Andrew started surfing at the age of nine. A few borrowed boards and surf sessions later, and by 14 he found himself in the world of competitive surfing.

Growing up in Houtbay, Cape Town, Andrew wasn’t far from some of the best waves in the country. Lundudno was his local spot and so, as longboarder, he had to get used to fast-breaking beach breaks, barrels and raw power while he was perfecting his technique. Whether he’s surfing two-foot Muizenberg or charging eight-foot waves on a recent trip to G-land, Andrew’s passion lies in combining traditional longboarding techniques with the modernity of current-day performance surfing. He is a diverse and talented surfer: together we’ve surfed shortboards, longboards, any boards… we’ve wakeboarded and skurfed, we’ve been tow-in surfing with his local crew. Of all the days I’ve spent by his side it is clear that it is the ocean where he feels most at home.

Andrew’s mom, Sue, kick-started his pro career – while buying a block of wax at the Corner Surf Shop in Muizenberg one afternoon she noticed a poster advertising a longboarding contest. On her return home, she presented Andrew with the paid-up and completed entry form. He went on to win the contest. The Western Province Championships was up next, where Andrew secured a Puma sponsorship – the only longboarder to ride for them. He made it to the semi-finals in 2008 championships, and in the 2009 championships he surfed to secure a place in the quarterfinals. He knows that you win some, you lose some.

In the past few years, Andrew has made a conscious change of direction, taking his focus off surfing for the masses, the media or the judges in favour of surfing for the love of it. Instead of chasing the prize, Andrew has been experimenting with innovative new ideas, finding a balance in life and bringing his dreams back into perspective.

What does his future hold? Big-wave surfing, he hopes, although he admits he’ll never stray too far from his first love and keeps on being excited about getting creative and mixing and merging performance and style. Although Andrew is extremely passionate about South Africa and its world-class waves, he’s definitely interested in the overseas longboarding scene. Europe’s circuit, for instance, is much more welcoming – more about the art of surfing compared to the competitive surf world here in South Africa.

But for now, Andrew refuses to let contest results rule his life; he is committed to staying true to himself and not selling out. He firmly believes that competing should never become so important that it takes away your passion and love for what you do. From one-foot onshore slop to eight-foot barrelling perfection, you’ll find Andrew out there still getting as stoked as the first time he stood up on a board.

We never got to see much of the South African longboarding championships, because Andrew and I headed off to let adventure unfold. We checked the surf but it didn’t look too promising, so we drove back routes, with farmlands and dirt tracks as far as we could see. We helped a little tortoise out the road before a truck nearly ended all three of our lives. We 4×4′d on a quarry sand dune; we got a call to say the surf was great; we stopped to buy some snacks. The car died; we got it fixed. We went surfing and we ended a lazy sunny afternoon with a skate park session.

Andrew has big dreams and great ideas and I feel privileged to be part of his life. When he is around life is exciting and spontaneous, without effort. He brings a magical element to everyday mundane life; opportunities are never out of reach and nothing is impossible. He’s the most individual person I know; he’s the heart of the party and my own personal superhero. Life with Andrew is summer all the time, laughter without end and dreams without limitations. He lives out loud in leaps and bounds and to him, surfing is like oxygen in a suffocating world.

On 8th May we lost a very dear friend, a remarkable surfer and an incredible human being, Ross Taylor, after a long and difficult fight with cancer. I write this article with a heavy heart and in total disbelief, for if there was one person that could overcome this it was Ross – a warrior at heart.

I remember when I started surfing at the age of 14, Ross was one of the guys all us young guns used to watch from the shore in awe, in admiration and complete stoke. When he got in the water we got off the peak, not only because we had to earn a place in the line-up, but because Ross was our hero.

He was a soul surfer; he not only surfed with his heart but he was the rhythm in every next breaking wave. He brought a smile whenever he came surfing and he made the Buffalo Bay crew a family. Ross loved the ocean, so much so that even after surviving a shark attack, he got straight back in the water. I remember reading about him in the South African surf mag ZigZag after the attack; I was so proud that I told anyone who’d listen that he came from our beach and was part of the local Buffs crew. Most sunrises and sunsets Ross was out there, pushing boundaries and setting new standards, all for the love of it.

He was a gentle soul, and although I only knew him through surfing he seemed to embrace life with respect and love. He was peacefulness itself. He had blue eyes and a grand smile and he made long boarding look like poetry in motion.

A few months ago a surf contest and exhibition was held to raise funds to pay Ross’s medical bills at Buffalo Bay wild side (one of our local spots). Ross made an appearance, although the cancer had him in its grip. For the few minutes that he was there, he was surrounded by well-wishers, but I managed to chat to him about a painting I had up there. It’s yellow, with a girl being pulled by a swallow on a string. I told him that I never knew which one of the two I related to the most – the girl holding on to the swallow or the swallow pulling the girl.

In hindsight, this painting goes out to Ross, for he was always a swallow – free. He didn’t let life or cancer or circumstances get him down. He shook off his wings and flew off to new heights, new horizons and new adventures.

