Seventeen-year-old wunderkind, Milla Brown, is on the phone reflecting on her last-minute flight to Micronesia to take part in surfing’s inaugural Natural Selection event. 

“I got the call to compete in it shortly after the Vans Pipe Masters invite. When the event got called on, I went to book my flights and the only one I could get was full. Natural Selection ended up booking me and Kauli Vaast a private jet to get there. I felt like I was a billionaire, they were full serving caviar and shit, I was tripping… I was walking onto a private jet with no shoes on and you could just tell they were probably thinking, ‘Who is this Aussie chick’?”

In case you missed it, The Natural Selection contest was the brainchild of snowboarding icon, Travis Rice, who decided to go a little more ‘off-piste’ with an event in 2021. Originally, Rice took some of the world’s gnarliest snowboarders dropped them in the middle of nowhere and invited them to prove their worth by essentially dodging death. When he adapted the concept for surfing earlier this year, 17-year-old Milla was on the list alongside Mikey February, Coco Ho, Kauli Vaast, Noah Beschen, Eithan Osborne, Anna Dos Santos, Victor Bernardo, Kirra Pinkerton, Harry Bryant, Alan Cleland Jr, and Soli Bailey.  

Most of that virtuoso crew had already turned their back on the WSL’s conventional path and provided a particular kind of fizz to the Red Bull-backed Natural Selection event. This was no scene for the average surf clone. Although the youngest participant, Milla was right at home with the motley crew of freesurfers.

“That was one of the best trips I’ve been on… I was tripping at the list of people involved. It was essentially a free surf trip and competition to win some …

Kyuss and Rasmus, Rasmus and Kyuss. The multi-talented brothers from Byron have become one of surfing’s most intriguing double acts.

Despite the five-year age gap, the brothers were always inseparable. Even now, as they pinball between surfing, playing gigs for their band, Headsend, acting roles and hunting down classic cars, their lives are intertwined on an almost daily basis. “He’s my best mate,” conceded Kyuss in a recent correspondence with Tracks.    

As far as riding waves goes, their entry points are a little different. While Kyuss is pulling on a Challenger Series contest jersey and rumbling with the world’s best, Rasmus can be found binging on MP clips and knifing rails on an eclectic quiver.

Rasmus and Kyuss recently appeared alongside one another in Australian feature film, ‘Six Festivals’, but it’s on stage for Headsend that they really connect.

Brothers, Rasmus and Kyuss enjoying a rare moment of couch time between hunting barrels and band practice. Photo: Andrew Shield.

Growing up, Kyuss played guitar and Ras hit the skins, but a few years ago they switched it up. Ras is now on vocals and guitar with Kyuss on bass. Good mate, Bon, plays the drums for Headsend.

In the interview below Kyuss talks about Rasmus and Rasmus Rasmus riffs on Kyuss. Two kings passing commentary on each other; that’s always going to be fun.    

Kyuss on Rasmus:

One time I came home from school, and I was looking for Ras but I couldn’t find him. I could hear one of our motorbikes roaring through the neighbourhood.

Then he came flying into our driveway, flew past our house and hit a jump in the NUDE. The Yamaha PeeWee 50 and Ras’s eight-year-old balls were at least five-feet off the ground and flying through the air!! Haha, still one of my favourite …

Andrew ‘Shorty’ Buckley is coming in hot. He arrives for our sit-down chat fresh off the set of a new Netflix series featuring Charlize Theron and Eric Bana.

Shooting video for mainstream productions is just one of the many hats Shorty wears these days. His creative focus has always been a little splintered, but for the better part of two decades between 1990 and 2010, Shorty was a platinum member of the unofficial surf photographer’s guild; a major player in an era when surf companies still enjoyed eyewatering profits , performance levels soared and a top lensman could have his work featured in a dozen thriving surf mags around the globe.

Shorty was still a kid when his dad passed away. Perhaps the absence of a father rendered the objects left behind more precious – mythical ornaments to fill the void where memories might have been. Shorty recalls being drawn to a particular image. “I saw a photo that my dad took of the Opera House, at my auntie’s house, after he passed away. And my mum told me about when he took it… It was black and white, it was taken at night; and the story about him resting it on the car, putting a jacket on the car, framing it up, and doing a long exposure, and all of that kind of intrigued me.”

The picture lit a spark. By age 10 Shorty’s favourite toy was a point and shoot and as soon as he was old enough, he talked his way into a part-time gig at a camera shop. At the store he was free to tinker and indulge a voracious curiosity for the elements behind a distilled moment. School wasn’t Shorty’s thing, but he was a total autodidact when it came to photography.

Jimmy McMillan, NSW …

This was a time when the waves at Cloudbreak and Restaurants were still exclusive to guests at Tavarua. A rowdy crew from Manhattan Beach, California, had their week-long spot on the island for years – still do. I earned their trust, and they always gave me two spots to bring a couple of pro’s who would fit in and not hog waves in the lineup. Parko was a hit, and they wanted him back every year. He could party with the best of them, but when the surf was good, he was on it. (On a side note, fishing is one thing that might sometimes have priority over surfing for Parko. One year Parko famously missed his Fiji Pro opening round heat at Cloudbreak as he didn’t think it would run and was on an overnight fishing trip).

