kauai. We went out there and they would take us all over the place to surf all these waves. That was my really first introduction to poke…Andy turned me on to it.

Andy introduced you to poke?

Yeah, and years later — we’re hanging on the North Shore and Andy takes me to the famous Kahuku Superette down there on the East Side and I'm eating that thinking,” Okay, I’m making this at home because cause people catch fucking and fish all the time here.”  I just kept making it, you know, always making stuff for it, for the guys then in 2013, one of my childhood friends was going on that show Shark Tank to do this balance board and exercise facility. I was like, “I’m not gonna stand inside an exercise facility on the beach.” Long story short, we get some old friends together, we design a logo, we get some distribution and we went out and sold our story — us as surfers discovering the keys to tuna poke sauce from our travels around the world to all these restaurant people. Next thing you know we got it showing up on restaurants across Florida, people using it for sushi rolls and all kinds of stuff. It’s worked out great.

Tell us a bit about surfing there in Florida. I feel like it’s having a resurgence. A lot of people moving back, falling back in love with it.

I think it’s a cowboy state. It’s gnarly. Growing up we had gnarly rednecks in school who just wanted to drink beer and get in fights. Luckily the surfers, the “Spicolli” crew we just kinda were able to stay on the level with a lot of different guys being surfers. I mean, it’s kind of like the Wolfpack in a way, you gotta be cool with em. And that teaches us respect. I think surfers do a good job of smoothly navigating all that. Florida had it’s own scene back then for sure.

So what’s New Smyrna Beach like?

Yeah, it’s so fun. It's a former tourist town and used to be seasonal and now its year round. There’s fun sandbars up and down the beach, shark bite capital of the world…but no ones ever died.

Well you’ve done a good job of giving us an authentic window into Floridian surfing over the years with your work.

I feel like I did my job. I feel like I was one of the chosen ones to come in and be like, “Check us out. Check these guys out. Sending Eric [Geiselman] photos to Oakley. Sending Evan [Geiselman] photos Hurley. I used to shove photos of our guys down Marcus at Surfline’s throat. I wanted them to get seen. It was huge that the Lost guys had us down there filming all those years and bringing Andy and Bruce and that whole crew through when they hung with Cory and Shea [Lopez].

When did Gorkin come into the picture?

This is classic. The way Gorkin [Aaron Cormican] got on the Lost team was he did three chop hops on one wave and John Perkins filmed it. I remember talking to Reola about it [a few weeks later], and he was like, “Who’s the kid that did the three chop hops on one wave?” And I was like, “Oh he’s sitting on my couch right now, that’s Gorkin. And the rest is history.

Tell me a bit about the fishing there. Everyone seems so fired up on it.

Well, I actually get paid to fish now. Which is cool. I’ve fished my whole life, growing up behind my house is a river, and I’m in the driveway now and across the street, 15 second walk and I’m on the beach. My daughter is 5 and she’s learning to boogie board. My sons 15 and he likes to surf and fish. My daughter was 12 inches when she was born, 1 pound 6 ounces, spent 4 months in NICU fighting for her life. Now she’s thriving and she loves the ocean. Every moment I see her I just reflect and I constantly tell myself how grateful I am. To come from this tiny spec on the beach south of the NSB Inlet to have a passion for surfing that took us to the big stage and showcase our talent all over the globe and create a brand based on my nickname that the Lost guys gave me. It’s comical. It’s great.

Tell me a classic Florida day, what’s that like?

Ideal day would be timing the tide. Going in the morning and fishing near the house early, get a good bite on. Grab some breakfast, head down to the Inlet, hopefully yo’ure able to drive in, but sometimes with the higher tides you gotta park at the park, which can be hot. If you can drive in though it’s epic. Got your car, your cooler, hopefully both incoming and outgoing tides, you still got swell. Hopefully no thunderstorms. That day when Kolohe and Griffin and those boys were here during the Reckless Isolation Tour [see below] they got a thunderstorm but it actually glassed it off. Then maybe an afternoon glass off, come home and go get some local grinds at one of the Mexican or sushi spots.

What’s the food scene like over there?

Well, there’s a plethora of fresh seafood. I catch my own crabs behind the house. I get my own clams, oysters, and you can shrimp behind the house too. I paddle traps out with my paddleboard and go get ‘em the next day, boil ‘em right there at the house. You can live off my backyard.

That’s so huge these days to just be able to rely on your own home to live and eat.

This is the red fish capital of the world too. There’s red fish in North and South Carolina, Georgia, Louisiana…but it’s a tasty fish, I prefer it blackened and the Indian River Lagoon is where people come and sight fish these things. You’ll be on the boat, you got a guy behind you poling and you’re looking ahead and you see red tails. All of a sudden you’ll see the red fish swimming down and you watch these fish eat your bait. It’s not like throwing it over board and waiting, you see them eat your bait. It’s awesome.

Are they that frenzied that time of year?

It’s year round and its weather-based. In the winter you can run into a school, throw your bait into a school. Summer there are 1 or 2 together and you can site cast ‘em. It’s a sick experience.

