Dion is sporting a black beanie, black sunglasses (that he only takes off when he’s in the water), baggie pants, rings on every finger, and low-key tattoos on his arms. Brendon is standing next to him. With his short hair, skin so white you’d think it hadn’t seen the sun in months, and fitted t-shirt, he looks like a star student.

They’re as far as you can get from the sun-tanned, long blond-haired surfer stereotype. But they happen to be two of the world’s most talented freesurfers whose approaches to riding waves sets them apart from the standard surfing clichés.

As freesurfers, they don’t have to adapt their surfing to fit contest judging criteria or adopt the personal discipline required to achieve success in elite-level competition. They can afford themselves the luxury of deciding how they want to surf and what they want to get out of the surfing experience. They’re colorful, off-the-wall characters, heavily influenced by all things artistic, for who the act of surfing is all about freedom and aesthetics. Their vision of surfing is the exact opposite of the most common image of surfing today promoted by the WSL, where competitive performances and contest results are king.

"But they happen to be two of the world’s most talented freesurfers."

As surfing prepares to join the ranks of Olympic sports and distance itself ever farther from its roots, this unbridled creativity is like a breath of fresh air. It pulls us back to our origins when the spirit of surfing was about simply enjoying the feeling of gliding on water.

Dion and Brendon pick me up at the airport accompanied by Dave Fox, a brilliant cameraman, and swell-forecasting guru. We hop into a small, black pickup truck, overflowing with gear and head south. Dion explains with a glint in his eye that we’re going to hook up with photographer Nick Green. Once we do, we’ll be able to transfer some gear into the other car to make traveling a bit more comfortable, but it’ll be at least 4 hours before we arrive!

The countryside is an arid desert. It rolls by broken up only by patches of dried grass and eucalyptus groves. As my traveling companions fill me in on our final destination, I realize I won’t be showering today or tomorrow or for the next week, for that matter. After 48 hours of plane flights and airport layovers, even a quick shower wouldn’t have been too much to ask!

My wake-up call continues when we stop at a supermarket to stock up for the trip. The shopping list: vegetables, aluminum foil, and lots of beer, of course. I buy some toilet paper too. Just in case!

"We’re ready for the week that awaits us...."

We finally find Nick in the south of the island. Like a character straight out of a Kerouac novel, decked out in ripped, black jeans, matching shirt and leather boots, bearded and with long hair, when we pull up, he’s sitting under a tree facing the ocean, sipping on a beer and reading a book about Bob Dylan.

The introductions finished, another friend tells us the swell is starting to show at a spot on the southern end of the bay. Dave wastes no time getting his camera ready as Dion navigates the pickup through the eucalyptus forest with Marc Ribot blasting on the stereo.
We pull up to the spot, and my excitement turns to gloom. It’s barely breaking. Not so easily discouraged by the less-than-stellar conditions Dion and Brendon race out to the line-up.

Three days of the same conditions don’t dull their desire. They are the very definition of passion. Both of them marvel at the most meager of swells and show incredible motivation when it comes to creating images of surfing.

They treat this aspect of the sport as an art form. They become performance artists in front of the camera. Surfing with a filmer on the beach is a radically different experience than without one. In front of the lens, they’re creating an image, expressing an emotion. They’re capturing a moment they perceive to be a work of art.

Their vision of surfing fascinates me.

"Surfers identifying as artists instead of athletes seems more poetic, elegant."

They say surfing is a lifestyle, and I think we’re fully immersed in it here.

By the third night, we’ve fallen into a routine. We find a spot under the eucalyptus trees. We roll out our “swags” (single tents with built-in mattresses). Then Dion, always with energy to burn, goes looking for sticks to get the fire started. Brendon, the gourmet, prepares the vegetables to be wrapped in the aluminum foil. Once the embers are burning nicely, we get cooking!

"The fireside conversation is all about waves, swells, tubes, and airs."

The more beers we drink, the more we wax philosophic. The guys explain how surfing helps them take a break from the real world. It’s their way of disconnecting from all the useless thoughts and excesses of the world we live in today, where everything has to be faster and more connected. In a sport that evokes strong feelings while demanding creativity and personal expression, enjoying freedom from constraints is a valuable asset.

