I'm building a zine called
Qui?er It will include some beautiful surfboard images, accompanied by some of my own writing and some words from guests far and wide about the virtues of a flotilla of craft. If anyone would like to contrib words or photos, please get in touch. I think it'll just be an online pdf, perhaps with a very limited edition print run for sale early next year. 

Waiting for this weak little swell to organise itself, I was dreaming of island tripping

John Eldridge = poet of photography

There is No Surf in England interview in the new Stranger publication, Lick

Ballerina exponent snapped pre-hypothermic change

Light of various senses triptych - (2) Flotsam all about

Gallery #3 - almost used the whole quiver for the bottom left!

In vain, we flounder. We are vexed, superfluous, impotent in our politics and our objectives. Why not chase the dawn? With the common goals so crass, absurd, why not slip through the net and let them cast their own aspersions. Why not savour the taste of night? For the night is one of infinite possibilities, it is the night in which we all go beyond potential, the night where we discover our own outer limits, and scrape the borders of our thought. Why not push these limitations? These quakes in the mid-stream are insights into where the river flows much faster. Scant moments of clarity. For once you open the door, can it ever be closed?

I know your combination, 

like the tree roots know 

the press of the earth 

around their lumpen limbs

Two from 'The Left Ventricle', late-night faulty train rides

This is fantastic

First review on The Bellwether! Frequent board, fin and wetsuit tests coming soon...
Gallery 2 - Look out for a ltd edition of these galleries as A3 posters

Light of Various Senses Triptych (1) - The village and the storm

Shannon and the Band of Freqs going off the hook

Gallery #1 - all pictures by D.Crockett

/////elemental riff - 2 minutes???////

When the wind plays a tune upon the water

And the light dances jigs across the land

The peat stains the green sea golden

The gulls call the fanfare of a band


When the ocean roars out with pleasure

And the rain beats upon the shore

The flotsam marks a skirmish line

Of staggered guards on restless drill


Put me amongst this timeless scene

Leave me there to dry and die

Sun-hardened husk of seaweed crust

Driftwood spars all gone to dust

Ridge Fin

Malcolm, his foam from Jacob Campbell on Vimeo.

"We hit it hard, hard enough to lift me from my seat and send my head crashing into the roof above. The car lurched over the rocky obstruction and came to an immediate halt in the middle of the single lane dirt track. Jurgen turned the engine but it just wheezed in reply. An inspection under the bonnet proved fruitless and mobile phone signal had long since evaporated since we left the tar road some 50km back. We were stuck, on a Sunday, a long way from anywhere."

My friend Tim is writing a blog for Huck Magazine about his travels in Africa. Check it out here

Under a cliff-cast shadow sat

Another madman robed in rags

Who preached across the flat

Expanse of sandy loams


He spoke of gentle-swaying shoals

Wanderlust and endless holes

Danced amongst cave shadows

In the mouth of granite 

self portrait