Anyone you want to shout out?

Definitely Shane Beschen. He’s done so much for our families and hosting us out on the North Shore. Definitely have to mention Shane and the crew. So psyched to watch Noah[Beschen] coming up and shredding. And have to make sure I mention Rasta Robb too! He’s the most radical surfer around right now and he’s laidback, humble and can catch some fish as well! He reminds me of a mix of Wardo and A.I.

By ELEANOR SHEEHAN

I spent most of my precocious adolescence resisting any association with the Southern city where I was born. I remember surreptitiously watching episodes of The O.C, thinking its characters and its representative “Newpsie” lifestyle were the epitome of cool. California, we were and continue to be sold, reigns as the world’s tastemaker — the progenitor of a laid back aesthetic now readily identifiable and often pejoratively referred to as the monoculture. 

Of course the passage of time is always clarifying. I moved to the other side of the country and I saw that things down in the dirty were not so bad after all. I started to appreciate manners, the etiquette classes I was obliged to attend, and the presumption that I wanted ice in my water. I longed for the zany and unpredictable design choices of professional homemakers. I found charming what used to be irritating: the drawls, the nosiness, the slowness. I missed the smell of asphalt after a thunderstorm and the color of a chlorophyll-rich green.

These days it’s quite fashionable for a certain class of coastal elites to blame the South for all of America’s warts. It’s parochial, they'll say. Backwards, contemptible, simultaneously lawless and litigious, etc. Time is clarifying and other people’s opinions are unexpectedly antagonistic. 

My knee-jerk reaction compels me to go on the defensive, to declare that we’ll gladly keep our hushpuppies, Cheerwine, butter beans, Roll Tide, pimento cheese, Bojangles, crawdads, haunted houses, gin fizzes, hoppin’ john, swamps, screen porches, wraparound porches, lady fingers, Lil Wayne, conniptions, sweet tea, monograms, honeysuckles, Piggly Wiggly, Hellman’s, SEC, fried green tomatoes, highfalutin hissy fits to our gosh darn selves. Instead I purse my lips, smile toothlessly, and quip, “Bless your heart.”

Itching to rove thick swells of humidity and wade through brackish bayous? Some entertainment to get you in the mood.

BOOKS

The Moviegoer

By Walker Percy

Travel to N’awlins and let the good times roll at Mardi Gras with Binx Bolling, an iconic character and narrator of perhaps the most under-appreciated novel ever written. I wouldn’t deign to call myself an expert, but I do declare Walker Percy a genius, a master of the one-liner, and a true American author.

The Gold-Bug

By Edgar Allen Poe

Swat mosquitoes on Sullivan’s Island as you solve ciphers and follow the search for pirate treasure in Edgar Allen Poe’s prototypal detective tale. Haters will say it’s hogwash, a white man’s caricature. They’re missing out.

“Good Country People”

By Flannery O’Connor

Lurch and putter through Flannery O’Connor’s twisted short story, an unexpected inspection of the seductive, mendacious world of a woman who really, more than anything, wishes she wasn’t stuck on the farm.

The Long, Hot Summer 

Burn down the barn watching this sultry classic, based on an amalgam of three stories by William Faulkner, starring Paul Newman and his future wife, Joanne Woodward.

By JOEL VAN WYK

When you find yourself in a strange place, sometimes the best thing you can do is stay a while.

For reasons beyond control or comprehension I recently found myself marooned on Florida’s Gulf Coast, the Sarasota Keys to be specific. A fine place to escape the brutal end of a long New England winter, wasting away time on the tropical sand and seas. Bum landed squarely in the proverbial warm butter. 

Beware these Gulf Coast folk though. They are, the large majority, captains of nothing sailing to nowhere. They know no law and serve no God between the Everglades and the Mississippi Delta/ Louisiana Bayou. Nothing to live for and certainly nothing to die for and in fact many are known Devil worshippers. They do have some goddam great motels down there though. 

Tamiami trail is the place to be for those who have nowhere else to go and wouldn’t have it any other way. I seriously appreciate the aesthetic of a cheap, seedy roadside motel. Ask no questions, hear no lies. One can only imagine the type of characters you meet chain smoking and hanging around the pool like iguanas at these dens of iniquity. I absolutely love it.

In fact, were it not for this area’s notorious lack of surf, I would consider moving into the Cadillac Motel, Flamingo Inn or Golden Host Resort full time. I could start a fresh new life here, reinvent myself and get a job writing horoscopes for the Sarasota herald tribune à la Madam La Zonga in HST’s The Rum Diary.

Yesterday evening I found myself sweating under the thatched roof of the Ritz Carlton tiki bar on Lido Key, toes in the sand, squashed between and sharing a thin cigarette with an old leather raisin of a transvestite (his word) named Steven and a manatee in a bikini with the worst New Jersey accent I've ever heard. I have since forgotten her name. I told them I had no money so they were kind enough to ask for extra straws for their sugary daiquiris. My muses. I also told them I prefer tequila next round and they obliged, just happy to be paid attention to I think.

