ON A PUNCHY RIGHTHANDER RUNNING INTO A PROTECTED CORNER, CLAY MARZO HAD SEVEN CONSECUTIVE GOES AT THIS FINNER-REVERSE. HIS SYSTEMATIC APPROACH WAS UNDENIABLE – SAME SECTION, WAVE AFTER WAVE, HE’D BLAST THE FINS AND COME WITHIN AN INCH. FINALLY, ON HIS SEVENTH ATTEMPT, HE SETTLED THIS MASTERPIECE. The SUPERbrand team pillage murky beachbreaks in the lower Clarence... Photos by Story by 25 MAY/JUNE 2011 STABMAG.COM 24 MAY/JUNE 2011 STABMAG.COM
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ON A PUNCHY RIGHTHANDER RUNNING INTO A PROTECTED CORNER, CLAY MARZO HAD SEVEN CONSECUTIVE GOES AT THIS FINNER-REVERSE. HIS SYSTEMATIC APPROACH WAS UNDENIABLE – SAME SECTION, WAVE AFTER WAVE, HE’D BLAST THE FINS AND COME WITHIN AN INCH. FINALLY, ON HIS SEVENTH ATTEMPT, HE SETTLED THIS MASTERPIECE.
The SUPERbrand team pillage murky beachbreaks in the lower Clarence...
LEE WILSON HAS A WELL-REHEARSED HANDSHAKE AND HE’LL READILY OFFER HIS PALM DURING INTRODUCTIONS. ANOTHER THING HIS PALMS HAVE GRIPPED MANY TIMES ARE THE RAILS OF HIS SURFBOARDS. JUST LIKE THE SLOB YOU SEE HERE – WELL-REHEARSED, FAMILIAR, COMFORT-ABLE, BEAUTIFUL.
ho the fuck tries something like that with that kinda speed?” someone
asked, as Clay Marzo came unstuck and submerged. After stroking hard into
a clean left-hander, drawing a high line and accelerating out of the power-
source with speed, he’d pumped twice and hit the lip, grabbing with his left
hand and throwing his fins above the section. His board flipped out of control
and he disappeared underwater. It was a fantastic dismount.
“Clay does,” answered a tall but gentle man named Paul Brewer. “And the times when he does pull
shit like that, it’s crazy. We knew that. It’s why we sponsor him.” Along with the person with whom
he was having the conversation, Paul is one of the men behind Clay’s sled sponsor, SUPERbrand.
The company had rented a house in the lower Clarence. It was a white, cement-rendered house with
wooden floors, which leant against a garage with a stubborn rolladoor. The house was filled with 31
boards, on and under beds, in laundry, on floors, in garage, in kitchen. The reason for the mid-
north coast gathering was to finalise shots for SUPERbrand’s first surf film, Sorry, We’re Open, put
together by Kai Neville Studio and cover-mounted on this issue of Stab.
ABOVE: WHAT DOES SIX SHIRTLESS MEN AND LOTS OF FOAM MAKE YOU THINK OF? FROM LEFT TO RIGHT: DANE ZAUN, LEE WILSON, DION AGIUS, MAX ASHFORD, BEAU FOSTER AND CLAY MARZO.
LEFT: THE ROCK FORMATION NATE LAWRENCE SHOT THIS PHOTO OF CLAY MARZO FROM WAS MADE FOR BEHIND-THE-FIN-BLAST ANGLES. TWO ME-TRES ABOVE WATER HEIGHT, IN LINE WITH TAKEOFF POINT AND PERFECTLY FLAT, IT WAS WHERE NATE POSTED UP AND SCORED MOST OF HIS GOLD.
BOTTOM LEFT: A MOMENT OF SOLITUDE IN A CHARMED BUT CURIOUS EXISTENCE.
LEFT: DION’S ATTENTION TO BOARD DESIGN MAY JUST BE ONE OF HIS GREATEST ASSETS. THE NUANCES OF A NEW QUIVER ENTHRALLED HIM MORE THAN THEY DID OTHER TEAMERS. HE ALSO WORE FRUITIER JEWELLERY THAN THE REST OF ‘EM.