This particular year he came with his childhood friend, Serena Brooke. Nothing too noteworthy about this late afternoon portrait except Parko’s youthful grin and the colourful portrait of Ben Harper with the words ‘Let us burn one from end to end. Then pass it over to me my friend’ on his board.

The tilted carve went down one morning when the surf was not particularly good, so I decided to shoot tight and put more emphasis on Parko’s incredible style as opposed to the wave quality. 

Joel broke both the boards he brought out for the morning sesh, so he borrowed a board from one of the boatmen, which happened to have Joel’s main sponsor logo on it. Anyways, the photo was a hit and ‘Surfer Magazine’ let us know they wanted to run it big. When Joel found out, he was adamant he didn’t want it published as most of his sponsor logos were not on the borrowed board and he …

Who is Johanna Bresby and why did she ride a bike all over New Zealand’s North and South Islands hunting  for waves?

I was thinking the same thing as a slew of evocative surf images graced my social media feed. Captivating content, yes. But her reason for setting off on such a quest was a mystery, no less. So, what inspired this pedal-powered mission to find NZ’s best surfing hamlets? I slid into her DMs to find out. Said I had a few questions, said I was a scribe of sorts, who thought there was more to her story…

Turns out, this colossal journey to explore a mix of known reeling coves and the lesser exposed breaks beneath the long white cloud was inspired by an act of homecoming. Johanna, a Kiwi lass by birth, is named after Johanna Beach (her parents honeymooned there, way back when), on Victoria’s Great Ocean Road.

Bresby left her hometown of Ohope Beach at 17 after a spirited  stab at the NZ junior surf circuit. Chasing the pro-surfing dream from a sleepy, NZ town was always going to be tough and when her competitive streak peaked early she relocated to Noosa. The laid-back, Sunny Coast life suited Bresby’s freewheeling style but New Zealand was always calling her back.

Seeking a unique way to explore the coastlines of Aotearoa (New Zealand) and engage with the real surfing communities , Bresby decided  a pushy was a tough but worthy pick for the ‘off the beaten track’ assignment. “I’ve done van life, and I don’t know how to sail…yet, ”confesses Bresby. I wasn’t going to walk it, so the bike made sense.”

Ice cream pit stop.

Leaving in February 2025 to spend the next three months cycling from the South to the North Islands was daunting yet …

Albe Falzon could feel the shift coming like the first lick of a southerly change. By the late 60s, Australian youth were seeking an alternative path; embracing new music, ideas and ways of living that clashed with the conservative ideals of white bread Australia. “With Tracks we came into the picture when people were looking for a direction,” Albe explained in a recent interview with Tracks writer, Mitali Joshi.    

When Tracks released its first issue in late 1970, many young people were also strongly opposed to Australia’s involvement in the Vietnam War. Surfers were at the vanguard of this rebellion. “In September twenty thousand of us marched through the streets of Sydney in protest against the atrocities of the Vietnam war,” wrote Nat Young in the first issue of Tracks. “Twenty thousand of us were together: ex-servicemen, wharfies, students, surfers, housewives.”

When he started making ‘Morning of the Earth’ and launched Tracks alongside John Witzig and David Elfick, Albe was living at Whale Beach on Sydney’s Northside. The fabled Whale Beach House simultaneously served as the Tracks office, Albe’s home and the edit suite for the film that would become ‘Morning of the Earth’. After a Tracks deadline, Albe would bolt up the coast to film a tribe of talented surfers who were carving new lines in and out of the water. They didn’t need to say anything in front of the camera because their unrestricted self-expression on the waves made it clear they had ripped a tear in the social fabric and discovered a different state of mind. 

These surfers were turning their backs on the travails of city life to cultivate a version of Arcadia in remote coastal regions. “Living in the city has got to be a drag,” claimed Dick Van Straalen in Tracks issue #1.  “People, …

Between the Dartry and the Deep Blue Sea 

Nothing quite prepares you for the drive into Bundoran. It’s one of those head-plastered-against-the-window moments one never forgets. As you pass Sligo, the road bends along the coast, taking you directly via Ben Bulben mountain (Binn Ghulbain). With its soaring slopes, brilliant shade of green and curiously flattened-peak, Ben Bulben commands your attention like some kind of giant, ancient sentinel marking your arrival in the territory. The spectacular Dartry Mountains, to which Ben Bulben belongs, preside over the coast between Sligo and Bundoran. It’s easy to imagine yourself roaming amongst the limestone peaks and finding a blissful sense of freedom. The Dartry provided a more practical purpose in the 1920s when they served as a hideout for 34 members of the IRA. Fleeing the British National Army, the men lived in a cave for six weeks and were never discovered. These days the Dartry are popular with hikers and sightseers seeking enchantment rather than refuge. 