Unfortunately they asked if I would like to accompany them to a place called Memories Lounge for some dancing and to carry on the evening's festivities. Judging by my state this morning I must have said yes. Memories Lounge. The cruel and unusual irony.

I can’t be blamed however. I didn’t have my usual wits about me. I was falling victim to that typical après surf glaze. Stupefied, anesthetized, lobotomized. Dehydrated and sun stroked after too much time spent away from the tropics. Thank whatever Gods may be that we didn’t make it to The Gator Club. That would have been too much to handle.

I had heard hushed rumors before, nothing more than whispered mythologies I had thought of Gulf Coast surf. Extremely short windows of swell that fade as quickly as they come. Basically you have to be willing and able to fight a hurricane to have any chance of scoring here. 

The wind has been howling onshore all week, kicking up chop and white caps all the way to the horizon. It seemed like there may be some potential on tap but I stopped myself short of any hoping, forcing it from my mind. Just enjoy yourself and forget about surfing for a week.

But then the miraculous happened. I awoke yesterday morning to find the wind had finally died and switched overnight but a nice little windswell had remained. The rumors were true. 

I raced down to the local surf shop/ tourist trap in town, sure that I had seen a board rental sign somewhere behind all the bright tourist tees, lumo sunnies and big straw hats. The pimply faced gecko boy who worked there was adamant that they only hand out beat up, water saturated old soft tops but after much back and forth, the manager realized that I meant business and led me to a back room where he presented me with a yellowed old Puddle Jumper that could be mine for the day. This would work nicely so I thanked him in kind, grabbed some wax and skipped out the door. 

I stood in the balmy morning and put on my leash as gorgeous, crystal blue, hollow little wedges broke only a few feet from shore. It was full high tide and the chest high waves were breaking in around the same depth of water, if not less. I could barely believe it. The local crowd was on it already and one stand out grommet got treated to the sweetest little tube while her dad filmed from a tripod on the beach.

After a couple hours, the tide began to drain and our magic little setup quickly started to deteriorate. It was fun while it lasted. Easy come, easy go.

Later in the long, slow day, I was enjoying a spicy grouper taco and the coldest of cervezas on the beach when I looked out over to the point on the North side of the key and saw the unmistakable white feathery lines of breaking swells on a sandbar. This required more investigation. Far too lazy to jog the mile or so up the beach, I retrieved a pair of binoculars from the condo to get a better look and found that the low tide had exposed a bank which ran almost parallel to the beach. The swell had dropped significantly and I guessed the waves to be only around knee high now, but they ran on and on and on and on and on…

I ran back to the shop and quickly requested to switch out the Puddle Jumper for one of their longboards. I was forced to settle for a faded pink, 9ft Catch Surf. Not my first choice but beggars can’t be choosers and it was the least wrecked board they had on offer.

The sandbar was further out than it looked and the paddle took a good few minutes but it was well worth the effort. The mini screamers barrelled down the beach and kept me on my toes. Trying to maintain trim as stylishly as possible, from upright soul arches to a knees in the armpits deep squat. This time, even the locals were caught in their siesta and only one other surfer came out to join me. 

This oasis however, was also to be short-lived. Soon we were be-calmed, the swell had died and we made our paddle back to the beach. 

It was such a long walk back on the beach and I was parched. I had a $20 bill in the pocket of my boardies and the tiki bar in front of the monstrosity of the Ritz looked too inviting to pass up.

The only vacant seat was between a manatee in a bikini and an overly tanned old man in a dress and wig. 

It seems like a mirage this morning. Did it really happen? 

I’m sipping fresh coconut water which is working wonders for my head and listening to The Rosarita Beach Cafe by Warren Zevon, trying to make sense of it all.

‘I've got a million dollar bill

And they can't change it

They won't let me leave until my tab is paid

So I might as well settle down 

And buy the house another round

Send my mail to the Rosarita Beach Cafe…’

I won’t be moving here any time soon but I know I will be back before long. And I still won’t bring a board down with me next time.

But I will make it to The Gator Club tonight.

Tunes from the south tend to feel sweatier and more reckless than tunes from LA or NY. There’s some country influence of course, there’s the Atlanta garage and hip hop scenes and Dirty South rappers dippings toes in, some cajun influence, trap, and a ton of hot and sweaty punk acts. But when you mix it all together you get a jambalaya that might feel weird at first, but, like we’ve been saying when it comes to the South, you just need to let yourself go. We asked our music guru and member of Repeater Jackson Todd to kick off a playlist of bands that have ties to the Southeast and what he put together is one of my favorites playlists we’ve done. We all went in and added some tracks we’d be remiss to not include, and we’ll continue to do so. But for now it’s raw, jarring at times, naughty and fun. Get in there.

Listen to our newest playlist inspired by the Southeast here.

Contributors:

Travis Ferre

Brandon Guilmette

Scott Chenoweth

Paul Brewer

Michael Cukr

Nate Lawrence

Eleanor Sheehan

Brandon Scott

Joel van Wyk

Patrick “Tupat” Eichstaedt

Jackson Todd

Jacob Vanderwork