He pulled life with all his might and showed people that life was about giving. It is with intense admiration that we say goodbye to this dear friend of ours. Please, those who can, join us on Saturday 15th May for a paddle out memorial at Buffalo Bay – let us celebrate his life in full.

Rest in peace best beloved.

We headed east towards the infamous surf break at Jeffreys Bay, but for once, this was the last place that we were planning on ending up. Daniel, travel photographer and general expedition leader, and I, co-pilot with snacks in tow, had one mission this afternoon – explore, find and play.

Dan and I live about half-an-hour apart, but we never miss an opportunity to catch up. It was exactly one of those catching up days when I arrived at Daniel’s spot. He waved a Google map under my nose – he had already marked all the access points, detours, and our destination. Two weeks later we were standing on the edge of sheer cliffs dropping into a valley where the river meets the ocean. I was very impressed with Dan for finding this place given the sparse information and vague description of its location. I also felt utterly privileged to be the one he asked to share in this adventure.

Our eyes lit up at the sight of the crystal-clear water below us, introduced by empty cliff faces. We marvelled at our discovery, before scampering down to play. But we were lacking a path – our first attempt took us to a look-out area; our second through an overgrown trail that abruptly ended on a small rock ledge, stopping us dead in our tracks.

After running up and down the mountain in all directions in the hope of finding even an inkling of a path, we stopped and peered across the valley – in the distance, on the other side, a path was vaguely visible. It ran from the edge of the mountain, through the forest and seemed to lead down to the water’s edge. We looked at each other: without saying a word we snapped a few shots and as one man we headed back to Roxy, our reliable and adventurous expedition vehicle. We headed further east.

It was five o’clock already. After consulting the map there were a few decisions to be made: it was getting late and we still had a some distance to cover by road and on foot in order to get to the other side. The tide was slowly but surely coming in, and that wouldn’t leave us much time to head up stream before the ocean and the river met – trapping us in the ravine.

But we are two adventurous spirits, well-prepared for our mission, and we were determined to get there today. We weren’t heading home nay time soon.

Our perseverance rewarded us in more ways than one. As we headed further east the sun’s rays went from bright white to a soft orange as it caressed the mountains behind us and shed its light on dilapidated buildings, making the graffiti on them seem to come to life. We shot a little movie in the forest, took some incredible photos of our surroundings and met with a friendly old man who didn’t seem to understand our language before we headed down to the sea – the path unfolding in front of our feet.

We made it down in time for an hour of exploration. The tide was pretty high as the ocean pushed its way through the river bed, the ocean’s water crystal clear and the water from the river as dark as the night sky. We had to discard our dry gear and backpacks at one point, only to recover them a bit later, because getting further up-river entailed quite a bit of swimming. We were surrounded by sheer cliffs, the blue sky opening up above us right before the sun shed its last light, swallows swirling all around bringing news from a world we knew nothing of. Dark, root stained river pools that hold secrets that our eyes never witness – a world of untouched, raw, magnificent beauty, a world we are eager to get back to.

We explored, we found, we played. We drove back in silence as our minds slideshowed through the day’s adventure and made us both smile with the satisfaction of a day well spent.

For now, we call it a day but we know it won’t be long before we return – next time with boards in tow!

All designs © Stefni Muller [photos by Daniel Snyder]

More times than I can remember, the ocean has brought me back to life, back to love, back to who I am and where I want to go; it has carried my dreams, carried me, encouraged me, taught me valuable lessons and humbled me.

I woke up this morning to lightning and thunder, accompanied by a blistering north-westerly battering my door. A bunch of what-ifs, maybes and uncertainties swirl around my mind. Big dreams I’m not sure how to make reality… Where to start? I feel small and a little bit directionless, exhausted by the patience life demands of us in order to bring us the good stuff.

I take a drive. The wind and the rain woo me to the ocean. I stop and stare – and it is here that my heart finds peace, that life seems bigger than me but not unbearable, and it is here that I come to understand that change is part of every day. Like the ocean’s tide, not one wave the same as the next, the water volume from ocean to beach, the wind, the currents, the weather – all of these change every day if not every few hours, few minutes, few seconds. Change, no matter how uncomfortable at times, when embraced is as beautiful and unique as every wave the ocean brings us.

I sit and watch 3-foot sets roll into the bay; the wind plays on the water’s surface and creates a beautiful array of colours as it forces the whitewater back with every forward motion. Holding, holding, holding until the waves find their destination unfolding in a poetry of sounds on a sandy beach.

I’ve been surfing for about 12 years now and it’s the ocean’s beauty, mystery and solitude that has kept me coming back. It’s a place of happiness, where the best of times have been shared in incredible places with the best of mates. The UK: Devon, Saunton, Boscombe Pier, Cornwall, Constantine. South Africa: Buffalo Bay, Cape St Francis, Long Beach, Durban, Transkei. Indonesia: Bali, Sumba, Scar Reef. Each a place of memories, silence, pondering and dreams where anything is possible and nothing impossible.

As I sit here watching the ocean, I offload, recharge and breathe. I have no expectations; it’s freedom in its purest form. I unravel, unfold, unwind. Here I can be myself. Here I feel most comfortable, most accepted, most loved. Here I found my home.