Arriving in Bundoran we are greeted by Francis McGloin, a plucky well-muscled figure who is one of the originals from the Bundoran surf scene. Francis’ late brother, Brendan, created the town’s distinctive, seaside arch-shaped sculpture, (Carraige na Nean (Rock of the birds) which also features a finger of hollowed sandstone that perfectly frames the setting sun over the Atlantic.  

A civil engineer by trade, Francis has built a separate guesthouse from his main home, which is a few minutes outside of town. Climbing the stairs to our lofted apartment I’m pleased to discover that the front door opens directly onto a spectacular view of the Dartry. “Ah my people have been hiding out in these mountains for hundreds of years,” offers Francis with an apparent air of mystique in his tone. Like many Irishmen he always seems …

Gary Hughes picked up a new clothing sponsor late last year, which is an unusual experience for a lesser known surfer in their late 60s.

Gary has been kicking around town in his bright new threads, and if you look closely, you’ll see he’s featured on some of them. Cronulla label, Shred Gang, have released a Gary Hughes T-Shirt Range featuring classic photos of the underground charger in heroic acts of rebellion and debauchery. There’s Gary and band mates in a ‘borrowed’ police car, and Gary in a plastic trench coat with knickers falling from the sky. True to form, Gary likes them large and loose.

Exactly who is Gary Hughes you might be asking? He goes by many names and aliases: Shave Coat, King Cobra, Fu Manchu, Sexual Dragon, Ruco Banda, and, in the Philippines, King Buto. A pro tour competitor in the 70s, he may not have won a major event, but he did make a strong impression, especially in Hawaii, around Cronulla and at south coast reefs. Decades spent fronting rock bands, managing strippers, packing gigantesco barrels, crashing cars, finishing fights, and hosting sex-crazed parties enhanced the rebel rep. Not one to settle or fade, Gary keeps on charging, defying health and age conventions, like Iggy Pop with a suntan.

What follows is a decade-by-decade overview of just some of the peak moments that have shaped one of Australian surfing’s great characters. Some stories have been altered to avoid the long arm of the law; others probably aren’t suitable for publication and are best heard from the mouth of Ruco himself. Ideally, over a few cold ones at Cobra Castle – his home among gum trees, pythons and goannas at Bluey’s Beach on the mid-north coast. Gary and his Filipino wife Angelica are charming hosts. “Sundays are …

Roger Bannister was the first person to break the four-minute mile, running it in three minutes 59.4 seconds on 6 May 1954. But what’s just as fascinating as the feat itself is what happened next. For years, the four-minute mile was seen as an unbreakable barrier – some even believed it was physically impossible. Yet, just 46 days later, Australia’s John Landy ran a mile in 3:57.9, breaking Bannister’s record. Within a year multiple runners including Eric Thomson in South Africa, had done the same.

It was believed that Bannister’s achievement didn’t just break a record – it shattered a mental block. Once he proved it could be done, others followed quickly. It’s a powerful example of how changing belief can change performance. What once seemed impossible became a new standard. But how Thomson also came to break the longstanding record, not knowing it had already been broken by Bannister and Landy, remained a mystery.

In the 1960s, while studying twins living in different countries, Dr Michael Ratzinger discovered that sometimes they experienced unusual events simultaneously. A single stand-alone grey whisker grew out of the cheek of a brother in Germany at the same time one grew in the same spot of his twin in Melbourne, Australia. An arm was broken in Canada at the same moment an arm was broken in France. A twin brother and sister died of heart attacks at the exact same time in Argentina and Singapore.

Elsewhere, twin boys separated at birth, both named Jim, both became cops, both married women named Linda, both had sons named James, both divorced and married women named Betty, and both had dogs named Troy.

In Bermuda in 1975, a man was walking down the street when he was hit by a taxi and killed. Exactly one year later, …

Damien Hodge stared at the headless, limbless body from the edge of the helicopter pad.

He was close enough to confirm the details for the incident report, but still far enough to run to the safe room should this be an ambush from one of the tribespeople.

It had been dawning on Damien for a while now that he was in way over his head. The dead body absolutely confirmed it. He was not equipped to keep 2000 staff on this remote PNG oil and gas field fed and watered and safe from tribal warfare and irate locals who were convinced it was them, the white man, who had introduced this black COVID magic to their lands. 

He was just an environmental guy, a surfer from Cronulla trying to find a way to keep the dream alive. Travelling the world and riding waves. Finding means to get paid and seek thrills when he wasn’t in the ocean. 

The young competitor with the polished style.

Damien was a talented surfer in his youth, and for a brief period in the 80s was sponsored by Billabong and competed on the WQS.  Ultimately, he eschewed professional surfing for a more conventional trajectory – university, job, career – and like every surfer, it’s been a struggle for him to balance the competing forces – responsibilities and pleasure, debilitation and passion – of a committed surfing life. 

That struggle to find balance is a journey that has taken him around the world, through addiction, loneliness, near mental breakdown, and ultimately, back to himself and the things that bring him happiness.

Surfing was destined to be a part of Damien’s life.  At least, it felt that way when he was five years old and walking the trail to the beach near his grandparent’s home in Sussex …