The following morning we witness a magnificent sunrise from the comfort of our tents. We take our time getting out of bed, even though the low rumble of breaking waves coming from the beach at the end of the bay is a good sign that the swell has finally arrived.

The spot is only accessible by descending a steep trail through a forest of ferns and eucalyptus. We catch fleeting glimpses of the bay, which is surrounded by steep, majestic cliffs. It’s hard not to be distracted by the natural beauty of the place.

I’ve barely made it over the rocks bordering the beach and am still putting my wetsuit top on when Dion launches his first air off a wave that explodes on the sandbar. Brendon makes it quickly out the back and scores a quick series of tubes on the right.
The surf is small and hard to read, but quick, hollow and powerful with perfect little ramps. The morning flies by in a blur of hacks, punts, and tubes.

The time has come to climb back up the cliff for lunch: canned tuna, tomato, and avocado slices laid out on rice cakes, with a sprinkling of dust from the tarp on the pickup! Rather naively, I ask, “Are all your trips like this, totally improvised at last minute?” The answer: “Sometimes we have a hotel room to charge the batteries!”.

Which is how I imagine the true spirit of freesurfing to be, and I like it.

With the south swell season is coming to an end, we decide to head north up the east coast to Dion’s home turf. After a day driving, we finally catch sight of the ocean again. A beautiful expanse of flat water!
At least it’s a charming, turquoise blue!
We head into the bush. The brush and trees become less dense as we enter a clearing a few kilometers farther along. A house comes into view. It’s painted entirely black and overlooks a stream with eucalyptus trees lining the banks.

We walk straight in. There’s no key, let alone a lock. The decor is wonderfully eclectic: second-hand furniture, mixed with designer armchairs and sofas, paintings, plants, and various pieces of art. Books by Magritte, Miro, and Jean-Michel Basquiat cover the living room table. A white piano sits in a corner. Dion grabs a glass of red wine, adjourns to the terrace where he flips through a book on architecture. Brendon adjusts the height of the piano stool and starts playing an Erik Satie tune. Not an essential part of this story, but mattering much to me, I head directly to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower! Finally!

Daily sessions up and down the northeast coast fill up the rest of the trip. We find a couple of stellar beachbreaks, and especially a handful of slabs that I thought would be impossible to surf. Dion and Brendon prove me wrong by threading their way through some deep barrels, punctuated by a few stylish, straight airs!

"It’s an obsession, a fantasy permanently hidden somewhere inside no matter where they are."

The second half of the trip turns out to be infinitely more comfortable. We regroup at Dion’s place after every session, listening to jazz, checking footage, and just enjoying the relaxing surroundings in this little paradise on Earth.

His home is a direct reflection of his state of mind: dynamic, inventive, and eloquent. Extra energy left over after surfing gets released into creative endeavors, including his eyewear brand and any paintings or pieces of art that he happens to have in progress at the time. His surfing is every much as instinctive as he is.

Brendon finds peace and harmony through music by playing the guitar and the piano. He’s a naturally curious person who is always questioning why things are the way they are. His knowledge of cinema is as mind-blowing as his knack for dropping movie references into everyday discussions. He does perfect impressions of characters from Tarantino classics that had us laughing hysterically more often than not!

Tireless, passionate, and lost in their dreams, they surf until literally the last minute. With an afternoon flight, missing the morning session was out of the question. The bags weigh a bit more than on arrival because the wetsuits hadn’t had time to dry.

As if addicted to the ocean and the waves, Dion and Brendon have a constant desire to surf. It’s an obsession, a fantasy permanently hidden somewhere inside no matter where they are. It makes surfing sound a lot like a drug.
Paul Gauguin couldn’t get up in the morning without thinking about picking up a paintbrush. He said painting set his soul free from the oppression of living as if it were the only outlet that allowed him to appreciate things. Surfing is their painting.

Surfing is their art. They are the artists of their sport.

Olivier Sautet