LOOKING AT THE MAIN SHOT HERE, YOU’D BE FORGIVEN FOR ASSUMING THIS A THROWAWAY. SUCH IS CLAY’S COMMITMENT THAT EVERYTHING IN A FINNER LIKE THIS RELIES ON HIS CORE STRENGTH. WHICH, DESPITE LACK OF TRAINING, IS IMMENSE (AS IS EVIDENT FROM RECOVERIES LIKE THIS ONE.)
Like many other surfers who view head-growth as an irrelevant part of life, Clay Marzo’s hair is
sun-bleached and uncared-for. Though his eyes aren’t hungry, he eats ferociously. On the first
evening of the trip, during dinner at the local RSL, Clay powered through a Caesar salad entree
and surf n’ turf pizza main with ease. It left me wondering how there isn’t an ounce of fat on
his body, but I soon came to realise that a minimum six hours in the water most days means he has
the metabolism of a Hummingbird, an animal which can consume its own weight in nectar every day
and maintain its size. After a serious knee-injury in April last year, Clay stopped surfing briefly
but didn’t cull his appetite, resulting in a weight gain of 11kg (which he’s since lost).
Clay has Aspergers, a condition whereby a person finds social interaction difficult and often
becomes fixated with things – Clay’s fixation being surfing. His reluctance to fame isn’t an act.
Following a morning session, I attempted to engage him in our first conversation. Asking in my
most friendly chirp, “Get a few?” I had to awkwardly repeat the question when Clay didn’t hear
the first time, at which point he glanced up at me and shrugged. I was in no way offended,
figuring it’d be a good way to let him know I wasn’t an asshole. I’m still unsure whether or
not I achieved my goal.
It was on the second day that the most productive session of the trip went down. After stopping
at a local café with tasty breakfast and slow Internet, our motorcade arrived at an agreed-upon
protected beach. Clay and Lee were straight in the water, opting to surf a little further down
the beach where a jacking left bumped through. Charming American goofy-footer, Dane Zaun, was
next out, closely followed by Max. I jumped off the rocks moments behind Beau while Nate set
up his camera and Clay’s filmer, Adam Klevin, readied his tripod. The water was murky, a little
itchy and kinda menacing – Max later told the crew that he saw a lone, black dorsal fin at one
point, but that it wasn’t close enough to shore to warrant spooking everyone. The session was the
first time I’d seen Dane Zaun surf and I soon understood why he’s on the company’s program. Every
time I spun my head he was gripping a slob with height and nailing most. Brief glances up to the
beach’s northern end usually meant seeing Clay torching a flip off a section most’d flee from.
Twenty minutes into the session, Dion Agius arrived, having driven down from his new Byron Bay
home with filmer Beren Hall. Dion’s a clip whore. On his first wave, hair still dry, he took off
on a quick left, blazed down the line and stomped an off-axis, 270-degree rotation. All my
dealings with Dion had thus far equated to some brief phone conversations and two online posts
about his most recent going-ons, so I was disarmed by how personable he was when we shook hands
for the first time.
Dion let four decent waves go by while we conversed. He was generally interested in everything
I had to say and didn’t paddle away until he was certain we’d finished our conversation. This was
a pleasant surprise, because Dion has a rare gift for inciting hatred on Internet forums. Any
stabmag.com post involving Dion is a surf-fire way to collect a bevy of sexuality-questioning
comments, even though he has tasted more smouldering women than most angry Interwebbers will in
their entire lives. Dion was the most consistent of the crew and, contrary to popular belief,
has a polished rail-game. It was odd but impressive to watch him take off and do three turns to
wave’s end.
The day ended with the drinking of beer and the grilling of meat, as would every day thereafter.
In a place like the one we were in, the days begin blending together very quickly. But for such a
sleepy setting, the trip was colourful and fun. Just as you’ll find Sorry, We’re Open is.
CLAY TORCHED HITS LIKE THIS ON EVERY WAVE. AND QUITE OFTEN, FIRST TURN, STRAIGHT OUTTA THE BOTTOM-TURN. HIS REFLEXES ARE NEXT-LEVEL, AS IS HIS ABILITY TO RECOVER FROM ALL-SEEMS-LOST SITUATIONS. THE CHANGE IN CLAY WHEN HE HITS THE SOUP IS OVERWHELMING – NEVER HAS AN ON-LAND PERSONA AND IN-WATER SAVAGENESS BEEN MORE AT ODDS.