The ocean takes it all. Love it, respect it and you’ll have a life-long friend.

I started at eight in the mornings and finished sometimes late at night. My days were filled with outings, gelato, long lazy picnics on sunny afternoons. Never-ending farm days – from welcoming eight piglets into the world, watching them take their first breath of fresh air to saying good bye to Natasha the farm pony; visiting the puppies from dusk until dawn to skipping stones on the pond; and last but not least teaching the kids the sounds and names of the birds in the forest, indigenous to South Africa. Every moment shared in joy, freedom, excitement, laughter, sorrow and love.

Life is one big learning curve; as Alanis Morissette puts it “You live you learn, you love you learn, you cry you learn, you lose you learn, you bleed you learn, you scream you learn”. Of my life so far, these moments have been the most precious and of all the lessons I have learned, these have been the most awakening. Challenging yourself, because running that extra mile is worth it every time. Patience and tolerance, because being inquisitive is not a crime but only a sign of a healthy heart and mind. Endless laughter, selflessness, unconditional love. There is excitement in knowing that every minute of every day is like no other, but that the sun rises every morning and sets every evening no matter how the day started or how it will end.

Hopscotch, beach slugs and forest walks. Sunsets, sunrise, bath time and fireplace fairytales. Sunshine, shadows and make believe. The world through a child’s eyes is something quite magical and I have truly become an observer, an admirer, a fan.

Life teaches us many things, every day, every minute, every sunny Sunday afternoon. Every day is new; every day is different. Valuable truths are found when our feet leave the ocean floor to help us float and swim. I left home with a cup half empty, I returned with cup half full.

For the time being I will reside in a small little cottage on a farm just a few kilometres outside of Plettenberg Bay. Surrounded by indigenous forest, an ocean view and a secret surf spot just a stone’s throw away, there is little to complain about.
My first day off falls on a Saturday and, not sure what should take priority, I receive a text from Roland, fellow surfer and friend, mentioning that he’ll be skating a competition in George over the weekend. I RSVP and my weekend plans are made.
The first time I met Roland I knew that we’d be friends, and I am rich for knowing him – he’s earthy, a passionate conservationist, open minded and spontaneous. From crazy surf missions to long conservation walks, between loads of laughs and endless discussions of love, life and spirituality, Roland is a friend worth having.
Saturday morning comes and I get lost in research for my next community project, unanswered emails and family reunions. I see a missed call on my phone – it’s Roland. I try to call back a few times but there’s no answer. I check the time and it’s 2.15pm! I drive as fast as the speed limit allows and arrive at Skatelab, the humble yet soulful host of the skate event, at 2.45pm. The first round is already done and dusted, the second round is a few minutes from starting – I hear Roland’s name being called over the sound system.
On entering the contest area the energy of adrenalin-spun skaters moving to the rhythm of the music swallows me: the sound of skateboard wheels on the half pipe, the decks and trucks of the boards connecting with the rails adding to the existing beatbox effect. The skate park comes alive with spectators, fans young and old, graffiti-decorated walls, checkered shirts and bearded men in skinny jeans; sunglasses, hoodies, beanies and high fives all round.
I recognise a familiar pair of Ugg boots at the end of the pavilion. Everything Roland owns has a story to tell and only that pair of boots could belong to this kind of guy. I make my way over to find him and his crew sitting on the wall discussing manoeuvres and gear in a language that to any normal guy on the street would be classified as foreign. I greet Roland, apologise for my late arrival, and quickly become comfortable between skaters and acquaintances as Roland heads off to skate his final run; he made it to the final.
I take time to observe, breathe, and free my soul; I drift away and get lost in the music and the magnificent explosion of inspiration that all the colours bring – luminous sunglasses twinned with tweed hats, black vests. The coupling of the bright and brand new with something dull and quite antique. The skating culture is home to a breed of individuals putting their stamp on life loudly through crazy hairstyles, an out-of-the-ordinary choice of trousers and shirts, the cool they carry not because they try but just because they are. Straight caps, unbuttoned shirts, girls in frills and frays with leather boots and sexy leggings.
With Redbull, Figure It Out, Session Skateboarding Magazine and the National Skateboard Association of South Africa as sponsors, prizes are plentiful. Roland takes a proud second after mentioning that he has not skated in a year. Quality.
The day ended with another round of high fives and the sun setting over the skate park. A few lone shadows fragmented by the half pipe and other skate park fancies. The skate culture is a splash of colour and inspiration, boho mixed with everyday modernity. Skaters are poetry in motion, wearing that which they are on the inside on the outside. They paint with the colours of their souls.

Join me for the next story as I talk to one of the editors and artists of the Session Skateboarding Magazine – from London to Cape Town to joining us here on the Garden Route.

’til next time…

When I am not creating I find inspiration surfing, cycling, paddling, walking, talking, chilling, laughing, observing – every day is an art work waiting to happen. I hope that those who stumble upon my work will be encouraged, brave and bold enough to find and follow that which make them come alive.

www.stefni.co.za

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'Letting Go'